A Line a Day / UPDATED

** My first plan was to post 1 entry a day on the mainblog, i've decided instead to format a side panel directly to the right, and update that section as often as daily, that way the main content isn't as often interrupted. I should have this area setup over the weekend, thanks!**

While going through a bunch of old boxes last weekend to find junk to sell for a unfortunately rained out lawn sale this past memorial day weekend, i came across an old leather bound journal. I could tell from the binding of it alone that it was old; the leather wasn't smooth, nor was it ever at any rate, it was a style I've never seen before; very course and bumpy - and the edges of the pages were gilded and still lustrous... the whole book had the weight and smell of "old" and i was excited.

I popped it open and flipped to the first page, and it softly fade pencil was written:

Jennie Moore
Merry Christmas
from John + Chas
December 25 1931.

i turned another page and read the title:

WARD'S
A line a Day
A condensed comparative diary for five years.

(then a poem by -Eloise Ward)

"Nulla dies sine Linea."
(No day without a line)

I thought this was fascinating - the concept of this particular diary, was that instead of an in depth thoughtful diary, you instead have a limited amount of space per page, as its divided into five horizontally aligned sections, each one pertaining to the same day in your life, spanning five consecutive years. Being as it is, it becomes, at least after the first year, a rather interesting daily habit as you get to read what it was you were doing and thinking on this day, the previous year, and eventually the previous years before that; and now i -77 years later; get to read it all.

I'm a voyeur at heart; that's why i think i enjoy reading people blogs - being a shy kid growing up, you learn to enjoy watching people in action, when you get a chance to look behind those outward trappings, it's even more interesting, and when you get to look through time, well - it's enough to make me giddy.

On another hand; i wonder - this is someone's Diary - Jennie Moore's diary; wouldn't she be mortified to find out a boy (from the future no less) was reading her thoughts? Blogging them no less? But then - i also think, She's dead. She really doesn't mind at all - in fact; i would imagine the dead, want nothing more than to be remembered...

So from here on out; i plan on printing here one entry for everyday - Starting tonight, with Jennie's forward that precedes the first entry on January 1st, 1932. I don't think she would mind, and in the meantime, I'm going to spend time researching who she was - i know she must have been a relative of mine, my middle name is her last; as i learn more about her from my grandparents, I'll include the information with the entries. As some of the text has faded, and a lot more of it is in difficult to read cursive, I'll try my very best to transcribe it accurately, where there's question, I'll place a mark. Enjoy.

"John had an automobile accident Dec 21-1931. When Leo McGeltrick run into him Evelyn Goldenbury was put the hospital. Eye surjical (sic) and face terribly cut.

Charlie + Mildred were married - Nov 14 1934."

God Hates Fags (?)

Watching the British Comedy series "Peep Show" i heard mention a few times a person by the name of Louis Theroux; Mark while trapped in a seemingly lurid game of spin the bottle, remarks "This is research... ...Like Louis Theroux and his wry smile at the orgy..." So i looked into who he was exactly. I don't get the BBC, so but if i did i'd know that he's a reporter who specializes in getting himself insinuated into all sorts of groups, people, events, under the pretense of being rather naive, and indifferent. Fine, good - interesting.

After a bit of looking around, i came upon his report he did after spending a few weeks living and talking with the member of the Westboro Baptist Church. Yeah... those people. I think we all know who they are, but if not - feel free to puruse their website, but if your short on time or just want to quick and simple of it, they're the folks that picket soldier's funerals with "God hates fags" signs... you maybe then ask the question... wait, what does a dead soldier have in common w/ with God's vengeful wrath towards the gays... well, the answer is asinine, fully - but it stands that, these soldiers died, protecting a nation that supports homosexuals, and therefore god struck them down to hell, yada yada, etc etc...

Anyway. Louis was given the chance to spend some time getting to know the family (they're all related.) and trying to understand their aims and rationale. What followed was an unbelievably fascinating, and equally infuriating story that at times is heartbreaking, at turns, hilariously absurd yet left me completely agape, both at the family and their practices, and Louis who manages to remain calm and reasonable throughout. Even after being told repeatedly by the members of the church, that he was going to hell, that he was a snake, etc.

