Where is my faithful following?

Everybody else's blog gets one, why not me? Pffftt. I want to know when you're reading this! So feedback, people, FEEDBACK.

silverlined83@yahoo.ca or...
2ardh@qlink.queensu.ca

Come on now.

The War of the Fruit Flies

I hate fruit flies. I would like them all to die. They have invaded my kitchen, I suspect through the drain, or possibly the bananas, and I want to get rid of them. So, I have created a plan of action, here it is, in case anyone else out there is being plagued and wants to see if what I do actually pans out:
1st line of defense: wash all dishes directly after use.
2nd line: Spend five minute sessions, 3-5 times a day, chasing them madly around the kitchen and killing them. (They're fast little buggers, I've tried many techniques, and have discovered that the two-handed clap is the most effective assassination method).
3rd line: Wash all towels, dishcloths, etc. They lay eggs in there. (alternatively, if you're too la-- ahem, I mean if it's not wash day, put everything in plastic bags.)
4th line: Don't keep fruit or vegetables out in the open! (not a problem for me b/c we have no food at the moment...)
5th line: The Fly Trap (my ultimate and secret weapon, the tiny sons of bitches won't know what hit'em). Basically, take a jar, put a little salsa in the bottom (or banana, I knew there was a reason I hated that fruit!), and then roll up a sheet of paper into a cone and stick it in the top of the jar, so it looks like an ice cream cone... except paper and sticking out of a salsa jar. Tape it in place (so no one escapes!). Apparently, once they're down the tube to get the salsa, they can't get out... too stupid I guess.
Once you've got your flies encarcerated, you can do 1 of 3 things: a) put them in the fridge to knock them out, then dissect them one by one b) release them outside (pshaaw!) c) fill the jar with water and drown the bastards.
Depending on your feeling of animosity towards them, you may want to try a, or c. If you're going to try b... don't even talk to me.
So that's the plan, I'll let y'all know if it works.

Cheers.
silverlined83@yahoo.ca

I can now die happy.

Saw Hawksley last night... oh, so, SO incredible. Must take another little while to collect and organize my thoughts on the subject, still in awe. *sigh*

!!!!! I SAW HAWKSLEY LAST NIGHT!!!!

Procrastination

I heard a saying once that said: "Procrastination is like masturbation; in the end you're only f-ing yourself."

eeee, and on that note...

silverlined83@yahoo.ca

Note to Filmie-T

Vocab of the week: didactic /dy-dak-tik/ adj. intended to teach or give moral instruction.

ambiguous /am-big-yoo-uhss/ adj. 1. (of language) having more than one meaning. 2. not clear or decided.

Therefore, things that are DIDACTIC cannot, by definition, also be AMBIGUOUS.

Suggestion: buy a dictionary before you open your mouth again.

Agent Bond

Urgent message: What does a pirate say when he's got a steering wheel in his pants?
Aargh, it's driving me nuts.

*groan*

silverlined83@yahoo.ca

Filmies (and all their inherent, cliched pretentions)

