klovharu

c.gibson@telus.net — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 00:21:08 GMT

A little more than a year ago I posted this about a movie being filmed down the street. A movie so hilariously shitty-sounding that it actually forced me to write in my lj about it. And I don't crank the old lj to life for just anything, which is how you know it must have sounded REALLY SHITTY. Here's a lil' refresher: It's called "Tooth Fairy" and is the story of a "minor league hockey player who, after telling a little girl there is no tooth fairy, is brought to Fairyland and informed he must work as a tooth fairy for a week. This obligatory service not only teaches him the necessity of belief, but allows him to rekindle his own lost dreams!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!fairydust!!!!!!!fairydust!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Well, that movie has been made. And it stars The Rock.

Now you want to see it, don't you. DON'T YOU. You sick bastard. Go watch the trailer. I know what you're thinking. You'd totally watch this some night, maybe a weeknight when you're sitting around with a mountain of weed or like, twenty homemade pies that will spoil if you don't eat them soon, and anyway a friend is coming over and you both hate your respective lives and just want to feel dirty, really dirty and covered in pie juice, weed residue and the silky tapestry of muscle and facial puppetry that is Dwayne Johnson.

I understand. No really. Go 'head. I just hope the combination of Julie Andrews, Billy Crystal (now, not long ago, not when that was okay), and small children missing teeth won't hit the self-hatred switch too soon and have you rolling around on the floor attempting to vomit and punch yourself in the head before The Rock has even BEGUN to be taught the necessity of belief.

(Once again, thank you for your support of BC's film industry).

nicky nicky nine door

c.gibson@telus.net — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 15:10:25 GMT

This my version of a 1942 war propaganda poster, the design of which I really like. I left out GET YOUR FREE FAG BAG from the original because that just isn't cool, man. And spot the mutation/mistake. It was late when I drew this.

I'm trying not to toss every mundane personal experience onto twitter. I'm trying. So there's this.

grape raisin

c.gibson@telus.net — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 00:24:34 GMT

without explanation

c.gibson@telus.net — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 05:17:38 GMT

Let it suffice to say that the water-ring mustache is not what I'd hoped for. I drew this from memory, and I haven't looked at Garfield since I was about eight. It's not a dead-on likeness, but it disturbs me that Garfield's head floats around in my brain with even this much clarity.

4 am, a time for reflection and hey I'm sleepy

c.gibson@telus.net — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 11:25:51 GMT

AAGH. I'm so excited about my friends' comics tonight that I can't function within 140 characters on twitter and have to bring it back to lj.

Possibly the dorkiest sentence ever, but it will stand. No seriously, some friends of mine? Yeah, they make comics. Welcome to Brag City. Population: ME RIGHT HERE.

First because I just found out that (apparently) it's available RIGHT NOW and can't wait to get my hands on it: Wonton Soup 2 by James Stokoe. If you haven't done it yet go buy Wonton 2 and save the planet. I mean just in the sense that good comics help... children... grow. No seriously, shut up. What I've seen of Wonton 2 is so rad that it puts the (already sweet) first volume to shame. It SHAMES its brother. [Wait, no, it's not actually out yet. Bide your time.]

Speaking of stuff I should already own, I don't have North World 2 (Lars Brown) yet! This must be remedied promptly. I haven't seen any of the inside goods yet but the cover pleases me and it shall be mine.

Third but not second, Brandon Graham's KING CITY 2. It just looks better in caps. I'm so relieved and chuffed and wheezy that this book is coming our way. Words do not even describe. This post is already kind of a circle jerk, huh. OH WELL. The pages for KING CITY 2 are so good that I leveled up just by looking at them, and then I touched and cuddled them and I learned to fly for short distances. The upcoming Multiple Warheads stuff is equally as capable of sexing one's face. Dinner metaphor: we've been starving for a while now but get ready to eat so much that your shrunken stomach can't take it and you actually die. No wait, nicer than that! But dying is worth it, for these comics, I'm telling you.

Fourth but CONSTANTLY IN MY MIND EVEN WHILE SLEEPING is Sharknife Dub Z. This book is my long-time holy grail of comics I need to read, cover to cover, no fooling, don't even talk to me for a few hours after I get my hands on it, seriously, I will hurt you. Every page I've seen that's going into this thing is like no page that's come before. It almost needs to be struck by lightning so that legends will be told long after we're gone about this book they called Sharknife: the Z and Z. Saints will be made of those that were in the presence of this book, and anyone who got a paper cut from its pages will be granted strange powers. Oh my god I just blacked out for a second and, what's this? These words I've typed, they can only be... PROPHECY DREAM??!!?