The video above is the first in the 6 part series, the the other 5 can be found below.

Part:2
Part:3
Part:4
Part:5
Part:6

A Moment of self-abasement Reflection

Who's that guy?

Is that?

Yup.

That's me. 17 years old and all neck - Senior Prom. I just found this picture yesterday rooting through some old stuff in the basement of my familial home, that and 2 boxes of Magic: The Gathering Cards, a gum ball machine and the complete North and South series on VHS. Score.

My date, the lovely and Asian Christina Bianchi, was 15, and if memory serves, a bit of bitch. But i guess you're allowed to be a bitch when your 15, i think we "dated" for about a week; i didn't want her to feel like i was just using her as a prop in one of the most awkward photographs of my life... after that she went onto greener pastures, greener pastures by the name of Reuben. Damn you Reuben....

And just for the sake of comparison, here i am now at 25, 5 minutes before blogging this...

For fuck's sake i'm wearing a ring. I don't remember every wearing a ring. On my index finger no less. *sigh* (nice cleavage Christina...)

I LOL'd

It's Friday. Cool. I thought i'd leave you off with a few smiles, maybe some laughs. I laughed, it felt good.

(from someone who definitely has too much time on their hands)
Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ
17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the
True Champion.

There can be only one.

I was perusing the fine-line exhibition that was featured last year at the Adam Baumgold Gallery and came across two pages of comic work by Tom Gauld, regarding his introduction to and interest in the work of Edward Gorey. I thought they were charming... click here and here to view them. Click here to view the whole exhibition. The bunnies over there --> are also from the exhibition.

I call this piece...

"The Deconstruction, consumption and subsequent regurgitation of history by pop culture in post modern, post nuclear America as performed by a Choir of Angelic Sub-mentals w/ bells and shakers."

Gay Mardi GrasPink Bacon!

I'll let the picture do the talking... actually, add your own caption.

Ben's like, "who are these guys.... oh shit, this are me!"
(note the real life bacon hat.)

Then Racoo-oo-ooo-oo-o-000-Ooo-n played. And it was killer.

A pressing issue (... on my bladder.)

So i went into the company Pissour this afternoon, which contains 2 urinals, one normal height one little person height, and one stall. A fellow employee of average to above average height was in the process of using the little one for whatever reason, it's best not to dwell on that - but either way, i decided to do my business in the stall. The thing is, even if neither of the pissers were occupied i'd still opt for the stall, i don't have a problem peeing next to another person, doesn't bother me one bit; i've seen wangs, i've seen people holding onto wangs, i've played varsity hockey.

But as i was standing in the stall peeing i couldn't help but wonder - how this might seem to the dude on the otherside of the stall wall, outside the safety and privacy of my own personal green-zone. Weirdo, can't pee next to another guy, what's he hiding, etc etc... i can imagine what goes through the substance starved mind of a urinating office worker. I mean, this is what goes through mine. It's friday and i'm an hour away from freedom, i haven't done a godam thing for 2 days cause my sites launched on monday.

Here's the thing. Here's the question really. I'd really appreciate some feedback on this; It seems apparent to me that they're a flawed design, unless i'm using them wrong, which could be, but ok, for the sake of clarity, you just point your peter at either the back wall, or somewhere towards the bottom and shoot. It's not rocket science, it seems obvious to me, yet every time i've ever done this, at some point, i get the inevitable splash back. I get sprayed with either a fine mist of my own urine or a solid reflected burst of yellow gold, there's NOTHING i can do, or so it seems. I've tried everything to find that sweetspot, I've calculated all the angles, tried to flush first then go, even standing 4-5 feet away from the wall and banging out a golden arch ( this works sometimes.)

So is it just par for the course? I'd like to know - If that's the case, i guess I'd much rather look like a prudish, insecure man-child who has to retreat to the safety of the stall.

I don't want pee-pee on my jeans.

Hell yeah Helvetica!

Two fonts walk into the bar, and the barman says, "sorry lads, we don't serve your type here".

