Yes, it's true, I WOULD buy anything by Lisa Germano...
...but the funny thing is that I don't like her albums very much. I think that she is incredibly cool, and I love the whole idea of her music...but I rarely ever enjoy more than a few songs on each album (though the songs I DO enjoy are ones that I love).
She's a genius. I really get a sense that she's a genius. She can't sing particularly well. Her music is deliberately shoddy and always sounds as though it's about to fall apart. Her songwriting is personal and sometimes painfully fragile. Her enunciation sometimes has a distinctive and endearing "-yawh" sound at the end of sentences that I can't quite place. Her cover art is dreamy in that "4AD" way and she has worked with one of my favourite producers (Malcolm Burn), and whenever I pull out one of her albums to give it another listen...
...I find myself getting slightly bored and annoyed. I don't know what it is. I can't explain this loyalty.
Despite her prominence as fiddle-sawer for John Cougar Mellencamp, her real breakthrough was with this typically Germano-ish -- but slightly more produced than usual -- song called "You Make Me Want to Wear Dresses."
She didn't last long on a major label and I don't think she makes videos anymore, but she seems to tour relentlessly with very minimalistic shows in small venues. I don't seek out Germano information, but whenever I see another CD I snap it up...and there we go again.
So she belongs in the "I'd Buy Anything" category but I don't really know why, and I'm not sure why anybody should or shouldn't explore her music. But I DO recommend her "Geek the Girl" and "Excerpts from a Love Circus" albums as unusually attention-grabbing. I also hear that her collaboration with Giant Sand (under the name "OP8") was very good, but I've never found a copy.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
A Guide to Lineups
There's this stereotype that, second only to Swedes, Canadians are the most used to standing in line (except for people who live in countries with chronic shortages, of course).
I don't think this is strictly true -- I've stood in plenty of lines in the USA as well -- but there's no doubt we have a form of "line etiquette" that many hold sacred.
These tips are for those who don't seem to understand lines.
First, observe what others are doing. Maybe the venue has a standardized lineup ritual, or maybe something has formed spontaneously, but in either case you can get a sense of the situation by watching others.
Is there a sign that says "line starts here?" That's a good indication that the line starts where indicated. Are a line of people standing at the sign? If so, go to the end of the line and -- when in doubt -- ask if that particular line is the one you're looking for.
If nobody is lined up behind the sign then you can feel free to start the line yourself. Patiently.
Never step in front of others. In some situations it may be okay to join friends in the line, but usually only if the line is incredibly long or if the line is moving quickly. If the line is short then you should go to the end, otherwise everybody will call you "butter, butter, peanut butter," if only in their heads.
Never take the express line unless you meet the line's conditions. I don't care how old and tired you are.
If everybody is frustrated with the line's slowness, it's okay to make disgruntled comments. But know when to quit. It's bad enough waiting forever in a line without having to listen to somebody huffing about it.
When you are at the front of a line which leads to personal service with more than one wicket, wait until you are called. Never just pick a wicket and walk to it. The person at the wicket may not be ready for you, or there may be a system involved.
If you walk directly to a wicket without being called then you are setting yourself up for a disappointment; what if the wicket closes on you? What if the person isn't ready for you, and meanwhile the people who were in line behind you are filtering over to other wickets which have suddenly become available?
Greed and haste is usually punished in this situation.
When you are at the front of a line and waiting to be called, pay attention. Do not get lost in a conversation with your friends. Do no use your cel phone. Beside the probability that you will not notice when you are being called, it is also very inconsiderate for a service person to have to compete for your attention. Remember, you don't like it when THEY chat behind the counter, do you?
When you are being served, remember how it felt while you were waiting back in line. That's how the people behind you feel now. Do not chit-chat with the service person. Do not make a scene. Do not make outrageous demands. You wouldn't want to wait while somebody else does that stuff. Get your stuff and move along.
If the server made a mistake, you are allowed to come back and go directly to the server without waiting in line, but only if you are in a hurry or if the problem can be quickly resolved. When servers make mistakes, rules can be bent. If, however, you just want to take out your anger about having stood forever in line and then gotten the wrong stuff, save it for a time when you won't make other people suffer. Believe me, people don't respect you when you hold up the line. They think you're stupid.
