These guys are so totally stoked. I would venture to say that this is the true meaning of the word “STOKED.”
There’s a chick on a flying carpet and a bird in a tree with a little yellow beak and it just makes me want to run through the woods waving my arms in the air or take a kayak trip with four of my closest friends.
Oh yeah P.S… Gerry’s band OH GOD and my band COLOUR TV are playing at the Seahorse on Saturday. It’s the CD release party for Crystal‘s band THE HOLD.
So what you get is a dozen of the city’s most violent musicians, all playing in one place, all looking to blow the fucking roof off the Seapig.
Show starts at 11pm, don’t be late asshole!
Today is the one-year anniversary of the Gottingen Street fire.
It’s also Hopscotch Jackson’s birthday:
[Ahh, summertime. Ahhhhh, Hopscotch.]
I took Hopscotch out to lunch at the Mid-East Food Centre. It was deee-licious. We read The Coast over lunch, which I only mention because The Coast has a cool cover this week; very stylish.
Upon leaving the “Lebanon,” who did we see on the sidewalk but Gerry.
“AHHHHHHHH!!!” yelled Gerry. He ran and flung himself into a snowbank. He rolled over on his back, legs kicking in the air. “AHHHHHHH!!!”
I ran towards Gerry and dove on top of him. My bag of hummous and pita went flying. “BLLEEEEEAAAHHHHHH!!!” I yelled. I steamrolled Gerry and we rolled around and around in the snow.
“AHHHHHHHH!!!” we yelled. We stopped yelling and laid there for a moment, and then we got up and dusted ourselves off.
Gerry was on his way to get his hair done. He showed Hopscotch his blond roots. Betcha never knew Gerry was a blond.
Some guy passed us while we were all standing there on the sidewalk. He smiled and nodded to us on the way by.
“That guy,” said Gerry. “Pretending he’s all down with the freakout.”
Claudette: “Why do they call those kids the ‘War Amps’? They weren’t in any war. They should call them the ‘Born Amps.'”
Me: “The what? The Porn Amps?”
Claudette: “No no no… the Born Amps.”
Me: “Maybe they should call them the ‘That’ll Teach You To Play In The Driveway Behind A Reversing Car Amps.'”
I had a tough time falling asleep last night, but I finally dozed off around 4 or 5 in the morning. First I dreamed I was in Boston. I arrived in town all alone and wandered around with my drum machine and synthesizer. My hotel room was outside on a balcony. That’s pretty cool, but what if it rains? I wound up getting a drive to a beach where I played music for a superhero soundclash.
Then I dreamed I was fooling around with a certain young woman of university age at her place. Then her parents showed up. Her parents were rich, weird and mean. I had to leave. Sorry baby.
Then I dreamed I was in a library. The librarian was old and quite cantankerous. He was one of those people who would say “SHHHH!” and his shushing would be louder and more disruptive than the whispering it was meant to suppress.
Then I dreamed I was fucking your girlfriend. You left the room and we were all over each other. I’m sorry dude, but your girlfriend is really really horny.
I was awakened at 9:30 by some commotion on the Bloomfield back deck. There was a bit of clunking around; soon followed by a loud, sustained, high-pitched whine.
I was lying there in bed thinking, “What the hell is that sound?”
The audio comedian in me replied, “Two point five kilohertz.”
It occurred to me that it’s been weeks since I’ve been called upon to recognize a frequency. I haven’t done live sound in a while. The Marquee Club has been closed for renovations for almost a month, and I haven’t really sought out any freelance sound gigs.
So I grabbed my laptop from beside my bed (my bed-partner last night was a highly submissive virtual love-doll) and flipped it open to a tone generator program. I fired up a sine wave at 2.5K.
The tone matched exactly with what was coming from the deck. It was such a perfect match that I had to double-check to make sure my speakers were turned on. I verified it by listening to 2K and then 3.15. “EEEEEEE…” Nope, the sound coming from outside was pretty much a pure tone of 2.5KHz.
