Month: March 2005

pandas in the snow
2005-03-08— Posted by: allegra

from lycaeum.org
2005-03-08— Posted by: allegra

Contact info
2005-03-08— Posted by: allegra

wohl of sound

production, recording, mixing

p.d wohl (AKA Paul D.Wohlstetter)

pdwohl@shaw.ca

604-684-6075

Can’t recommend him highly enough, I’m going back to record soon soon soon. Also there’s an open mic p.d. mentioned in Richmond which I am going to investigate this week if the winds are kind and the fates propitious.

I’m waiting for hubby to show up so I can get the car. I scarcely slept last night, I was so excited. Woo hoo! Maybe I’m going manic again! That would explain the dancing, I s’pose.

Nice long talk with Toribird (Tori actually means bird in Japanese, so I could also call her Toritori) last night about art and other stuff. I keep shaking my head at the upbringing other people get and being very humble and thankful about the upbringing I got, and I light a candle in my heart for her, she’s very wonderful. I love your voice, you know that!? I wish you weren’t so busy at Emily Carr, I’d be dragging you into the studio with me. But other people have their lives…..

Hm, if I am doing my spring insanity thing I should probly take my credit card outta my bag. Nah. I won’t do anything stupid, all I have to to is thingk about Paul glowering at me. Glower, glower. Why do I have this sudden urge to giggle? It’s all the bloody sunshine in February. I haven’t felt like this since I lived in Montreal, that memorable spring where I went completely ape and this part deleted. Ah, Montreal in the spring. It’s like sex with your clothes on. It’s like Saint Saens organ music rushing through your spine and leaving you hollowed out and marvelling. And the maple trees give me two weeks of laryngitis and post nasal drip.

Worked on the mando part for that sappy love song last night, after listening to Lifeline about 5 times. I still can’t believe p.d. and I did that, it’s like waking up from a coma and finding out you had a baby in the interim. Keith is making nan bread right now, having made the dough yesterday. There’s nothing like fresh nan, it’s like the happiest thing. I’m just happy all over and a few places undescribed.

Katie is still in the blissful stage of young love, and wanting to know how you transition to the solid, we’re together and bad things and bad communication and bad moods can’t wreck it phase. Wish the hell I knew, I could make a lot of money, she opined gloomily. But I can’t stay gloomy. I may have made another convert to Lymond !!!! I am the happiest woman in Canada. My description of Lymond so intrigued Brooke that she is now borrowing “The Game of Kings” and she will soon find out some interesting facts.

The crossover between Buffy fans and Lymond fans is very very close. I remember when I first started going to Spits (Dunnett fan club meetings are called Spits for reasons I won’t get into here) that everybody was raving about Buffy and OF COURSE since I don’t have cable and I don’t watch network television anyway because it activates the consumptive parasite in my amygdala I didn’t know wtf they were talking about. Not all Buffy fans are Dunnett fans, but a LOT of Dunnett fans are Buffy fans, mostly because Dunnett is A LOT about Moral Ambiguity. And Buffy is chock full of it. So if Brooke falls into the evil clutches of the ladies (and guy, we have one wonderful AND TALENTED O MY GOD gent) who spit, then she will be assimilated with nary a belch nor backward glance. And Lymond. The best hero ever. Nuff babbling, my chariot has arrived.

enough sleep
2005-03-07— Posted by: allegra

http://www.yodelcourse.com/level1/level1.html

Saw this, thought of you.

Pic is of Flotilla Debarge, a well known NY trans-entertainer who is being sued by Star Jones for, like, parodying her. Anybody who knows anything about Star Jones would be of the considered opinion that you cannot parody someone like her. As far as I know it is not possible to bring the administration of Star Jones into disrepute by doing anything, as she’s already got that in a major headlock. My question to you is, could you mistake this entertainer for Star Jones? Please feel free to google Star Jones’ image and compare for yourself. Then, pretend you just had a full body-on with a Dementor and eat some chocolate. Or, you can just skip the whole thing and say “I’m allergic to chocolate, ya silly cow – and why should I care about this anyway?”

enough sleep
2005-03-07— Posted by: allegra

A fly has emerged from my oinkment. Okay, that was a bit obscure, even for me. I was just wanting to make a philosophical comment about how one can be in the finest mood which ever issued from the cerebral cortex of any human creature, and still something will come along and … you know … not be optimal. And you have to stop and deal with it, and next thing you know, your mood, always a variable commodity, has up and split and left you as you were, a screeching crone with breath that could knock a vulture off an outhouse. Or a pile of corpses. I certainly don’t think of myself in those bad crone like terms. Nope, I remember those pictures I have, and I am frozen in time. As I have commented in previous blogs (here I am being recursive), I had artistic black and white pictures of myself taken (nude… but fairly figleafed) when I was 22. I have to tell you, of all of the impulsive, and on the face of it, dopey, things I’ve done in my life, that doesn’t even make the list.