Plus, and not in book-form yet but please santa let it be soon, Tikboom/Any and All comics by Jacob Ferguson. Jacob's comics make me so happy that I'm a little paranoid they'll turn out addictive and illegal. And they're only getting better in a big way.

But NONE OF THE ABOVE are even what I'm MOST excited about, friend-wise, comic-wise, tonight, because my BFF makes amazing comics and her book is on its way now for good and serious. It's Beast by Marian Churchland, you heard it here first, except I know Brandon has mentioned it a lot and his lj is actually, you know, read by people. But I saw it first! First dibs forever.

So guys, if it's cool, I'll just casually hitch myself to your rising stars and when you soar into the heavens I'll be stretched in different directions and get ripped into many pieces, of which the largest will be my torso. THE END?

PS - Lots of people and projects I didn't mention because my brain died but it doesn't mean I don't love you and want your creative babies in my eye-wombs. All my non-comics friends who mainly lurk, I'll leech off your success too. No worries.

hang in thar

c.gibson@telus.net — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 02:28:41 GMT

Peg leg kitten for Jacob. Scanner's not hooked up so I took a picture.

snarkjakten

c.gibson@telus.net — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 01:40:56 GMT

Doldrums gone. Freaking out still widely available.

End of term. YES.

kentucky

c.gibson@telus.net — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 17:17:49 GMT

Ever since I posted three days ago I've been in and out of the doldrums. Should've known. Damn doldrums.

Now I'm in the mood for a Nat's Hearty breakfast at White Spot but it's snowing here and that makes things more difficult. Tea first.

No sleep last night: sort of a project. (Twitter may have ruined me for full sentences.)

Mainly just wanted to post this William Gedney image.

I want to emulate that kid as much as possible in future life.

dude

c.gibson@telus.net — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 16:52:19 GMT

This year is better than last year. And by year I mean fall to spring, because that's how my mind works. Summer is liminal, just sort of tacked on to each year and then it blurs into the next.

Sleep seems like a good idea right now.

Only, it just occurred to me that it might not be obvious enough that I'm talking about my life here. I'm not talking about world events other people's lives or anything. Please. I would NEVER. But you probably got that. I'm really tired right now so it seemed to me like you might not, you know, get that.

Also, by better I mean better.

that's why you don't climb that water ladder, sugar feet

c.gibson@telus.net — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 09:17:43 GMT

It's not cool when I try to search for a file and end up blundering onto ancient emails from my past life as a moron. No. That's unfair. Self-doubt is a disease. I meant my life as a moron. Haaa... what?

I really have to delete my archives one of these days, but I just know as soon as I do I'll need an alibi that only those emails can provide.

On the plus side, I found what I was looking for. Old sweet shit.

Which brings me somehow to: Why did I come back to Vancouver when everybody in this city and/or house is festering with plague? There's a cold going around like crazy. I probably started it but I don't want it, and I don't think it's beyond me to catch it again and start all over.

Allergy update because that's my thing now, I do sincerely hope: While my allergies to my own dog have knock-on-wood-and-believe-in-magical-thinking gone away, I'm now allergic to Moss, who is Marian's dog and a very nice fellow. Hopefully this too will pass, and soon my allergies will arbitrarily be triggered by dogs I'll never even meet, that live in Mexico, maybe. I'd be okay with that.

Huh. I started this entry to purge myself of ick feelings, and it worked. Now I know the healing power of Post an Entry. Thank you, Post an Entry, you are almost as good as Make Success of Life. No, better!

it has two cats in it / I like that it has two cats

c.gibson@telus.net — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 05:55:00 GMT

I have a twitter account now. I'm already completely addicted to posting inane shit and frustrated that nobody posts as much inane shit as I want them to. This is always how it goes with me and the internet. I badmouth a thing until I start doing the thing and then I demand that everyone I know do it ten times as much as I do. For my entertainment, yes.

So far all I seem able to, uh, twitter? About? Is eating and occasionally going places, usually to eat. There's quite a lot of food talk in general, on twitter. It makes you want to seek out better-sounding food so you can be all "fucking avocado sandwich, fuckers". Speaking of which, I am hungry.

