When life's a bit slower...

... You should fill the time with a laugh.

A few views on the news

Protester should pay up
In October, 2005, a protestor that couldn't let go of the plight of teachers picketed the Burnaby Bus Centre and halted bus service.
I had rushed that morning to get ready for one of my two jobs, waiting to catch a bus from Hastings and Boundary that would then drop me off at Commercial so I could reach my final destination of Princess and Hastings. A silly system, but one I had to live with.
I ran down my apartment-complex steps to stand in the October shitty weather to wait for a bus that never showed.
When I realized the bus was not going to show, I ran to my car and braved the morning rush hour. Upon arrival at work - late - there were very few spaces left to park.
I must have worked too close to an intersection. When I went outside after work to retrieve my car, it was gone - towed.
Donna Peterson, the protester, probably didn't realize how much she was disrupting commuters' lives that day. She probably didn't think about the domino effect that could result. Or maybe she just didn't care about the consequences of he actions.
Coast Mountain Bus Co. is considering legal action against her. Good.

Dicks and dogs
Was Jeremy Pete, the guy (hesitation in calling him a "man") who put his week-old daughter up for sale on Craigslist just joking around? Who cares. Pete, who was involved in the death of Vancouver Police dog Nitro (in New Westminster), really does sound like a "dick," for lack of a harsher word. Dogs and babies alike may be safer if he were behind bars.

View should include the trees
Queen Elizabeth Park's tree management are considering the cutting of 70 trees that are blocking the view.
Life in BC means living with trees. They should be celebrated, especially in parks. Aren't we as proud of our trees as we are of our metropolis?
I'd welcome trees blocking my view of an ugly city, anytime.

A little girl who loved horses
The vehicular homicide of 4-year-old Alexa Renee Middelaer in Delta on May 17 will probably go down as one of the saddest stories of 2008. Not only was a beautiful little girl's life stolen away, but the fact charges against the drunk, speeding driver have still not been laid makes the murder even more devastating and frustrating. Condolences go out to the family.

Killing time

New home

East side newsletter

I'm in there a bit:

http://carnegie.vcn.bc.ca/index.pl/may_108_Page01#top

Braggin'

An editorial I wrote for the 100 Mile Free Press was picked up in William's Lake, as well:

http://web.bcnewsgroup.com/portals-code/monitor.cgi?paper=37&id=1223477

Not a huge deal... But worth notin'.

Update:

Also published in Kelowna:

http://web.bcnewsgroup.com/portals-code/monitor.cgi?paper=113&id=1230003

And Langley:

http://web.bcnewsgroup.com/portals-code/monitor.cgi?paper=47&id=1224971

And Chilliwack:

http://web.bcnewsgroup.com/portals-code/monitor.cgi?paper=39&id=1230082

In the country

The eyes have it

Phantasmagoria

Here's a song I wrote many years ago in response to a poem someone wrote me. I recently collaborated with a friend and put it to guitar and added a dash of piano.

It's a tad cheesey, a tad sad...enjoy it, hate it--I really don't care.

Earth

Please vote for this song at http://www.25000.ca/.

Thank you!