Yeah, I was right to delete this next line. No way to make it salubrious, even when it was no longer libellous.

You see, I can look at those pictures, and the compelling weight of damned near a quarter century comes a-peeling off. The girl in those pictures – and she does look like a girl to me – felt things more or less the same way I do. She certainly had the same enthusiasms, without the finesse. I don’t feel much different from her. My responsibilities, and my responses to things, are different. I have a much more respectful sense of my own best interests than I did then (what’s that line, about good judgement coming from bad decisions?) and I’m much more respectful of the feelings of others than I used to be, mostly because I now actually believe that other people do have feelings. Took a very long time to get there. Paul might argue (although he’d wake up in hospital) that I’m still not there. On the other hand these days he’s being somewhat more appreciative of me, and demonstrating it in a fashion I find difficult to dislike.

I will deal with this latest hull breach with the same verve and skill I brought to the last one, and hope that as I apply my rear end to the hole, in the effort to prevent the vacuum of space from destroying my life, that my tender heinie will not have been sacrificed in vain.

The short version: I am feeling insecure. My personal info is all over the internet. I am experiencing nausea, annoyance and waves of panic. And I asked for it, or so I believe, so I cannot complain, except in the most lameassed way. I can only thank a merciful Providence that those goddamned pictures haven’t excaped. Frankly, they aren’t that good…. they’re just imbued with a sentiment which would be damaged by commerce.

I wanted to blog about those 4 RCMP who were killed, but I will limit myself to making three points:

There are times when you call in a tactical squad. We spend a lot of money, as taxpayers, training and arming folks in tactical squads.

There will be an investigation, and there will be a coverup. The incompetence of the investigation will be no match for the incompetence of the coverup, and we will probably find out more than we want to about how the next level in the chain of command ignored common sense in the hurry to get the boys some real action.

Whether or not the Mounties take a suitable profit from this carnage will be debatable, but if I was a Mountie myself I’d be going Holy Crap and reading everything I could get my hands on about dealing with gunfire in confined spaces, since it’s obvious my boss will be too busy fielding pointed telephone calls from various media to actually be of any assistance when the trigger is pulled. Maybe, just maybe, somebody will develop a checklist, like they have in aviation, that tells you that when you’re dealing with a known cop-hater gun nut ex-felon with a pack of slavering Dobermans who’s chased a bailiff off his property so recently that the death threats are still ringing in his ears, that you take along body armor, at least ten guys, and something punchier than a 12 gauge. Or maybe that’s just me, and I was reading the description wrong. I will be very interested to talk to the gun toting men of my acquaintance about this tragedy, as they are wise and wily, and their counsel is always worth hearing.

enough sleep
2005-03-05— Posted by: allegra

If I could write a song for you

There’d be so much I couldn’t say

You’re not supposed to have a clue

Because it’s easier that way

your smile is like a present

your frown can wreck my day

But I’ll pretend this song’s for someone else

Because it’s easier that way

Chorus

I tell myself I shouldn’t play I spy

look at you when you walk by

Not supposed to give you the eye

But how can I stop myself

Sometimes I think you always knew

You are having fun at my expense

But then I’d have to say it’s true

I love it when it’s this intense

your voice makes me feel dreamy

your laugh makes a sunny day

But I’ll pretend this song’s for someone else

Because it’s easier that way

Chorus

Bridge

If I spent more time with you I’d have to finally get real

And I’d have to do some work and not just coast on how I feel

Second verse again and then fade….

Isn’t it bizarre? And the tune is something like a cross between Burt Bacharach/Hal David and the Indigo Girls. Brian C just looked at me when I said this and asked me if he and Jim E should come over to my place to do an intervention.