I'd like to return for a moment to the overwhelmingly popular genre of vent-a-blog that appears so often in my online discourse. It may be tired, but it can be entertaining, and it helps me deal with my general intolerance for people (I make no lightness, I am an intolerant git sometimes, and isn't it better I should try to deal with it myself on a page with an overall patronage of 6 people, than let the rest of the unfortunate world deal with the wrath I am inclined to spew?).
As most of you know, I am a film student. How I came by this inclination, ask me not, but somehow I envisioned it helping me with my writing career. In any case, it's less boring than English (don't mistake, English class is NOT the same as Writing class). Anyhow, I, Writey McWrites alot, have snuck and subterfuged my way into a program ("Sure, I know TONS about movies. Love'em, watch'em all the time. Hell, I've even got the Movie Network!" yeah, regular shoe-in me) filled to bursting with an overwhelming majority of pretentious, foppish (is that redundant?) Filmie McFilms alots-But don't actually, all of whom are convinced that they know more than everyone else in the class about our subject of study in all areas, including: History, Genres, Camerawork, Editing, Production, Storyboarding... ah, you name it, they all know it "the best." In the midst of this circus of veritable paradigms of affectation, a handful of meek filmie wall-flowers try hard to dig their roots into the rock-face of and grow steadily, slowly upwards, doing their best not to be noticed by the gaggle of gangly goats galloping up the mountain, and tripping over eachother in the process. (Like that alliteration there? whew, I may have broken a sweat).
Let me explain the distinction. In any given film class of the week (I have 6) it is possible to identify the filmie flowers in any number of ways. A) They are ready to admit that, indeed, they have not infact seen that particular Russian film from 1923, nor have they seen all of Quentin Tarrantino's work, nor Apocalypse Now Redux (yeah, I've actually seen all of these, just covering my ass in case a filmie goat happens to come across this page and I'm found out for the flower that I am). B) They only raise their hands to attract attention to themselves if they have something that is i) worthwile to share with the class ii) (they're sure) not repeating in different words something that someone else ALREADY SAID (see also future vent-a-blogs on Psych classes and the treacherous multi-sponse). C) They tend to congregate in groups, for support, a better root structure, if you will.
The filmie goats are also as easily identifed. A) Look for signs of any cliche that you may have ever associated with the cinematic snob. I kid you not, I didn't believe they existed in such numbers either until I came here. Could it also have something to do with the Q-factor? I'll come back to that some other time. B) Listen for the use of any unecessarily big, or innappropriate words when responding to a question, or critiquing a film. Examples (and yes, these are actually words that came out of people's mouths) "I found the use of black and white in that film a little too cynical." ; "I thought that the placing of those two shots together was a bit overly didactic." What, did you just learn what didactic means and decided to try and use it in a sentence? Yeah, I'm sure the teacher was SO impressed. C) Also, when critiquing others' work, listen for unnecessarily harsh judgements, such as (again, real) "I didn't like the repetition of images in that montage. Alot of the editing she did was just like, she was showing off that she could use the editing software. She was just trying to prove something. . . or something." And the prize for most critical comments paired with psychic mind-reading of the film's creator goes to... man, I tell ya.
After two short weeks in my production class, I have developed an overwhelming fear of sharing ANY of my work with the class. Even a brief 30-second description of my proposal for my end-of-year project was cause for me to turn furiously red and stutter, waiting for cries of "wow, that sucks!" and "that's SO didactic -- I mean, cynical!"
After that last comment, I feel I should admit... this whole diatribe is overly cynical (please see name of blog, heh) as are all my vent-a-blogs. But do not lose heart gentle readers. However these filmie goats may terrify timid Writey McWrites alot at this point in time, I am not without hope. For the facts are these, all of my film professors so far (6 in all) display no signs of the filmie-goat syndrome (with the small exception of one conceit of the prof who worked on Degrassi High... and hey, who can blame him? :) ). This leads me to believe that this goat syndrome is indeed curable and may even fade with experience. Indeed, I have every espoir that all this aggressiveness will disappear in the course of time, and one day, us flowers may look kindly upon the goats, once they stop trying to trample us or eat us alive. So here's to the maturation of filmies everywhere, may your wisdom come swiftly, and the film-fops depart.

Cheers.

silverlined83@yahoo.ca

A Computer of My Very Own!

What I mean by that of course is that I've finally got my computer hooked up to the internet, and am posting for the very first time on my own machine. It's a very satisfying feeling. N hooked it up for me, not because I couldn't have done it myself, but because he's useful that way... doing things for me just because I want him to. It's even more fun having boys do stuff for you that are unnecessary than having boys do stuff because you can't... well, I can think of one exception to that rule... heh. Anyway, back on focus. In honour, I have written him an ode, and if he ever read my blog he might be "mad" (I say "mad" because, honestly, is he EVER really mad at me? pssshaw) that I put it up here tonight. He wasn't so keen when I jokingly tried to hang it up on his wall and forbade him to remove it. He said he'd put it in his wallet instead, heh, what a cutie. Read, comprehend, and appreciate:

A Super-short Ode to N

N is lame.
But only when he's playing,
A video game.
Otherwise,
N is pretty tame.
Yes!!