Bide-on empty shores

Remain-on fading land

Watching-for sign of you

What crumbles needs to ground

But what suffers wants to drown

A grad's lament

When I first walked into the New West Campus while taking part-time classes three years ago, I have to admit I found the vast concrete concourse intimidating; it wasn’t as welcoming as its newer-built Coquitlam counterpart, with its couch-seating Atrium and lower ceilings. But that didn’t keep me away—I ended up becoming a full-time student at New West. With this semester’s end comes the conclusion of my Douglas College stay, and now, without the comfort of employment ready after grad, I wonder if I could have done more.
Perhaps I didn’t study enough, didn’t focus enough during class. Maybe I should have been listening harder that day I was tired during a lecture and I let my fatigue guide me to a www.perezhilton.com digression.
Supposedly these feelings are normal, and my apprehension and guilt are justified. More experienced learners try to coax the worry from me with lines like, “Everyone feels that way,” or “You’ll have a job in no time,” but I wonder why I let Facebook distract me when I was paying so much money to be taught.
I realize I am a child—and subsequent casualty—of technology: impatient with a short attention span and more receptive to watching and listening rather than studying textbooks. Perhaps teaching plans have not evolved enough to suit the ever-changing needs of students. Or maybe that’s just an excuse for my own inattentiveness. But it’s tough to sit in front of a computer and not give in to the YouTube God; worship involves taking a break from rational thought and viewing quick clips of random hilarity—it gets addictive.
Faithful followers of YouTube and its apostles, Perez and Facebook, number in the millions, and students are the main chunk of those devoted to the daily website pilgrimage. It’s nice to take a break from a busy brain but it also contributes to a growing Procrasti-Nation, a world where people are too distracted to get anything done. I’m not saying I didn’t accomplish anything while at Douglas; on the contrary, I learned a lot from instructors and fellow students, and did well in my classes. But I can’t shake the guilt eroding at my graduation pride: could I have done better if I hadn’t given in to cyber-distraction?
It took me a long time to ignore the television deity but I eventually lost my faith as I realized its sedentary and redundant worship caused me to pay penance in the form of a fatter butt. Yet even the threat of a bigger behind doesn’t calm the siren-like call of the Internet.
So now, as I receive my diploma and scout for work…
… Sorry, but the “Two-legged horse” on YouTube is so damn funny. What was I writing about?

Goodbye

I do my best

to miss you

in silence.

"Walking Eagle"

"Premier Gordon Campbell of B.C. was invited to address a major gathering of the Indian Nation last weekend in Kitimat, B.C. He spoke for almost an hour on his future plans for increasing every First Nation's present standard of living. He referred to his career as Mayor of Vancouver, how he had signed "YES" for every Indian issue that came to his desk for approval. At the end of his speech, the Tribe gave the Premier a plaque inscribed with his new Indian name: Walking Eagle. The proud Campbell then departed in his motorcade, waving to all.

A news reporter later asked the group of chiefs how they come to select the new name given to Campbell. They explained that Walking Eagle is the name given to a bird so full of shit it can no longer fly."

Quoted from the Carnegie Newsletter, April 15, 2008.
http://carnnews.org/
(Cute story but probably not true. No author or source cited.)

Beautiful Danger

Vote and help!

Hey,
I need your vote!
Please go to http://www.25000.ca/
Just throw your email addy in and vote for "Laura K" (that's me). I could win $20, 000 worth of recording time and $5, 000 cash, as well.

The site will send you an initial confirmation email that may go into your junk mail, but you MUST confirm your email in order for the vote to count.

Vote with every email address you have, every day you can!!

Thanks so much!!

Rosa said...

"See how the night shines. But it's not real, you know. There's a void beoynd the glory and that's what I have to paint."
"To Dream of White Horses," June Considine

Wow!