Much beer and nachos consumed at the golf course last night. We hadn’t done that in ages and ages. Paul showed up all happy and with his Apocalypse dodging face on, so the rest of the evening would have been great even if it hadn’t been so great, if you know what I mean. And Jim A was there! I was so happy to see him I thought my heart would burst. We had a nice long Buffychat and they looked at the pix I have of theplacewhereIwork which were taken in 97 98 and 99. Very funny, especially when you look at the married couples who weren’t married yet, and the people who were sleeping together, etc etc. Regular little Peyton Place, but with fewer tranquillizers…. And Paul got to talk airplanes with Rob of Nine, and I ministered to the needy (gave neck rubs – only Chari reciprocated!!!) and then we dropped Rob of Nine off and headed up the road to Mike’s place.

Mike is the most hopeless romantic of any man I know personally (part of his ocean of charm) and this is what he did for their six month anniversary. Pay attention, Mom, this part’s great. He got her flowers. Yeah, whatever. Then he fed her a really nice Japanese meal. Very standard issue. And THEN when she got back to his place, there’s a 1930’s issue Remington typewriter sitting on the kitchen table for her, which completely functions and is squeaky clean and is a frikkin model of industrial design. Unbelievably sexy (black of COURSE) and wonderful. Tori burst into tears, she was so happy, and I would have done much the same.

So as soon as I get through the door at their place I pull out my CD of Lifeline (reaction has been favourable to say the least, so far) and Mike of course was very happy I was happy about it, seeing as how it was his recommendation earlier this week that put me onto Paul W.

Then we soaked for a long time. Left at quarter after three.

I love Mike’s cat. Winky is so much nicer now that she doesn’t have to live with dogs. And she’s pretty, the prettiest tabby I think I’ve ever seen.

Every tree in Vancouver is having sex right now, so I am itchier and crabbier than usual.

Eniwess I think you can tell that I am in a good mood, and in all respects my evening was completely perfect; Tori is forgiven for forgetting the moose. And that’s another story.

This morning the boys (really I should say men, except that men are more boring than boys) including Tom L are going to toss a motorcycle into the back of John’s boss’s van so it can be fixed. And when that’s over I’m going to pick up the ecstatic sounding Katie from her boyfriend’s place (yup, another night away, isn’t it AWFUL?) and go get her boyfriend guitar strings. I’d get him a roofing axe too, but apparently he doesn’t want me to do that, and that too is a long story.

Hang in there Peter T, it can get better.

Oh, the song is actually for Katie and Daxus, and Katie has heard it and she likes it. And the reason I need a trumpet player is because the opening notes I hear in trumpet. I think getting a good recording of this will be hard, read expensive.

I light a candle for Heather’s eye, and her dad too.

I light a candle of joy and thanksgiving for Paul’s deliverance, and from ducking that darned apocalypse again.

I light a candle for Katie’s voice on the phone this morning.

one up one down
2005-03-05— Posted by: allegra

To my annoyance, Rob of Nine pointed out that the woman who motorcycled through Chernobyl is a fraud. Damnyou. I really enjoyed the kiddofspeed pictures, but it turns out they were bogus.

On the plus side, Courtney Love actually makes sense. http://dir.salon.com/tech/feature/2000/06/14/love/index.html

My bonus was over $400 (after the government’s excision) and I’m spending it all on recording – not, as Jim E. said, on another stick of gum (nearly typed bum).

The Tapioca song will be posted here soon, I promise, as soon as I bribe the God Like Glen to put it someplace on my site. Oh, I guess I have to record it first.

Anybody know a decent trumpet player who can play by ear?

Hot tub tonight. Beer first. Mehappy.

bye mr. damon
2005-03-02— Posted by: allegra

nmazca.com/blog has ceased operations. I sent him an email saying how very sad I was, and now I am forced to reconsider this blog – is this something I should be doing?

enough sleep
2005-03-02— Posted by: allegra

Today I’m wearing hunter green to the Apocalypse. Suits my colouring, and my eyes *are* green. Got to be well dressed for the end of the world, as we know it, even if I do feel fine.

My King Cobb Steelie CD came in but I haven’t picked it up yet.

