Tonight I saw a man with a rickshaw made out of a wheelchair.
There is news on the Arachnidiscs front:
NOTE: I added “Videonomicon” video clips to the Babel site since I first posted this update.
Beauty and The Geek is not aptly named. It should be Average Girl with a lot of Make Up and Average Boy with Bad Fashion. There’s only maybe one actually beautiful girl and only one definite geek. Disappointing, yet not surprising.
Flatbed practice was a hoot. My wah-wah pedal was not functioning though, but that’s fine, I think I’ll not use it. Instead my plan is to channel East Bay Ray and wait and see if anyone notices or cares.
Apparently I lied to Nathan and we don’t have The Third Man at the store. Oops. Actually I’m pretty sure there’s a copy in a box somewhere.
Yesterday afternoon I was stopped outside my house by a dodgy looking character missing a hand who wanted to know where the girls (aka hookers) hang out in this area. I told him keep on walking down to Albert St. He said that’s what they told him two blocks ago but he’s trying to stay out of that area because it’s so depressing. I suppose you definitely do want an uplifting atmosphere when picking up hookers. He said he just wanted someone to talk to.
Today I accepted the position of guitarist for Flatbed. My one stipulation was that I’ll not be expected to do what Andrew did. We’ll be playing at the Cambie on August 6th. I see rock in my future.
I almost forgot, on our trip to Ladner, I decided my male stripper name would be Parry Hotter. Though I imagine it’s already taken.
There were lots of other amusing moments on our trip too, though my fatigue has erased some of them from memory. One was the bizarre celestial pattern wizard robes my grandma made my mom and her sister. There were many more. For instance the ferry cafeteria cook seemed surprised anyone in the line up would actually order food for lunch and had none prepared.
History is a strange thing. Family gatherings seem to be, for the most part, comprised of rehashed debates on the one thing family members have in common: History. These past two days have been spent at my grandfather’s funeral where I witnessed family members, with whom I share next to no history, plumb the depths of their common histories in remembrance.
I did learn some things. For instance, it was announced by the priest that my grandfather was apparently known to all my cousins as “Papa”. I, the first grandchild of the family, didn’t know we were calling him this. I believe I always addressed him as “Grandpa” if I ever addressed him at all. In fact, I didn’t know my grandfather and what I did know of him was that he told corny jokes and was slightly prone to moments of arrogant pettiness. Not that he wasn’t a generally good person, but someone I found a mere casual acquaintanceship with was more than enough of a good thing. So I have found his passing a non event. He will merely continue to not be a part of my life.
For my cousins though, the loss of our grandfather has been visibly significant. Tears flowed during the internment and during the memorial service. One cousin spoke at the service proclaiming my grandfather played a significant role in the development of his dreams and aspirations. It was strange to suddenly realize that this caricature who would pop up in my life once a year, was a real person to the rest of my family — one who’d played a role in their lives.
It was strange to reflect on this as I lowered his urn into the grave feeling no connection to him at all (this was a duty sprung upon me upon my arrival, I think mostly for my mother’s sake). It was strange to realize I didn’t feel uncomfortable about this or feel hypocritical. It was also strange to realize I did not feel bitter or that I’d really missed out on anything. I really felt nothing at all regarding the passing of the man himself.
The sorrow of my grandmother, mother, aunts, uncle, cousins and my grandfather’s friends did affect me. It’s touching to see people gathered together to form a new chapter in their collective history: the passing of a beloved friend.
But it’s not a history I play a role in. My history is set on a different stage.
Considering there will never be a better Batman movie than the Adam West Batman movie, that it is in a league of it’s own not just among Batman movies but the whole history of cinema, and that it has to be thusly taken out of the equation, Batman Begins is indeed the best Batman movie filmed yet. It is not however as good as the Spiderman or X-Men movies as it does not do as good a job creating a sympathetic protagonist. It’s hard to care about bitter old Bruce Wayne the way you could conflicted, awkward and ernest Peter Parker or the gruff but noble Logan. Also Spiderman and X-Men succinctly told the story of the super-heroes’ origins whereas Batman Begins falls into the old “Superman” trap of over-telling the back story with too many drawn-out scenes of Bruce Wayne growing up and all the defining tragedies and traumatizations of his life which, in the end, don’t have much bearing on the storyline once he emerges as Batman. There is at least half an hour of back story material which could have been told in point form flashbacks instead of a chronological narrative. A narrative which should have begun with Batman and not the child Bruce Wayne.
Bought clothes for my grandpa’s funeral yesterday. The women at Sears were very nice and even measured my neck. The woman at the Bay, total hag — so I left her a pile of clothes in the change room.
Which reminds me. There’s a woman at the bank who hates me. When I went in for a new debit card because mine was beginning to demagnetize, after she accused me of trying to pass myself off as myself, she accused me of having too strong a magnetic field and unworthy of possessing cards.
Today I burned some Babel CHLY Sessions discs and stuffed the inserts. Should be on the shelves when I work next Saturday.
I find I am not surprised by the Michael Jackson verdict. There was no way they could get a conviction without any actual physical evidence and just testimony of the boys and a few ex-employees — not beyond a shadow of a doubt anyway. Not that I think anyone has any doubts he did it. I wonder if he’ll believe he’s invincible now or if he’ll be scared into behaving himself. I bet his next album will be titled Invincible. Er… That was the name of his last album wasn’t it… never mind.
Chelsea and I are going to steal a boat called Peppermint Patty.
I’ve managed to fit more exercise and physical activity into the last 5 days of moving records and shelves than the last whole two years of my life. I’m barely able to lift my arms to type this. I’m never going to start collecting 78’s. A box of 78’s are insanely heavy. This whole move is beginning to hamper my ability to love records. I uncovered the Orson record Ken was interested in and it’s now in the hold cupboard. I also found all the records Steve bought off Andrew when Black Ball closed and put them somewhere conspicuous so they won’t spend another year in storage.