Monthly Archives: May 2004

jean-paul sartre.


If you’re free this evening, I recommend you head over to the A/V Room of Dartmouth High School at 7PM. The kids have put together an excellent production of Jean-Paul Sartre’s rarely-performed existentialist masterpiece, The Flies. It’s $8 ($5 for students) and well worth it.

When I was in high school, a few people I know got together and staged a version of Jean-Paul Sartre’s often-performed existentialist masterpiece, No Exit. I went to check it out on opening night.

The burden of twentieth-century despair must have weighed heavily on our young actors. At one point, someone uttered a line, and someone else responded with another line, only it was the wrong line, it was a line from much later in the play, and so the first actor responded to that line, and so on. And the desperation mounted with the realization that there was no going back.

You’ve all heard of foreshadowing. Now I’d like to introduce you to another theatrical device–“foreshortening.”

You could say that their omission only heightened the sense of fracture and existential anxiety in the play. Although I suspect most of the audience was oblivious to this small disaster.

A local theatre airhead gave this performance a rough ride in her column in the daily newspaper. Not because they’d left out a quarter of the play, but because she’d once seen a version of No Exit in which the characters had gradually disrobed over the course of the action until they were fully naked, and what were those high school kids thinking, trying to do a version of Sartre’s existentialist masterpiece in which they didn’t wind up taking off all their clothes?

Yeah, I liked Sartre. Nausea ruined my life when I was fifteen. Oh the despair.

Hell is other people, yeah.

spring technology


All I did yesterday was walk around downtown with my video camera going “My god! It would suck to be at work right now! Imagine those suckers who are stuck inside at a desk right now! I have to go to work tonight, and even that kind of sucks! Wow! I wish I never had to work again!”

I may never be wealthy, but at least I will be rich in sunshiney afternoons. Plus I own some wicked toys. God I love technology. Technology in the hands of the masses! The revolution has now begun.

Colour TV is playing at the Attic on Saturday night. We are last-minute additions, opening for a band called Shyne Factory. If you don’t show up, our audience will consist entirely of scantily-clad women smoking cigarettes, Liquor Dome-style. We’re going to burn the place down.

Last night I dreamed that I ordered poutine at a restaurant and it came with chicken in it. The guy apologized and said that normally they charge $17 for poutine with chicken in it, but since it was their mistake, he could let me have the “pouletine” for only $6. In my dream it was the yummiest thing I’d eaten all year. Now I can’t stop thinking about poutine with chicken in it.

I’ve been listening to nothing but old Skinny Puppy all week. Fuck you and your “music.”


I was hanging out with Gerry at the Marquee last night. There was a guy in the smoking room wearing a Triple Five Soul hoodie. I glanced at him over my shoulder, and silver spots boiled in front of my eyes.

“Ger,” I said. “Read what it says on that guy’s hoodie.”

Triple Faxe Hands.

The idea came to me in a flash. Triple Faxe Hands. Imagine a three-handed alien playing Faxe Hands with a can of Faxe taped to each of its three tentacles.

Now imagine this in human terms. You and a partner tape your hands together, three-legged race style, sharing a can of Faxe. You also each have a can of Faxe in your other hand. That makes two people–three hands–three cans of Faxe. Triple Faxe Hands.

You cannot separate yourselves until all the Faxe has been consumed.

This works out to a can-and-a-half per person. It’s less than the two-cans-per-person of normal Faxe Hands, but this is made up for by the fact that you and your partner have to go everywhere and do everything together.

I wanna see pictures of Triple Faxe Hands in action.

Soon as I get some time off work, I’m going to be playing Fireball Hands (I’m a pussy).