This week is the 50th birthday of the designer's goto font, Helvetica. If you don't get involved in fonts than don't worry it won't matter to you - but even in the relatively short time I've been involved in design it's often come this (|) close to a fist fight when trying to get all involved parties to agree on a type face for a project. That's where Helvetica comes into play. Most the suits want Arial, or if I'm lucky Verdana, they're plain, easy to real, but frankly boring as fuck and played out, not that Helvetica isn't at this point - but at least it's not so chubby like arial. Helvetica, looks nice. It's nothing fancy, but it's clean very clean - and i can feel alright about endorsing it's use in a project, for that i'm thankful, thank you Helvetica, happy Birthday.

Via BBC news:

We live in a world where we are surrounded 24 hours a day by adverts and corporate communications, many in typefaces chosen to subliminally complement the message.

COMPARE MAJOR FONTS Helvetica and its rivals

Helvetica's message is this: you are going to get to your destination on time; your plane will not crash; your money is safe in our vault; we will not break the package; the paperwork has been filled in; everything is going to be OK.

It is sans serif. There are no wiggly bits at the end of the letters. It has smooth, clean lines, and an unobtrusive geometry that almost suggests it was designed not to stand out.

Lars Mueller is a Helvetica devotee. He has published a book, Helvetica: Homage to a Typeface, and recently donated an original set of lead lettering to a Helvetica exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

"It has a modern attitude which lines up with the aesthetic premises of the 1950s and 60s. Helvetica is a corporate typeface, but on the other hand it's the favourite of hairdressers and kebab shops. It is the butter on the bread."

|The Rest|

Situationism in waking life

The following is an excerpt from an Essay written about the various philosophies touched on in "Waking Life" which I'm sure everyone's seen at some point - although not the deepest nor most resonant of films, lending itself more to stoner philosophy 101 than anything too indepth or exacting, i did find this little essay on the film alot of fun to read while sitting in my isolated little cubicle staring down the entire length of pine street...

Situationism is explicitly referenced in Scene 21, Society is a Fraud, when four young men (including Nicki Katt and Adam Goldberg, Linklater regulars) go on a dérive, eventually visiting "Mr. Debord" (played by Austin shopkeeper and poet Hymie Samuelson - the real Debord committed suicide in 1993). On the way there they exchange situationist-style jargon like wanting to rupture the spell of the ideology of consumer society to open up ourselves to authentic desires, to interrupt the continuum of everyday existence, to pursue intensities of love and hate, to live as if something actually depended on one's actions. One of them proclaims that "society is a fraud so complete and venal that it demands to be destroyed beyond the power of memory to recall its existence." Another wants "an affirmation of freedom so reckless and unqualified, that it amounts to a total denial of every kind of restraint and limitation." The situationism of these four wanderers is uttered with an intense earnestness. Yet Linklater throws in some humour at the end of the scene to lighten the situation: they see an older man stuck up a telephone pole who doesn't know why he's there. One of the situationists comments that just as he's all action and no theory, they are all theory and no action, a chronic problem with the avant-garde Left.

Scene 4, with Kim Krizan, is about how we can overcome alienation through spiritual communion, understanding each other through words like "love." This is evidence of the more poetic, positive side of situationism, of Vaneigem's idea that we could build a cathedral of poetry and love in which to carry out our everyday lives.

Scene 14, Noise and Silence, hints at the roots of situationism in avant-garde artistic movements like Dada, surrealism, and the Lettrist International (the immediate precursor of the Situationist International, from which it emerged in 1957). A chimp pronounces a monologue into a microphone as a series of film clips (including Kurosawa's Dreams and a punk rock performance) play on a screen behind him. He talks about how art can be used to create subversive micro-societies, which open up new possibilities. Anything is still possible the talking chimp tells us, even though the world seems empty and degraded. True communication is the key. In a true situationist gesture, he eats his script at the end.

The difficult path to authenticity is made more specific in Scene 20, The Holy Moment, when filmmaker Caveh Zahedi describes André Bazin's theory that since God is in all reality, films are really attempts to capture God. When Zahedi and poet David Jewell try to have such a moment, they are partially successful; yet Jewell confesses that he slips in and out of the moment, becoming aware of the layers of reality embedded in such an attempt at real communication.