I'm also back living the life, being active, almost not even coughing all the time. It may be a weak start, and yeah it's really pretty weak, but I'm making moves. (No I'm not.) Listen, I got my story in and critiqued yesterday and that was cool, (getting it in, I mean, not the other thing) and I told my friend I'd take her slot for handing in next, which is in two weeks time and probably a terrible idea. But I was thinking, "I can do that" and I was thinking "now I will order a burger with bacon" and I did.

Speaking of stuff like that, my flickr account has been not recognizing my email for a while now, since before I got this laptop, at least. It seriously looks as if I am going to have to contact them or something to get things in order, which is poison to me. Luckily I left my camera at a party three weeks ago, and what with being sick and all, haven't gotten it back yet. It's in safe hands. Loving it, holding it. I think it's cheating on me.

I'm reading these Australian kids books that Marian lent me while I was sick. The Ranger's Apprentice series. Like, fantasy style. All rangers and everything. Anyway, during some serious ranger training this grizzled old ranger master says to his apprentice, "Self-doubt is a disease. Keep thinking you can't do something and you'll make it true." That's not the exact qoute because I can't be bothered to go back and find it but I've decided to paraphrase it constantly in my head. Self-doubt IS a disease.

Unless you're evil. You know what I mean, though? It's weird how things I've heard a thousand times before can be rephrased slightly and wrapped in a grizzled ranger package and suddenly have an effect.

Lately I've been really excited about the making of comics. Friends making them, me wanting to make small ones. I don't know where that came from, or where it went in the first place, actually. I never felt like wasn't excited about it, but now I'm excited! And I've been like this since before I read Bakuman, I swear! Which was the other day! I mean, I find Bakuman surreal and relate to it on very few levels, but I like it. I didn't expect to. One of the only things I can't get over is - - - Okay spoiler here if you're like me and can't handle that kind of thing, it's okay, I accept you when nobody else will - - - the Bakuman kids fucking toss away an entire comic that they just completed! I mean, they fucking toss it in a park or something! Can't they even place it in a drawer if they're not going to use it? It's still meaningful if they don't use it. They completed a story! They're not using it on purpose! Self-sacrifice and don't let it hold you back! Cool! JUST PUT IT IN A DRAWER DON"T TOSS IT WILLY NILLY IN A RAVINE FUCK YOU GUYS.

So um, the tall one with glasses, the writer? Yeah, he's just like me.

Make your peace with it.

late afternoon

c.gibson@telus.net — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 00:02:05 GMT

I'm sick. That's my excuse.

The Reader - I read this book for one of my first english classes in collage, and didn't really take to it. I generally enjoy Ralph Fiennes but here I was more interested in the kid who plays him younger. I doff my hat to him for the full frontal moments. We need more naked dudes (visible dick) in movies. Kate Winslet has laid down the gauntlet of taking her pants off a lot. Is there no one else? Is there no one else to challenge her?

W. - I finally saw this. It's very weird to me that anyone would try and make Bush biopic while Bush was still president. Where's the hindsight? And what's the deal with ELISABETH SMART as Laura Bush? I know Oliver Stone is the guy who cast Anthony Hopkins as Nixon, but it's just distracting. They give her one wrinkle and pop her in bed wearing a strappy nightgown and I just can't accept that Laura Bush wears strappy nightgowns! I don't want to picture that! But that's nothing compared to Thandie Newton as Condalezza Rice, and the guy who plays Colin Powell. They really kind of suck. It's like they're doing funny voices the whole time. Josh Brolin on the other hand, I found eerily convincing. I kept forgetting he wasn't Bush despite his being so much more attractive. Then I'd catch myself checking him out and feel like I was checking Bush out, and gagging slightly, and the whole thing made me feel very conflicted.

The Changeling: - If this story had to made into a movie and not a sweet documentary, I wish it'd been produced and directed by some classy, restrained type with a better eye for casting. Angelina Jolie automatically puts the material into high fantasy with her exaggerated definition-of-beauty-now (not 1930's) face and heavy-duty Jolie makeup at all times. And Clint Eastwood, he's great with some stuff, but he totally lacks nuance here and ladles the cheese on when you really want just the facts, because the facts are amazing and this is actually, as billed, a true story. Weird shit.