I had to get up and look out the window to find out what I was listening to. It was the sound of the fuel delivery man filling our oil tank with heating oil. I listened until the end of the delivery, when the sound slowly dropped in pitch and then stopped.
Then he pulled the nozzle out of the tank and ran away down the driveway.
I went back to bed, fell back asleep and had more fucking dreams.
I wonder if pitch is a function of the length of the hose, or if it’s the size of the nozzle that matters?
What I learned from not drinking.
~ When you get home late, throw yourself down on your bed and conk out with the lights on and your contact lenses in:
…it’s not because you are drunk; it’s because you are tired.
~ When you wake up the next morning with a terrible headache:
…it’s not because you are hungover; it’s because you were breathing secondhand smoke all night.
~ When you can’t remember much of what happened the night before:
…it’s not because you blacked out; it’s because not much happened.
~ When you think you are depressed:
…you are not depressed; you are angry.
CBC – Nova Scotia: “CFB Shearwater recorded more than 90 cm of snow Thursday, shattering the one-day record of 50.8 cm set in 1944″
Took some snopix.
Halifax has imposed a citywide curfew. If you are not part of central services, then it is illegal for you to be on the streets after 11pm tonight.
Mark Black and I are thinking of going out after 11 to throw snowballs at cop cars. According to the State Of Emergency, cops are technically permitted to shoot you on sight, no questions asked. So we’re going to try to throw snowballs at cops and maybe get ourselves shot at.
Cool!
By the way, if we ever get dug out of this mess, there’s a party at Bloomfield House tomorrow night. You’re all invited, especially you bloggers and blogettes.
Mark Black left the house half-an-hour ago to go across the street to Israel Convenience and hasn’t returned yet. Search party, anyone? Shit dude, another five minutes and I’m restarting The Matrix.
The theme of tomorrow night’s party is slippers. You should bring a pair of slippers and wear them around our house.
The supplementary theme of tomorrow night’s party is booze.
CBC News: Maritimes hit by ‘weather bomb’
So it’s a state of emergency in Nova Scotia. They’re calling it the worst snowstorm anyone can remember, unless they’re old enough to remember the Great Blizzard of ’48, in which case this is nothing and you kids today have it easy.
“Doctors and paramedics are screening 911 calls.”
Hey Gerry or someone, you should call 911 and tell them your tummy hurts.
You made some soup, but you didn’t eat it.
You made some coffee, but you didn’t drink it.
You made your bed, but you didn’t lie in it.
You cleaned your room, and then you left it.
You washed your clothes, but you didn’t wear them.
You bought a bike, but you didn’t ride it.
You took a picture, but you didn’t look at it.
You brushed your teeth, but you didn’t smile.
[written by philip & la rue]
Yesterday afternoon I went into the studio to record some Spinoza vocals. I screamed so hard I hurt myself. You know that feeling when you stifle a big sneeze and it feels like you’ve popped a blood vessel in your brain? I’ve had a headache ever since.
A real good, bad headache.
Today I rode my bike up Agricola Street. In my head: still screaming.
A/V is hitting the road tomorrow to play a few shows. I’ll be in Charlottetown, PEI at the Arts Guild on Friday night.
Also performing two shows at Studio 112 in Saint John on Saturday, an all-ages as well as a bar show.
If it’s nice out like it has been, I’ll bring my generator and play some out on the streets.
I will be allowing plenty of time for travel and I will drive within the speed limit because I don’t feel like talking to any police officers.
Dump your boyfriend and call in sick for work.
This ring belonged to my grandmother. Her brother Arnold made it for her in 1943, when he was in the army. He made it from a piece of the fuselage of a crashed airplane. He didn’t have any gemstones, so instead he used a piece of red plastic.
Like the velvet backdrop? That’s my dad’s bathrobe.