Ah, life is good. Ta-ta!

Mental Pictures

To the parents of the blond toddler dressed in frilly pink, standing in front of the tattoo parlour--
To the man who rode past me on a bike and farted loudly --
To the owner of the house draped in vines, who plays the flute wildly at night--
To the old woman who spoke so long to me on the bus of her bright American neice --
To the homeless drunk who assaulted the window beside our table, when we would not give him our food --
To the hot dog vendor who later assaulted the homeless drunk for much the same behaviour --
To the Tim Horton's lady who yells at you if you don't move fast enough --
To the Tim Horton's guy, who yelled at N and skulked away for a smoke --
To the lesbians next door who constantly deposit their trash on N and BO's lawn --

These are the pictures I have of you, these are the impressions that I get. And for each of your individuality you stand out in my memory. I have stored you there for future use, and one day you will caper immortalized on pages, bent to my will by my pen. One at a time, or in combinations, or all together, I will show the world the portraits I have made of you, and you will be unrecognizable to yourselves. Only I will know the truth of your origins, the piece of each of you that I have taken with my eyes and transformed with my imagination. Oh, but writing is a sinister trade, the trade of life and immortality. It gives wonderful credence to that indigenous belief: When I take your picture, I steal your soul.

If you haven't seen:

Sherlock Junior, by Buster Keaton

Go and watch it right now.

What happens when you don't have a phone?

Or access to the internet?
Or a reliable form of transport?

Ah... soo frustrating. I know I promised to have something up here this week, but many obstacles have kept me from it. For one thing, no internet as of yet, for another, blogger wasn't working yesterday, for another, I have to walk all the way to N's house to use it.

Anyway, some housekeeping issues:
- Agent Bond: I have lost your e-mail address, I know, I am a numbskull, if you read this e-mail me at silverlined83@yahoo.ca
- To all those who sent me e-cards, THANKS! it was awesome. Brightened up my Tuesday amidst all the bureacratic hooey (yeah, who-ee).
- Bell and Cogeco, you stupid f***faces: If you're going to advertise yourselves as internet companies.... try USING it and freaking e-mail me back.

And on to the good stuff.

Things of note that I have seen in K-town this week:
- walking down Division towards downtown behind a fat blond woman and her son, wondering, "Why is that woman letting her toddler run all over the sidewalk and near the road? Why isn't she holding his hand?" Reason woman has no hands to spare? one hand carrying purse, other busy with cigarette. Apparently nicotine won in the balance between it and her son's life. Amazing.

- my friend the bus harasser... I'm here a week and the guy accosts me on a bus for the 7th time, first time this season. Blah.

- Bubba's pizza has new counter guy. Quote "So, uh, you, uh having a good frosh week?" I inform him of my SECOND YEAR STATURE (yeah, look at me, I'm an alumni) and he proceeds to hit on me, while I pray that N will get his ass into the restaurant and save me. No such luck, instead, bore hole into beverage fridge with my eyes and ignore,ignore,ignore.

- R of k-town, not as bad as R-of Guelph, but likes to talk about his penis alot. Is living in a bachelor apartment, that's right, alone. PAR-TAY. Is paying 100 bucks more than K and I combined. Sucker.

- Smashed upper years in the ghetto, while walking around with N and RC, trying to find Frec parties of people we know. Quote: "Hey, what's this? Two guys and one hot chick? What, honey are you double billing? Roasting on a spit?" LOVELY. Imaginative expression... Spit... *shudder* Hey, at least they think I'm hot, right? heh... heh...

- 25 episodes of Buffy and counting. . .

In other news:
You'll all rush to congratulate me I'm sure that I have been accepted into the creative writing class! By the teacher who I harrassed electronically, and who I suspected thought I was a complete and utter dumbass. Well, hey, she really likes my writing and has signed me up already for the winter semester! Hot damn!

N's mom walked into his room this morning as I was getting out of bed... Man, every time I turn around I'm making an new and better impression on that woman!

Okay, that's it!

Good luck everyone with classes!

Cheers.