Revolutionary Road - I liked this, which surprised me. Kate and Leo only once or twice channel Elisabeth Taylor and Paul Newman in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, which is a relief to me because actors playing couples in the 1950's drinking and arguing can sometimes appear to be having too much decadent fun-at-play for me to buy their pain. The grim factor is high here, but it's not entirely depressing. Not... entirely.

Alright, I'm stopping. No more of this movie shit until I write a story. My deadline is wednesday. Ew.

for future mumbling on bus

c.gibson@telus.net — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 09:15:33 GMT

I hate spoilers. I such a nerd about hating spoilers that it's embarrassing. For some reason I'm about to do some hardcore opinionated movie-related ranting, and I apologize for that because it's not the sort of thing I like read either. But I've watched a lot of movies this week and I have to do it. I just have to. There won't be any spoilers, though.

The Wrestler - I liked Mickey Rourke in this. It's so refreshing to see the guy's messed-up face in a movie because he looks like somebody I'd pass downtown and feel uncomfortable making eye contact with, if that makes any sense. Without him, with a blander, prettier actor, The Wrestler would be completely ridiculous. It's such a huge cliche. The plot and characters are all well-trodden Hollywood territory wrapped in a gritty, low-budget package, which is a combination that doesn't sit right with me. That said, I still bought into it and felt invested. I guess I thought the main character had bigger, sadder issues than the script was capable of addressing, so it didn't pay off and it didn't, in the end, feel real enough. And yeah, Rourke did a good job, but I think a lot of the push behind his awards buzz comes from a sense of astonishment on the part of the film community that the man is working. He is functioning as an actor! A good one! But there are a lot of good actors, you know?

Vicky Cristina Barcelona - Goddamn, Javier Bardem looks right in this. And who knew Penelope Cruise wasn't annoying in the right (Spanish) context? Unfortunately Woody Allen's recent movies, (by which I mean this and Match Point) while not sucking the big one, always have these young, beautiful, rich, white characters who stroll around taking pictures or playing tennis. I wish this movie was entirely about the older, more troubled and interesting people it features, who also happen to be sexy and Spanish. So all in all, not brilliant, but enjoyable. A caper! Not the gross edible kind but the other thing!

Benjamin Button - I didn't want to see this at all but Nicole, who cuts my hair, kept referring to it as "Old Baby", and that was enough to make me give it a chance. But what the hell? If this movie wasn't so fucking weird I'd totally dismiss it. It's all sepia toned and air brushed and Brad Pitt-faced. It just puts me off. And yet, Old Baby! Gross and interesting concept! Cate Blanchett! But it's all very Forrest Gump-y, (though Gump is a bard-bitten documentary by comparision, and much more re-watchable), and I don't know. I guess I don't think it's awful, but I don't think it's good either? Especially for David Fincher, whose stuff I tend to really enjoy, cheesy Brad face or no.

Milk - My favourite of the For Your Considerations so far. It made me bawl my eyes out, which I realize isn't really a recommendation to some of you but I think this story is so much more interesting than say, that of old baby. It's true and important! It means something! As for the mansexy, James Franco is cuter in this than he's been since Freaks and Geeks. Acting? Sean Penn BRINGS IT as Harvey Milk, but then he's kind of known for bringing it. Does that make it less impressive? I don't know. But him against Brad Pitt? No comparison. Brad Pitt has taken this long TO LEARN HOW TO TALK. Penn ftw.

That's it. I haven't seen Slumdog Millionaire yet because my parents insist I go see it with them. Which means it will probably never happen, because I can't be dragging old people's asses in and out of theatres when I could be playing my videogames, you know?

Speaking of which, I played Fallout 3 all night because the Alaska extension came out today. Now it's past 1am and I have to read all these stories for class tomorrow. Right now.

heaped high with slices of fruit

c.gibson@telus.net — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 11:58:29 GMT

Things have gotten a lot better. I have a hepa filter in my bedroom now and I can breath and sleep in here again. I've also become more deft at balancing over-the-counter antihistamines with my inhaler. It's tricky because the Benyadril (or whatever) fixes my eyes, nose, face, but shuts down the greater part of my brain, while the inhaler stops me from coughing but wires me up so I can't sleep. All told, I prefer the inhaler's side effects to the brain stop. I had the brain stop last wednesday during class and it was ridiculous. I couldn't get a comprehensible sentence out of my mouth to save my life and still I was incapable of shutting up. One thing I clearly remember droning on about was how, if you're calling 911 and want them to really pay attention, you should say that your emergency involves a baby. Like, come quickly, it's a baby.

