-Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy.
Meanwhile on the internet:
Sorry I haven’t posted in a while…
Steven Spielberg commits to next direct ROBOPOCALYPSE.
…which I think we’ve mentioned before in some context.
The trailer for Strange Powers, the documentary about Stephin Merritt.
Julie Newmar on The Monkees.
Liam Neeson to replace Mel Gibson in the celebrity cameo department in The Hangover 2. The downside to that? There’s a sequel to The Hangover.
The replacement cover for the “banned” cover to Kanye West’s new album is ugly.
An interview with Blonde Redhead’s Kazu Makino.
This site hits far too close to home.
What your favorite movie characters would do if they were attacked by zombies.
Inside the minds of Daniel Clowes and Johnny Ryan.
Life on Earth could be transformed by NASA space technology.
Incredibly creepy website promoting Black Swan.
And below, from here:
by John Ashbery.
An object of curiosity to some, but you are too preoccupied by the secret smudge in the back of your soul to say much and wander around smiling to yourself and others. It gets to be kind of lonely but at the same time off-putting. Counterproductive, as you realize once again that the longest way is the most efficient way, the one that looped among islands, and you always seemed to be traveling in a circle. And now that the end is near…
The segments of the trip swing open like an orange. There is light in there and mystery and food. Come see it. Come not for me but it. But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.
Right, so now each month on Counterforce, at the end of the month as that chapter closes, I find myself looking back on my posts and just wondering about all the puzzle pieces left strewn about. Some things planned, some things decidedly not planned, some accidents, some just flat out mistakes…
Sometimes your blog is both a testament to you and a museum devoted to your mistakes and victories. It can be a lovely display of all those things you loved, or hated, or sometimes a combination of the two, and usually more about yourself than anything else.
I’ll never forget that an ex once told me that “nostalgia is for people who have no future.” I found that to be a rather curious statement and when I pressed her for clarification, she told me that, to her, too many people use the mirror as a reflection on the past and only rarely on the present. I asked her what was wrong with that, in certain doses, and she responded with, “You shouldn’t have time for that. You should be moving so fast that when you pass by the mirror all you see is a blur.”
This relationship was a long time ago. It was short, but it felt longer, and it feels like it was longer ago than it was, but it was probably circa the first Arcade Fire album (not the EP). And now they have another album coming out.
If one of the leaked songs had been called “Month Of June” instead “Month Of May” that would’ve been a lot more convenient for my blogging concerns, thank you very much.
Real quick, two things you should know about me…
The first thing you should know about me: The other day, on twitter of all places, I was self analyzing out loud and wondered if I hold better conversations via the phone or if my stronger quality is my voicemails (which are, quite frankly, amazing)(to the point that, ladies, you would have to hold the phone away from your ear for fear that said voicemails could put you instantly in heat), you know, from the perspective of whoever the fuck it is I’m calling. Honestly… I don’t care.
But that lead me to realize: When I talk on the phone, you can tell if I’m actually active in a conversation not so much by what we’re discussing or who I’m talking to anymore, but what I’m doing physically. I mean, obviously if I’m sitting there watching TV, then I’m not listening to you, but it’s more of a kinetic thing. If I’m up, walking around, pacing, then there I’m there, I’m really a part of the thing, the process, the bullshitting, whatever. My other mode, oddly enough? Staring at myself in the mirror.
It’s weird. You could call me up, we could be having a fascinating conversation and I’ve noticed that, without thinking about it, I might just walk into the bathroom and start looking into the mirror. At myself? No. It’s hardly ever a really conscious thing. Maybe it’s self reflexive, like staring out at the horizon, only in this case, the horizon is my face and it’s a portal to a larger gateway of either the honesty or just flat out sexy bullshit that I’m going to peddle your way.
Or, maybe, by looking at myself, with a certain visually conscious part of myself shut off, I’m actually subconscious recording myself looking at myself looking at myself looking at myself looking at myself as I talk about myself looking at myself looking at myself looking at myself… in some kind infinite loop of recursive blogitude?
I mean, that’s my intention, but as for you? You’re so vain, you probably think that summertime jam is about you, don’t you?