I don't think this is strictly true -- I've stood in plenty of lines in the USA as well -- but there's no doubt we have a form of "line etiquette" that many hold sacred.
These tips are for those who don't seem to understand lines.
First, observe what others are doing. Maybe the venue has a standardized lineup ritual, or maybe something has formed spontaneously, but in either case you can get a sense of the situation by watching others.
Is there a sign that says "line starts here?" That's a good indication that the line starts where indicated. Are a line of people standing at the sign? If so, go to the end of the line and -- when in doubt -- ask if that particular line is the one you're looking for.
If nobody is lined up behind the sign then you can feel free to start the line yourself. Patiently.
Never step in front of others. In some situations it may be okay to join friends in the line, but usually only if the line is incredibly long or if the line is moving quickly. If the line is short then you should go to the end, otherwise everybody will call you "butter, butter, peanut butter," if only in their heads.
Never take the express line unless you meet the line's conditions. I don't care how old and tired you are.
If everybody is frustrated with the line's slowness, it's okay to make disgruntled comments. But know when to quit. It's bad enough waiting forever in a line without having to listen to somebody huffing about it.
When you are at the front of a line which leads to personal service with more than one wicket, wait until you are called. Never just pick a wicket and walk to it. The person at the wicket may not be ready for you, or there may be a system involved.
If you walk directly to a wicket without being called then you are setting yourself up for a disappointment; what if the wicket closes on you? What if the person isn't ready for you, and meanwhile the people who were in line behind you are filtering over to other wickets which have suddenly become available?
Greed and haste is usually punished in this situation.
When you are at the front of a line and waiting to be called, pay attention. Do not get lost in a conversation with your friends. Do no use your cel phone. Beside the probability that you will not notice when you are being called, it is also very inconsiderate for a service person to have to compete for your attention. Remember, you don't like it when THEY chat behind the counter, do you?
When you are being served, remember how it felt while you were waiting back in line. That's how the people behind you feel now. Do not chit-chat with the service person. Do not make a scene. Do not make outrageous demands. You wouldn't want to wait while somebody else does that stuff. Get your stuff and move along.
If the server made a mistake, you are allowed to come back and go directly to the server without waiting in line, but only if you are in a hurry or if the problem can be quickly resolved. When servers make mistakes, rules can be bent. If, however, you just want to take out your anger about having stood forever in line and then gotten the wrong stuff, save it for a time when you won't make other people suffer. Believe me, people don't respect you when you hold up the line. They think you're stupid.
Small Random Things I Know
- Toronto magazine Popshifter is a fabulous analysis of pop culture, without trendy bloviating.
- It's easy for me to criticize people who go on Facebook update sprees. It is also easy for me to go on such sprees myself.
- No matter how poorly I eat, I am still eating better than the 19th century polar explorers.
- We hiccup because of our evolutionary connection with tadpoles. No kidding.
- I simply cannot conceive of the planet Jupiter. I can't imagine it. I don't understand the concept of an enormous planet that doesn't really have a surface.
- If I was independently wealthy and had a maid I would probably be depressed.
- Too much snow.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sir John Franklin, Unforgettable, Dead
William T. Vollmann's novel "The Rifles" is about John Franklin's northwest passage expedition. Except that John Franklin is really the time-traveling twin of Captain Subzero, who is also sort of William T. Vollmann himself, and all of them are in love with a crazy Inuk woman named Reepah, who was part of the greater tragedy of the much-maligned 1950s relocation of Inuit families to Resolute, and everybody has been impacted by the properties of lead, you see.
The book is best when it is describing Vollmann's impressions of the far north; the shambolic yet warm settlements, the sparse beauty of endless tundra, and the sheer superpower of wind, ice, and cold.
It's also good when Vollmann writes about Reepah, a hearing-impaired, gasoline-sniffing, poverty stricken, utterly damaged woman who cheerfully ping-pongs between Subzero and Franklin, past and present, chopping blubber in the kitchen and screaming drunkenly in New York City. Her affairs with her Caucasian lovers are typically Vollmann: lopsided, crazy, impossible, doomed.
