Month: October 2002

One of the online comics I’ve been reading for a very long time is Bruno, a strip written and drawn by Chris Baldwin. A critic from Newsbytes describes Bruno as “widely recognized as one of the best realized comic characters on the World Wide Web,” and it’s true. She’s been around for years, which has given Baldwin pleanty of time to turn her into a messed-up, perpetually sad, confused, directionless, misery-seeking missile.

Which makes her rather true-to-life — I think we all know at least one Bruno — and an entertaining read to boot.

Some Bruno comics:

• Week of September 16th: Telling the boyfriend that she took the “exotic dancer” job. You get the feeling that she wanted him to take it much worse than he actually did.
• Week of September 23rd: Actually, Bruno, it is your neurotic need to be miserable.
• Week of September 30th: “Sean, who are you? My other friends, I can define who they are, why I like them, what they do…you’re just…Sean.” Where’s my long-distance slapping device?!
• Week of October 7th: Here it comes…

If only Bruno would start listening to her cat: “I think you should stop being a neurotic, narcissistic nut, okay? No? Ah well…worth a try.”

(Cats never say or do anything sensible, but it is a fictitious cat, after all.)

Cake

Short Skirt Long Jacket

[Key of D]

I want a girl with a mind like a diamond

I want a girl who knows what’s best

I want a girl with shoes that cut

And eyes that burn like cigarettes

I want a girl with the right allocations

Who’s fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack

She’s playing with her jewelry

She’s putting up her hair

She’s touring the facilities

And picking up the slack

I want a girl with a short skirt and a loooooooooong jacket…

I want a girl who gets up early

I want a girl who stays up late

I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity

Who uses a machete, to cut her red tape

With fingernails that shine like justice

And a voice that is dark like tainted glass

She is fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack

She’s touring the facilities and picking up the slack

I want a girl with a short skirt and a long, long jacket

I want a girl with smooth liquidation

I want a girl with the right dividends

At City Bank we will meet accidentally

We’ll start to talk when she borrows my pen

She wants a car with a cupholder armrest

She wants a car that will get her there

She’s changing her name

From Kitty to Karen

She’s trading her MG for a white Chrysler LeBaron

I want a girl with a short skirt and a loooooooooong jacket

A conversation at the photo shoot for Star Wars publicity stills, early 1977:

Photographer: Hey Mark, we need to take some test shots. You don’t have to pose for these ones — just stand there.

Mark Hamill: Lemme pose just once. (Strikes pose in photo above). Here, how’s this?

Photographer’s assistant (whispering to Photographer): Jeezus, he looks like one of the Village People.

Mark Hamill: Beg pardon?

Photographer’s assistant: Uh…I said this photo…should…um…be in People! You know, the magazine…

Photographer (faking British accent): Capital idea, old top!

Mark Hamill: Uh, maybe not, guys. I’d appreciate it if this test photo never got out.

Photographer: I promise, it’ll never leave this studio.

Photographer’s assistant: Of course, one day we’ll have some

kind of global data network where ordinary people will exchange

messages, news and photos like this on computers small and cheap enough

to be in every home. Then this shot will travel like wildfire.

Mark Hamill: That’s pretty far out. It sounds like you’ve already seen Star Wars.

Photographer: (Turns to assistant) You’ve been reading too much sci-fi. (Turns to Mark Hamill) I need one more test shot. How ’bout you moon the camera?

My friends Keitha and Sean (Sean has the blog House of Hot Sauce) were moving to England but needed some help getting there. The airline they were taking allows each passenger 20 kilos of luggage; anything more costs $5 a kilo.

20 kilos of stuff isn’t very much when you’re uprooting and moving to another country, especially one where things are very expensive. Using their bathroom scale, Keitha and Sean found out that their combined luggage weighed about 75 kilos — almost double their total weight allowance.