I am going back into the recording studio (doesn’t that sound fancy? but it’s in some guy’s apartment, so forget the notion I’m awash in cash) on Thursday night. Mike found him for me, after Gomi turned out to be unavailable until after the Apocalypse. A quick review of my songs brought up about 6 that I really should record, although I’ll be lucky to get one done on Thursday. Then Friday I wanted to go to the Fark party at the Jolly Taxpayer (I really did) but I promised Keith faithfully that there would be no Fark parties for me until AFTER he hit the age of majority. Then we can go get smashed together. We’ve already picked out the bar we’re going to go get drunk in when he turns 19; Steamworks. Considering that Keith’s tolerance for alcohol, never great, has completely evaporated over the last six months, I figure it will be a cheerfully cheap date, even if I have to bring a bucket. And these days, if I drink 6 beers over the course of an evening my ability to get my eyes to track before noon the next day is severely truncated.

Friday the hot tob will be yodelling my name in tight four part harmony. Yesh. This sentence, about how tense I am, would probably not win me any new fans, so I am performing a preemptive product recall. Anyway, I’m looking forward to a soak.

My mother has gone completely insane (I can just imagine her jerking to attention as she reads this) because she wishes to commission a family portrait done in the style of Edward Gorey. For those of you who are Gorey fans, you are dying of jealousy that your mother doesn’t do things like that; the rest of you are contemplating different versions of wtf? I am trying to convey that even if the Apocalypse is coming, I am still trying wring the last drops of fun from the sanitarily moistened towelette of life. Actually I don’t feel too bad. Really.

Lymond
2005-03-02— Posted by: allegra

This won’t mean anything to anybody but me. This is the crest of an imaginary character. Picture somebody smarter (and a better horseman) than Giles, tougher than Buffy, prettier than Spike, more polyglot than Willow, more musically gifted than Oz and with more difficult family dynamics than Xander. That’s Lymond. The all time, all round, best hero ever. I love him more than words can say. Francis Crawford of Lymond and Sevigny, may he live forever.

bitch, moan, whine, wheeze
2005-03-01— Posted by: allegra

I’m dressing up for the Apocalypse again. Patterned green stretch velvet. Think I’ll skip the makeup though. Having put it on, I always forget to take it off and wake up feeling… a little more concrete, so to speak (discretely) than usual. Hey, my eyes are stuck shut!

Raining, thank goodness. It’s been so dry the entire month of February that the trees and plants are probably really happy about the change in the weather.

I really wish I could talk about work yesterday, but instead I’ll mention that lunch was excellent, and free. Thanks Mario.

Honest to Murgatroyd, my life is like – oh I don’t know, let’s find the cheesiest metaphor possible and play it like a marlin. You know those games of skill, where you are trying to get a little steel ball from the beginning to the end, without dropping it in a hole, by tilting the playing field in two planes? Well; my life is like that, except that it’s three dimensional, and the ball is me, and the holes are randomly placed and move without warning, and real and Disney elephants pogo through the playing field, and I’m still expected to do laundry and go to work and perform my wifely duties and write stories and buy the kids’ bus passes and cut hair and shop for food and cook dinner while I am dodging those goddamned holes…. I should just drop the ‘hole’ thing right now. Yesh.

Paul says complainers never get better. Well maybe I’m not PLANNING on getting better. I’m going to croak anyway, (eventually, one hastens to hope) I may as well go out whining. Stoicism is for the unimaginative.

enough sleep
2005-03-01— Posted by: allegra

Goldarn this stupid apocalypse! I got dressed up (black, of course), dyed my hair (Garnier number 60, on sale for 5 bucks) and I even wore makeup, but it just didn’t come through, AGAIN. I mean really. I know exactly what is happening. I’ll be standing mostly naked in the laundry room cursing the people who never clean out the freaking lint trap… and THEN it will happen. I would really prefer to be fully dressed for the event, but I am beginning to think I’m not going to get it my way.

Today is the first day I made it home on the bus in full daylight. Also, there are magnolias in bloom. Our crocuses came up two weeks early. Something has dug an immense hole on the portion of the lawn adjacent to our house which the city owns. Very strange. Looks like it could have been humans, but why?

Came home and found both of the kids here, both feeling very out of sorts and edgy – Katie even cut school today. I can tell they are feeling edgy and out of sorts, they are playing comfort music (Police, greatest hits). Ah, there’s Keith come back with the milk and bread, so it’s time to have breakfast for supper…. the ultimate in comfort food.

Paul says he’s doing better. We shall see.