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Showing posts from 2013

tell me – tell me that your sweet love hasn't died

Hey, Christmas happened. And Boxing Day and then the snow-dumb winter days that followed. Plus: ice! Silly electricity dependent society. Oona had some minor viral attack but recovered in time to float the thought that she deserved more presents. Because having more stuff than the average African village just doesn't cut it these days. Who's worried about the future? Not me!  Mommy or Grandma or some spooky aunt sent me a book. Fantastic! What else is there? Rejecting Christmas dinner. We made a snow castle! Daddy is my serf. That toy that lets you write your name in the snow with dye? Garbage! But it does stain your hand for a day or two, making it look like you thrust your hand into a roaring fire. Superstar! Can we go inside now? Drawing at daddy's studio. Is that an electric pencil sharpener? How many pencils do you have? Are they sharp enough to kill someone? Why not? I almost look angelic right now, but don't forget I called

picture christmas

It's cold. Outside. And it wasn't just the face-freezing and the thigh-burning that tipped me off. Also: + Tried to take a photo of the steam coming off Lake Ontario; my camera would not work. + The fully-charged battery on my mp3 player drained in about five minutes flat. But I will still take any amount of cold over rain, any day, because God's tears should be frozen.  *   *   *   *   * Are you ready for Christmas? Who cares. We got our tree on Sunday. I'm slowly o slowly moving C in the direction of a fake tree for next year (and beyond). The environmental angle is a good con I mean argument. *   *   *   *   * Every once in a blue moon I try to take a computer snap of myself, with some idea that I should draw or paint the occasional self-portrait, because that's what artists do . And then of course that never happens. Cleaning a hard drive this morning, I found this rogues gallery.  They could defini

and the counterrevolution was called christmas

The kid likes to draw. And the faces all have smiles, which is disproportionately encouraging. Not sure about the upside-down guy, though. Or the manic-faced little red-skull guy. Slouching. She is certainly a teaser and trickster, which is aggravating when I find rocks in my shoes, or she runs water instead of washing her hands, or she hides the belt to my bathrobe (again). *   *   *   *   *   * And still the Dream of the Princesses. *   *   *   *   *   * Seven paintings in two group shows right now, GRID  and at Studio 22 . Between that and Christmas vending and a million other things: tired. And tired of just being a Dead Idea Factory, so *trying* to take the time to develop some longer projects, narratives. Or maybe just more Grand Theft Auto. *   *   *   *   *   * A stocking stuffer for people who don't like stocking stuffers. Or life. *   *   *   *   *   * Wee Dark All Day interview the other day. Started out getting the title of

the sparkles are on the inside

And then: Oldboy . The Korean original. Otherwise travelling under the guise of: insane-o-vision, close-crazy-captioning and whacko-scope. Dystopias in miniature, an undercurrent of evil, revenge and bad luck, some ruin from within. With fight scenes! Not for the average North American audience, which only made me like it more. *   *   *   *   * So CBC is getting pushed out of the hockey business (a long, slow push – but still). Normally I'd file this under Who Cares but then I saw an editorial (in the Globe , of all places) laying out how this could be a good thing, how it might allow the CBC to stop chasing commercial success (and, by extension, advertising dollars) with expensive programming, and go back to being the home of Things the Private Sector Will Not Do, and thus find its soul again. Let someone else run Wheel of Fortune . *   *   *   *   * And now: the belly-busting barf-fest called CHRISTMAS is only three weeks away, and en route will see some of the gl

we just want good times

I would be smiling more, if they had given me the Wizard of Oz background that I requested. Sorry, I don't say 'cheese' – I find communal displays of cheer and/or cooperation highly distasteful. Also: something smells .  *   *   *   *   *   *   * Speaking of sadness: Mad Dog Vachon died.  I remember a news story about his recovery in hospital after losing a leg (car-pedestrian accident, followed by blood clot). All sorts of kids sent him hand-drawn pictures, and he held one up and smiled for the camera: in crayon lines it showed him lying on the road with his leg lying beside him. *   *   *   *   *   *   * Almost got myself crushed the other day. Or rather: someone else was near at hand to do the crushing. I like listening to podcasts as I walk to and from work. I understand it's a distraction, especially in the winter, when I have my hood up, but I consider myself a low-level offender compared to the innumerable smartphone zombies c

o, snail

My walk to work this morning. Not so much a problem for me (snow is fine; wind is fine; even cold is fine; it's rain that's a nightmare) but my four year-old companion struggled like Napoleon's retreat from Moscow (if the Imperial Guard kept whining about their socks slipping off).  The causeway. On my way to board the Ship of Fools. *   *   *   *   *   * My little table sign from the Fat Goose this past Sunday (crumpled during take-down). I enjoyed this event quite a bit (surprising myself, since I hate everybody) and learned a great deal about fairs and selling. Namely:  • You cannot sell books. Yes, these are "made" (written) by you, and even moreso when you illustrate them as well, but it's not what people want to see on your table.  • People only want to see handmade things (as in: completely handmade things) on your table.   • Things must be obvious. I spent a lot of time explaining what my cigar-tin stories are, wh

cooked

Cigar-tin stories I'll have at the Fat Goose Craft Fair this Sunday, 3-9 pm at the Renaissance Event Venue, 285 Queen Street. The last time, I think, that I sell these at this price point ($20 per); they are a great deal of work (a prepared tin, a painting, an accordion story booklet, the packaging) that is all original, one-of-a-kind. As far as I know, I am the only one who does these. I'll also have a boatload of affordable drawings – all wrapped and cellophaned and ready to go straight into a stocking stuffer, all between $20-$40. Plus books, small paintings, packets of prints and illustrated shirts. And I've been doing a lot of small watercolours lately, specifically with this sale in mind. And this one says it all – so tired. Hustling is exhausting. One last note: I don't have a smartphone(!), and only very recently (read: last week) became aware of their ability to read credit cards, so my table is cash only. Thanks.

crept

W I N D vast and roaring, last night, this morning. C even drove me to work, for fear that I'd be blown off the causeway. Concern = weird. Fittingly, last night we watched Take Shelter . Good but painful. Michael Shannon was terrific, but even better in this .  *   *   *   *   *   * Smashed fluorescent lights make a godawful mess.  *   *   *   *   *   * A town hall of CBC radio to discuss anxiety and mental illness in the student population, if it had reached the level of crisis. C being a college instructor, we talk about this kind of thing all the time. How it is real and not real. And Christ how there's a lot of disability going around. On the one hand the subject makes me wince, because it was no different when I was going through, a million years ago, except instead of anxiety we called it fucking up, and it wasn't so much anxiety as it was straight-up fear. And we fucked up in spades: O, *next* week I'll wake up for class, and get my ac