Two scenes in Waking Life speak to the need for direct action to overcome the passivity and isolation of consumer society. In Scene 6, Self-Immolation, journalist J. C. Shakespeare douses himself with gasoline and sets himself on fire, just like a Buddhist monk in Vietnam in 1963 who was protesting the treatment of Buddhists by the Diem government. Before doing so, Shakespeare speaks of how the media uses images of death and destruction to turn us into passive observers, and how the only real freedom we're offered is the purely symbolic act of voting. Human beings want chaos: we want strife, riots, murder, and war. The trick used by the media is to paint a sad face on all these catastrophes, to pretend that they're avoidable tragedies. Yet behind this sad face is an attempt to pacify us, to turn us into puppets of the spectacle. We sit in our living rooms shedding metaphorical tears for the deaths of thousands in Bangladeshi typhoons or massacres in Rwanda, yet ten minutes later drive to the shopping mall for our daily fix of fast food and maybe a shiny new commodity or two.
|The rest of Doug Mann's essay|

Good Music

Saw alot of good music recently - makes me feel lucky to know the people i know, and to be good friends with most of them. Lately I've been feeling more and more like I'm part of a community. I became acutely aware of it the other weekend when i went over to Toby and Sara-Paule's for the afternoon on Sunday and ended up hanging out for a few hours, sitting in the sun, drinking blackberry wheat, and talking about life, and random things, making a little sculpture on the ground out of twigs and leaves.
I've know Sara-Paule for a long time now, i thought, even Toby I've known for a few - alot's gone by in those years, quite a bit - it's amazing how much changing and growing we do, and we never really notice till we get some distance from some self-important signpost. My friends are these signposts for me, and the longer i've been in this town the more of them i find, and the more i'm reminded of who i was, who i am etc... it's all rather fascinating.
Going to shows, and watching people i've played in bands w/ or have known for so long - it's such a great experience - Sometimes, depending on the show it's like I'm just in the garage w/ friends hanging out having some laughs, playing some music. The only difference is how impressed I've been by these people lately.

Matt I've only known for about 6 months or so, i met him through Brodie, and we've all played some music together - but i only just recently got to see him perform as Snake in the Garden. It was awesome - it was one of the first times in recent memory that i heard music coming out of speakers from a local act that, if i closed my eyes i could imagine it coming out of the speakers of any worth-its-salt club in any metroland in the world - it was spot on noise, thoughtful and mindfucking, and not without it's own well played spin on things. It felt real, and individual - and
totally engaging.

Then there was this avant-jazz banjo and cello duo that - not to bad, definitely had their chops, sounded like if The Books weren't so patient and considered, but had all their beats programed by Autechre but then, when they got to the show, realized that they forgot there Macbook...


Then Oak, lovely.

The next night -May day, i got to finally see what my good friend Todd has been cooking up behind closed doors all winter and again, i was floored, true to form and flooding over with sincerity and self-righteousness, he played an outdoor set of hard edged, lo-fi rock. It was the most fitting music i could have imagined for a May day BBQ at "Speaking Volumes"


Tonight i went out with a whole dinning room of friends to Koto's to celebrate my friend Kyle's 27th B-day and again i felt like i knew and had known and been known by so many of the people around me, for a long time. It's funny - while i often times don't like feeling insulated and sort of "known" i think that it's only because i know i am, that it gives me the freedom to think otherwise. I've lived in cities where i was completely alone - and it's thrilling, it teaches you so much about yourself, but at the end of the day, i'd like to know someone, and I'm really glad i know all these people.

On another note - I was eating a granola bar the other morning, and just as i swallowed, i also sneezed, and immediately i felt this congestion in my sinuses, so i started blowing my nose real hard and after a bit all this granola just came shooting out. I thought i got it all, but within an hour my nose was stuffed up and by that night my throat felt tight and scratchy. Now i feel like i've almost got a sinus cold or something... I bet i have granola stuck in my sinuses, can you believe that shit?