(Yes, I've thought about it since then and it's occurred to me that you probably shouldn't lie and pretend to be/have an injured baby for quicker paramedic service, because that's weird and morally pretty fucked up. I think somebody originally told me to say "it's a baby" when calling 911 when I was a part-time nanny for a while and was actually looking after a baby. Uh...)

But WHO CARES AND MORE CRUCIALLY: The allergy thing seems to be lessening in general. I didn't use any anti-allergy stuff today and there was no sneezing, plus very little wheezing. I spent most of the day inside, too, with Happy. Then when I went out, Happy came with me. I have no idea what's going on, but I'm trying not to take anything for granted, to avoid jinxing it. Praise to breathing. Praise to dog.

It's 3:38 am. So silly.

at last

c.gibson@telus.net — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 03:10:43 GMT

Everything is all fucked up in my life because I've rapidly developed some crazy allergy symptoms and as it turns out, I'm allergic to Happy, my own dog.

Fuck, right? Excuse me while I turn bitter and grow old. I mean I can't even pretend to be all cool and not posting in my lj about this. I have to go see an allergist (doctor 345, I estimate) and hopefully maybe there's some shots I can take (injection 5078, bitter bitter bit bit) or maybe I'm just allergic to MOLD and my dog is covered with invisible MOLD. Meanwhile I'm trying to sleep in the spare room, minus one dog on chair, which is just a whole world of hurt, if you're me. And you know me. I'm totally me.

I fell into one of my patented fever-sleeps at about 5am this morning and then I was back up at 8am, cranky and as celebrity-rehab-style as possible, to watch the inauguration. I was freezing and everybody in DC was freezing and for some reason that was surreal, and the whole thing was dreamlike as anything could be, except far more well-reasoned and sensible than my dreams ever get, apart from Aretha's hat.*

The speech made me want to pull up my goddamn bootstraps and point towards a horizon but at the same time, I'm sick and heartbroken by not being able to spend time with my dog when I want to. Plus I live in Canada, and I don't even have a part-time job. But I'm such a sucker for a line about horizons, even in my bitter and resentment-filled, haggard, itchy old age.

Bigger picture (in my head, I mean, because obviously bigger picture, yes, I'm not insane) today was a good day. I'm sorry for the glum-ass dump I just took on your coffee table. It is stinky. I commiserate with you.

*on second thought, no, Bush Senior's hat was so much more frightening and hallucinatory. But he's Bush Senior so you expect that shit.

how oppresive the patriarchy is and shit

c.gibson@telus.net — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 05:54:16 GMT

I got a laptop for christmas, sort of. I had to wait for it to be built and then I had to wait for it to be tweaked and bedazzled by my computer guy. Now I actually have it. On my lap. I can't get used to the tiny, tiny keyboard. It's too quiet. And the touch-pad is freaking me out.

That aside, I like it. I'm really excited about sitting around in people's living rooms and having a computer of my own to be anti-social with. That's what I'm doing right now.

I have nothing to say. The deal is, I'm supposed to be writing and drinking. Through this exercise, I'm learning that I can't do that. Who writes and drinks at the same time?

Pun by Brad: Where do the happiest people work? At a satisfactory.

Writing exercise suggested by Meredith: Take two people you know that don't know each other and put them together, and then something life-changing occurs.

Nick: You know what's the best thing about my new job as a stablehand? I'm gay.

Michelle has no comment.

Earlier today I was in James' and Marley's living room. Before that I was in a living room in Shaughnessy with a life-sized wooden statue of a seal on the coffee table.

needs, wants cheeseburgers

c.gibson@telus.net — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 00:21:33 GMT

A story of mine is up on Joyland.ca, which makes me feel very special.

On to dinner.

finally getting laid, politically

c.gibson@telus.net — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 16:51:15 GMT

I got back to Canada, last night, in time to watch the first election results come in. Fell asleep and woke up again just as The Big Speech began in Chicago, and so was made very, very happy. It's been a long... twenty-two months. Or, longer. What year is this?

In lesser news, my luggage is still in Amsterdam. It's full of French goodies for me and mine, and I want it back, but I guess it can wait.

While I was gone I turned 26, skipped Halloween, stormed a castle, ran through the Louvre, rode the giant, robotic elephant of Nantes, became far too accustomed to hot croissants every morning, tried to remember why I ever didn't like Paris (I was 12), and, oh yeah, worried about this fucking election. Which will from now on be known, in my head, as that beautiful fucking election, alright alright alright.