More and more this blog feels like a book to me, in a way. Like you could collect it into a hot mess of an interactive coffee table curio. A book in 12 parts, chronicling the year in which we make contact. But contact with… what? Ourselves? Each other? Slow dancing in the burning hotel room that is the past? Or staring at ourselves in the mirror, reflecting on the future? Or is “the future” just another aspect of right here and now because all times are one (especially on the internet)?
Seeing words everywhere you look, just like a casual synesthete would.
A lot of Doctor Who, a show about time and space, and just in time for this (hopefully bullshit) rumor about Johnny Depp starring in an Americanized big screen version in 2012 (of course it would be in 2012).
And all accumulating to but quite possibly falling way short of a certain sense of… thisness.
But, as we already covered, tomorrow is another day. With a different mirror to look into. And a different version of ourselves reflected back in. Perhaps we’ll start to look more like ourselves as we strangely believe that ourselves should look or perhaps we’ll look like another stranger in a strange land.
I’m fascinated by these little glimpses into the making of Stars’ new album, The Five Ghosts, which is officially being released June 22, along with The Seance EP. Musically, the band sounds as brilliant as ever, but watching them work and play and laugh and argue and fight in the studio, it’s the kind of thing that just amazes me.
The new Broken Social Scene album was good, but it’s released seemed to kind of come and go with little fanfare. I think I expected more, possibly from the album, which was fine, but also from it’s listeners. It’s hard to explain. Metric was one of those bands that I loved until every moronic asshole started to proclaim their love for, and then my interest started to recede. And the music started to change a little too, as bands do tend to grow and their sounds begin to progress, and so do their listeners (one would hope). And, of course, there’s a natural feeling of resentment that seems to come when a younger audience comes to appreciate “your” music and you feel they don’t “get it,” but eventually you have to let it go. They get it in their own way and it’ll always be different from your way. Music belongs to everyone and it belongs to them differently.
So, as I grew and changed, what their music meant to me changed. Their last album, again, was fine and good, because they are an excellent band, but it probably didn’t leave me as over the moon as it did others.
And yet, Broken Social Scene, was different for me. The Canadian supergroup, which is something that sounds an awful lot like an oxymoron, was the great unifier. The ultimate indie living room party rock. Ryan Gosling could get some drinks and pick up two chicks at a bar set to “Stars And Sons” in Half Nelson while at the same time you and your friends are arguing about the tea party and Republicans and Obama and the oil spill set to “Handjobs For The Holidays.” The music didn’t let me down, but perhaps the potential for conversation did. Will we all sit at a dining room table someday, tapping our fingers along to “All To All” and chatting away our white whines and then smile as we meet the eyes of a pretty stranger across the room? One can only hope.
But somewhere along the way, as I said, I changed. My love for the music of Emily Haines changed and Amy Millan became my power animal. I could and should probably save talking about my appreciation of her music for another time, until we’re all on the same page. Let’s just say for now that I’m excited to see/hear her roar. I’ll leave you with one of my absolute favorite songs by Stars…
And all of that on last night’s Lost, entitled “The Last Recruit.” Savor this time, people. Savor it and cherish it. This moment, this building to… to… something, this can only come once, and this is it. And soon, it’ll all be gone…
The super geek in me is ecstatic not just that they finally released the second trailer for the upcoming series (either #1 or #5, depending on how you look at it) of Doctor Who, but that it finally made it’s way online:
It was airing only in movies theaters in England with copies of Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland movie (which, I guess, is not being boycotted there after all) in 3D. This trailer is relentlessly silly and fun in a mega ridiculous kind of way, which is nice when you stop to remind yourself that this is still a children’s show.
Who knows, maybe Matt Smith won’t be horrible, but I’m more than starting to suspect that the lovely Karen Gillan is going to have that wide mouthed shocked look frozen onto her face the whole time. It is just super, crazy goofy. I kind of wonder if it was concocted by marketing folks rather than those actually in charge of the show, but I also don’t care because, by my count, I’ve now watched it something like 12 times. By the end of the night, because I seemingly have nothing else to do, it could be 1200 times.