Being a resourceful couple, they launched an “Adopt a Kilo” program. For a mere five dollars, anyone could sponsor a kilo of their excess luggage. In return, the adoptive “parent” would receive a photograph and status report of their kilo. Being the kind of guy who sometimes plays his accordion beside panhandlers and lets them keep the whole take, I adopted a kilo. Today, I received a photo of that kilo, which turned out to be Sean’s collection of t-shirts:

The t-shirts that I like the most are the Clark Hall Pub ones (the ones marked “clark”) — at Queen’s University, it was my home away from home, where I manned the DJ booth for 5 very lovely (and loud) years. Sean and Keitha were regulars. The Tick ones are pretty cool, too.

If you’re going on an extended journey and need to save every penny, you might want to try something similar to the “Adopt a Kilo” program.

Just what is it with the booze at The Matador? Every time I have even a single shot of their the “vodka” — and I do use the term vodka very loosely when referring to what the little old lady with the duffel bag of mickey bottles in the back corner sells — I always end up in some kind of pain the next day. I still have a dull ache in the back of my head and I have errands to run today.

Gulping down bootleg liquor is the price you must pay if you want to get a drink after two a.m. in this damned teetotaler province. A pox on Canada’s WASP founding fathers. Better yet, may they have to eat their own cuisine for all eternity. I’d rather the French had a greater influence on Canada’s laws relating to the pleasant vices. Even though they’re such cheese-eating surrender monkeys, they know how to have a good time.

For your viewing pleasure, some photos I took of a fire dancer at one of Promise’s “Cherry Beach Sound System” outdoor DJ parties. These were taken August 2002.

I should mention that my trusty Olympus D-320L digital camera turns a whopping four years old this week. It’s a pretty basic camera by today’s standards, what with its single very wide lens and no zoom, a 640 by 480 resolution, and a relatively slow photo-taking cycle. Still, it uses battery power and RAM sparingly; with an 8 MB FlashPath card and 4 AA NiMH batteries, I can take 120 pictures in one go. It’s also a tough little beastie, having survived numerous drops and having a gin and tonic spilled on it by a very cute Czech redhead on New Year’s Eve 2000. I’ve taken over 7,000 pictures with it all over the world: from here in Accordion City to Halifax, Vancouver, Manila (twice), Japan, Hong Kong, Prague, Amsterdam, New York City (many, many times), San Francisco (also many, many times), Washington, D.C. and Burning Man. The only other artifact of mine that’s served me so well over the past few years is my trusty Titano accordion. Happy birthday, camera of mine.

Cake

Sheep Go To Heaven

(with one minor lyric change by yours truly)

I’m not feeling alright today,

I’m not feeling that great,

I’m not catching on fire today,

Love has started to fade,

I’m not going to smile today,

I’m not gonna laugh,

You’re out living it up today,

I’ve got dues to pay,

When the grave digger puts on the foreceps,

The stonemason does all the work,

The barber can give you a haircut,

The carpenter can take you out to lunch,

Now, I just want to play on my squeezebox,

I just want to drink me some wine,

As soon as you’re born, you start dying,

So you might as well have a good time,

Sheep go to Heaven,

Goats go to Hell,

Sheep go to Heaven,

Goats go to Hell,

I don’t wanna go to Sunset Strip,

I don’t wanna feel the emptyness,

Old marquees with stupid band names,

I don’t wanna go to Sunset Strip,

I don’t wanna go to Sunset Strip,

I don’t wanna feel the emptyness,

Old marquees with stupid band names,

I don’t wanna go to Sunset Strip,

The grave digger puts on the foreceps,

The stonemason does all the work,

The barber can give you a haircut,

The carpenter can take you out to lunch,

Now, I just want to play on my squeezebox,

I just want to drink me some wine,

As soon as you’re born, you start dying,

So you might as well have a good time,

Sheep go to Heaven,

Goats go to Hell,

Sheep go to Heaven,

Goats go to Hell,

Sheep go to Heaven,

Goats go to Hell…

(With apologies to Tony Pierce. I got the lyrics-as-blog-entries idea from him.)