At home, my dog tore her left dewclaw almost completely off (again), and I received lots of strange mail. Brandon Graham drew this really sweet Neuromancer fan art that I like looking at, at lot. X-Box accessories have arrived, to my delight, and Vancouver seems to have become bigger and significantly more vacant. Space isn't at a premium here, at all! Everyone is driving a fucking massive truck! All the usual confusion.

It's my cousin's birthday today. Happy birthday Emily, who is the only person on earth I would go with to see High School Musical 3 hours before leaving for France, and the only person I know who would, I'm admitting it right now, go see that shit with me. Now back to dancing on the bed with CNN on mute (CNN should only ever be on mute), drinking my green tea bullshit latte, and keeping Happy from sucking her paw. In three hours: to the vet! And then on, into the future.

thank you for your time and support of B.C.'s film industry

c.gibson@telus.net — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 21:31:22 GMT

I don't mean to break my very strict rules about never posting in my own livejournal ever, but I just found a letter in my front hall from a production company about a movie they're filming down the street. It's called "Tooth Fairy" and is the story of a "minor league hockey player who, after telling a little girl there is no tooth fairy, is brought to Fairyland and informed he must work as a tooth fairy for a week. This obligatory service not only teaches him the necessity of belief, but allows him to rekindle his own lost dreams."

(The italics are mine.)

(Plus the use of bold, and nessecary colour changes. Those are also mine.)

mistakes were made

c.gibson@telus.net — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 20:27:24 GMT

I was on the island with Emily for not long enough. It was good. Here's a picture I drew there:

So much bothers me about this now that I couldn't see before. Aw, skip it.

There's a whole week of practical-type stuff to get through before I can run away to another island. Happy is lying on my couch like a New Yorker cartoon about a dog in therapy. Poor kid.

one left

c.gibson@telus.net — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 04:17:10 GMT

I just finished inking a drawing I started the other day of Valo, one of the characters in a story I'm still determined to write. Or draw, or something.

I tried to write it as a kid's novel last winter but it went nowhere and Valo always came off like a three-year-old. I blame my mood at the time.

Incidentally, I read the first three volumes of DragonBall last night and they knocked me on my ass. How can I have lived for twenty-five years without knowing how fucking hilarious and well-drawn this comic is? I love it. And I know everybody already loves it and has loved it since they were in the cradle and it was spooned into their juicy little baby mouths, but I'm okay with that because we all go at our own pace, friends. We take different paths and some of us roll our katamari fast at the start, while others only speed up towards the end, when houses and giant squids start sticking to us like we're their wallpapers or underwater prisoners, respectively.

I bought a game at the flea market on the weekend. Guess which one? Hint: it is not the second katamari game or the one for PSP, which I already borrowed from Jacob. Or the new one, which is beyond my grasp.

Where was I? DragonBall. So good. I used to glimpse DragonBallZ episodes on YTV all the time as a younger person, but always skipped past it because their faces were gross and omigod I had better shit to watch like Full House or whatevs. In any case, dozens of people have told me that DragonBall > DragonBall Z. I believe them because, come on, Full House.

1000 crows just landed in the tree outside my window. They're all screaming at each other. SUP SUP SUP. The phone just rang. It's my cousin. I told her about the crow situation. Her response: Are they waving their privates at each other? Why not?

Yeah, I know. Why Not.

OH GOD THE WINDOW THE WIND-

c.gibson@telus.net — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 05:33:52 GMT

Was just looking through a folder of old drawings and found this.

Possibly someone on my block is trying to learn how to play the flute. It's dark out, and somebody is walking back and forth across the street, blowing one high note over and over. Is this a child? Is it trying to communicate with me? Is it... enemy?

WAAAA-

c.gibson@telus.net — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 19:52:07 GMT

I'm gradually putting up some of my photos from Italy on Flickr. There are pictures of some weird comics I found there. I brought a few Hugo Pratt and Gipi books home with me. L'uomo Del Grande Nord is easy to translate because there isn't much in the way of talking, but Gipi's "S" will require another years worth of Italian, at least? I not care. It's worth it.

Now, see this drawing from 1989 of my favourite ninja turtle, Leo.