Tori's still got it

Tori Amos has always had something to say, but it is usually hidden in cryptic prose and left up to the listener’s imagination to interpret. Now in her mid-40s, the outspoken American songwriter has been releasing albums for over 15 years and has never managed to break into standard radio play. It has almost been a year since her latest, American Doll Posse, was released and built on the success within her rabid underground following but didn’t further her mainstream popularity.
American Doll Posse comes off as an eccentric ploy for album sales to non-fans—and is a sure favourite for Amos-addicts. The retail album special package edition includes a number of perks to entice consumers to purchase rather than download. Along with the 23-song CD, bonus visual DVD and pack of Amos-image postcards, a 34-page booklet explains the five different roles Amos personifies throughout the album: Tori, Pip, Clyde, Isabel, and Santa. These characters share the vocal duties on the diversified tracks, and each personality has a unique appearance and form of expression (something similar to what she did for the 2001 covers album Strange Little Girls).
“Yo George” starts off the album, a blatant plea to President George W. Bush. Amos, in her blonde, rebellious Isabel incarnation, does nothing to mask her disdain for the president, singing that America is stuck with the “madness of King George…you have the whole nation on all fours.”
The first single from the album, “Big Wheel,” is a honky-tonk danceable number. Except for the midway breakdown, where Tori proclaims she is a “M-I-L-F, don’t you forget,” the clapping beat throughout the song makes it difficult for listeners not to tap their feet.
Clyde, Amos’s brunette manifestation, is the most artsy of the bunch, and it shows in the songs credited to her form. “Bouncing Off Clouds” is Amos at her dramatic best, reminiscent of her 1999 album To Venus and Back. It is easy to picture the singer floating through the sky while playing her piano during this upbeat tune. In the booklet, Clyde optimistically states, “All works of art start as potential. Similarly, all relationships start as potential.” It’s that thoughtful nature that shines through in Clyde’s other tunes, “Girl Disappearing,” “Roosterspur Bridge” and “Beauty of Speed”.
The darker and more guitar-driven tracks of the album, performed by the raven-wigged Pip, including “Teenage Hustling” and “Fat Slut,” continue Amos’s tradition of writing in girls and teens as the protagonists (or villains) in her usually abstract lyrics, apparent in the albums Little Earthquakes (1992) and Under the Pink (1994).
The sultry Santa, pictured in tight dresses and short blond tresses, performs the more fun ditties on the record (“You Can Bring Your Dog,” Programmable Soda”) until the last track. “Dragon” ends the album with more of a whimper than a bang, but still manages to round out the set well.
As has always been the case throughout her 11 albums, piano dominates the instrumental accompaniment. Along with the staple Bösendorfer, a few unconventional instruments find their way onto the record, like ukuleles and tap shoes.
Fans will greatly appreciate American Doll Posse, but those unfamiliar with her work might not even make it through the first song. The use of Amos’s alter egos is an interesting idea, but it seems rehashed since Strange Little Girls employed a similar concept.
Amos will undoubtedly continue to capitalize on her aging eccentricities until her fingers grow arthritic and unable to play her piano. She is an acquired taste—those who love her will keep listening until she is on her deathbed but those who don’t understand her now will be further alienated by her blunt behaviour and ever-maturing body and mind.

The Other Boleyn Girl looks better naked

Eric Bana, Natalie Portman, and Scarlett Johansson star in the period film The Other Boleyn Girl, a movie that has more ambition than Belinda Stronach. But despite the A-list cast, it ultimately comes across as a shoddily-edited bimbo of a flick—nice to look at but lacking any real content.
If viewers unaware of the Boleyn/Henry historical saga are looking to follow along with the movie, they might be completely dumbfounded; the editing is so poorly done that one minute Queen Catherine is on the throne and the next she disappears for good. (Historians, too, may get lost—Showtime’s drama The Tudors has far more accuracy than Boleyn Girl.)
Besides the editing, the camera work is also horrible. Perhaps the director was trying to add to the scandalous nature of the movie by filming from behind columns and through drapes, or perhaps he was just trying to be unconventional, but either way, the strange angles and obstacles in front of the camera just distract the audience.
The incredible costume design goes a long way toward redeeming the film—but even it is tarnished by the confusing editing. The Boleyn sisters sometimes wear the same outfit for days in a row, and they get to wear much fancier clothes than the other ladies-in-waiting. It all seems a bit random. One could argue that in Medieval Times women rarely washed and didn’t possess infinite wardrobes, but when the only amazing feature of a movie is glaringly inconsistent, it feels sloppy.
Bana plays a reluctant King Henry VIII, and halfway through the movie he seems to lose interest in his role completely, perhaps realizing the poor calibre of the film he is starring in. One glaring omission from the scenes is Bana without clothes. While there are short flashes of his hot, hairy man-chest, the glimpses are brief and unsatisfying; the other male cast members are definitely not gawk-worthy, so the lack of a nude king helps to sink the film.
Portman and Johansson, however, do a good job of bringing the pretty, but Johansson plays a flaky, spineless Mary Boleyn almost too well. Her performance is half-hearted, and at times it is embarrassing to watch her spit out her fake English accent. On the other hand Portman, as ambitious social climber Anne Boleyn, struts her refined acting chops as usual. But, it is interesting to watch her wear a corset and try to squish boobs out of her mammary inadequacies.
If viewers want to see a film with boring actors, frolicking children in fields of golden wheat, predictable dialogue, and a fully clothed Eric Bana, then The Other Boleyn Girl is not one to miss. Otherwise, would-be audiences can save their $11 and buy a sheet of glass to chew on––which they will probably enjoy more.