Check out that saucy hip thrust. I'd like to believe I was experiencing with contrapposto when I was seven, but really I just couldn't draw a straight line (still can't ), so I had to make his legs fit the awkward billowing of the horizon. I think that's a frog on the right, and then the requisite non-mutant turtle on the left. I always wanted the TMNT to comment more often on their reptilian heritage. Hence my total satisfaction when they ducked their heads into the their shells in the original movie, something I'd never seem them do before but always wondered about.

And on the flip side of the page, it's Mikey vs. BADO.

My colouring technique never really developed beyond this point.

I scream a sleepy scream

c.gibson@telus.net — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 02:59:34 GMT

Lately I've been dealing with jet lag in a serious way. By lately I mean the last couple of days. Every night at around 3am something wakes me up and forces me out of bed. I'm not even allowed to read, because that would count as bed. I have to busy my head with pointless tasks I've assigned myself. Like for example, I've been organizing my record collection. Such as it is.

Yes, I too cannot help but think of that scene in High Fidelity where the guy, John Cusak, is organizing his records and narrating how exactly he goes about doing that and how it relates to breaking up with women. But never mind. Instead I remember (imperfectly) a scene from a Haruki Murakami novel where two kids listen to records all afternoon and take really, really good care of them. Like the little girl is wearing white cotton gloves, in my memory, and spraying each record with a special vinyl cleaner after every play. It's enthralling. I'm not being sarcastic.

My record collection mostly belongs to my mother. She gave it to me. Or maybe I just claimed it and she didn't say no, I can't remember. In any case, a fairly sizable crop of vinyl was sitting on a shelf in one of the more haunted-seeming closets in my parents' basement, covered in a thick layer of mildew, asbestos and dead spiders. This bothered me. It's possible I'd just seen The Royal Tenenbaums and wanted a cute portable record player for myself, to put matchbox cars on (or similar), possibly in a pup tent, in the living room. I'm very influenced by stuff like that. Stuff in movies, I can't deny it, it makes me want things I wouldn't otherwise . Like because I watched La Dolce Vita recently, I want Marcello Mastroianni c. 1960. Mainly so I can say "Marcello" all the time. Mar-chello.

So I did get my own little record player, and I kept a fish made of Lego on top of it, and moved my mother's records into my room. Then I listened to them. I still do listen to them. But they're in terrible condition. Or at least the really good, reliable ones are. All the Beatles records, for example, are practically falling out of their covers. It's like in The Velveteen Rabbit where the toys that are missing limbs and all messed up are the toys that are best loved, and so the happiest. These records are scratched and covered in finger prints, and a lot of the covers look like they've had their top left corners shoved in a paper shredder, compliments of Toby, our cat when I was little. He used to go into my mother's office in the old house and sharpen his nails on the LPs sticking out of the shelf closest to the floor, because he was a rebel like that.

The collection includes a lot of 45s. I think because my mother couldn't afford LPs when she was little. So if she wanted to get her hands on some Elvis Presley or The Platters or whatever (and she did), she'd buy a 45 for minus two cents or whatever it cost back then and be content. Consequently I've ended up with more singles than albums, and I'm not going to lie to you: I've never actually listened to half of them. Because singles are hard work, man. You go through the whole thing of turning the record player on, removing the paper sleeve from the 45, gingerly placing it on the turntable, delicately and neurotically placing the needle in it's groove, and then you have, what, 30 seconds of music? Well, in today's Tomorrowland of computer books and animal people, that just doesn't make sound business sense.

Plus, most of these 45s are fucking weird. Or like, half of them. Most are normal, and well-known, and I can sing along if I play them, which I never do. Time is money, as the creative writing student often said. I could write and record my own utterly fantastic songs in the time it takes me to play Band of Gold by Freda Payne, thank you, and is that song about impotence or is the dude gay? Because I don't understand what happened that night, on their honeymoon, when they slept, in separate rooms.

But for the last few days, as you know, I've been dealing with jet lag. So now with all proper masochism, ahem, I'm listening to every 45 and B-side, and then I'm CLEANING AND SORTING them. Because that is the only PERFECT WAY to pass the wee hours of the night, or all Saturday, depending.

Maybe I'll post here whenever I feel like flapping my hands at the internet. I've had this account for a while. Time it earned its keep.

I wish you were dead, you rascal you

c.gibson@telus.net — Tue, 06 Sep 2005 08:18:22 GMT

I'm at Klovharu.