Maxim & Cosmo, featuring T.J. Dawe Surrey Arts Centre, March 14

He loves giving chocolate, back rubs, and little notes—if he didn’t look like Danny Tanner from Full House then T.J. Dawe would be the perfect husband. But according to Dawe, looks aren’t as important to women as they are to men; and if that’s true, then he gets a lot of pussy.
Dawe is an actor/comedian/writer/director and quasi-women’s rights activist who has done over 700 solo performances in his life. He performed his current show, Maxim & Cosmo, on Friday, March 14, to a mostly female crowd in the sex capital of the world: Surrey.
Perched on a stool between sparse background props, Dawe began his animated dialogue by admitting he judges people by scanning the titles on their bookshelves: literally judging a book by its cover. But by doing this, he started noticing that women all owned the same books and one day he started reading chick lit—and he discovered his feminine side, which has helped him on and off the stage.
“Here’s the thing,” said Dawe in an interview with the Other Press, “the things I describe as “what women want” aren’t hard. Backrubs—I love giving backrubs. A seemingly selfless reason for a woman to take her shirt off? And let me touch her? Sign me up! Chocolate—I used to keep a chocolate bar hidden in the apartment at all times for my girlfriend. She’d get to craving chocolate, I’d disappear into anther room, bring it out—and voila! It was as if I presented her with a diamond.”
Although Dawe admits he doesn’t like sports, dogs, strippers, or guns, (and likes Rush and foreplay), he is still very much a man—a slob who loves sex with women. Nothing is left sacred in his routine, and he talks about why North American swear words are body and church based (holy shit, asshole, cock), society’s pressure on women to face up to an impossible standard (the Virgin Mother), and why there is no patron saint of sex (“Where is Samantha, patron saint of girls who like to fuck?”).
Dawe writes his own monologue, which is inspired by personal experience. “I stopped trying to be a regular actor because I wanted to say my own lines. It’s much more fun, much more satisfying to me to talk about what happens to me or to people I’ve talked to. The everyday lives of people are incredibly interesting to me. So the show’s an extension of me talking to a friend, or a group of friends.”
The hour-and-a-half-long act also has serious overtones, where Dawe shows as much empathy for women’s plights (rape, sexism, lack of orgasms) as only a man can. But his most humorous moments come when he imitates himself having sex, and when he acts as a freshly-laid Jesus and proclaims the “second-coming.” Hearing a man yell out to a hundred people that he has “struck cunt!” or wants someone to fill him with sperm is pretty amusing, too.
There may be “no flying kicks, no falling chandeliers, no dance sequences” and “no slipping on a banana peel,” but Dawes reminds those that may crave action that “there are dick jokes” in Maxim & Cosmo; and although sometimes predictable, the peals of laughter emitting from the crowd shows his spoken humour makes up for the lack of physical shtick and banana peels.
Dawe publishes all of his previous scripts, and they are available through his website, www.tjdawe.com. (If he publishes Maxim & Cosmo, it will be the perfect stocking stuffer for any woman’s boyfriend—it should actually be required reading for guys in high school.) He is also looking ahead. “I’m memorizing for my next show (which takes months of practice), I’ve got a summer tour booked for it, and I hit the road in May.” Let’s hope Dawe strikes cunt again with his next performance.