But what does all this have to do with "rifles?" I missed it the first time I read the book, but this time I took note of the introduction, in which the author tries to find the source of a river on Cornwallis Island...he keeps following it, trying to find its source, only to realize -- after an exhausting journey -- that
But Vollmann knows that this is a messy river to follow, and he acknowledges that this is too simplistic. The book sinks into necessarily long descriptions of starvation which make the reader understand both the protracted nature of Arctic death and the sheer emptiness of the landscape. As difficult as it is to read, and as spongy as its "permafrost" can occasionally be, "The Rifles" gives a personal glimpse of the far north as experienced by Vollmann himself.
It makes you want to go there and go very far away, all at the same time.
Immediately after this, I finally roused myself to read one of Vollmann's sources: "Frozen In Time" by Owen Beattie and John Geiger, about Beattie's own trips north to exhume the bodies of Franklin's crew.
The book is dry and clunkily sentimental, and it is so repetitive that you wonder if you aren't reading the same chapters over and over again. It's written, in fact, as though it were the awkward offspring of a research paper and a journal, which is exactly what it is.
Beattie was the man who developed and (it would seem) supported the theory that Franklin's expedition was debilitated early on by lead poisoning, mainly due to hastily-manufactured tinned food. Most of the bodies and relics from the 1840s are long gone -- scattered by the elements, lost under the ice, acquired by the Inuit -- but the bodies of three crewmen have remained buried on isolated, inhospitable Beechey Island.
So Beattie and his team went there with a portable laboratory and dug up the corpses. They were amazed to find that the 140-year-old bodies of John Torrington, John Hartnell, and William Braine were almost perfectly preserved...and it's the gruesome pictures of the men that are the real stars of the book. Bulging hands, rubbery lips, gritted teeth, staring eyes, emaciated bodies, all dressed in period clothing and looking barely dead. The bodies are downright eerie...if you want nightmares, here are a few online shots.
That's it for me. No more Arctic stories for a while. I'm plunging into Sherlock Holmes because I much prefer reading about that smug bastard than spending another week perpetually icebound.
The book is best when it is describing Vollmann's impressions of the far north; the shambolic yet warm settlements, the sparse beauty of endless tundra, and the sheer superpower of wind, ice, and cold.
It's also good when Vollmann writes about Reepah, a hearing-impaired, gasoline-sniffing, poverty stricken, utterly damaged woman who cheerfully ping-pongs between Subzero and Franklin, past and present, chopping blubber in the kitchen and screaming drunkenly in New York City. Her affairs with her Caucasian lovers are typically Vollmann: lopsided, crazy, impossible, doomed.
But what does all this have to do with "rifles?" I missed it the first time I read the book, but this time I took note of the introduction, in which the author tries to find the source of a river on Cornwallis Island...he keeps following it, trying to find its source, only to realize -- after an exhausting journey -- that
...these lakes were from permafrost melt; the whole island was permafrost; when you were on the island you were in a world of rivers that came from everywhere.In his "Seven Dreams" series (of which "The Rifles" is book six) he is following tenuous paths through history, following his inspirations in directions that are symbolic and meaningful. "The Rifles" is about starvation and lead, which killed the Franklin expedition (partially through lead-contaminated food), which is killing Reepah (who sniffs gasoline), and impacted the entire north when rifles and European contact turned the ecosystem from one of sheer survival to one of fur-for-profit.
But Vollmann knows that this is a messy river to follow, and he acknowledges that this is too simplistic. The book sinks into necessarily long descriptions of starvation which make the reader understand both the protracted nature of Arctic death and the sheer emptiness of the landscape. As difficult as it is to read, and as spongy as its "permafrost" can occasionally be, "The Rifles" gives a personal glimpse of the far north as experienced by Vollmann himself.
It makes you want to go there and go very far away, all at the same time.
Immediately after this, I finally roused myself to read one of Vollmann's sources: "Frozen In Time" by Owen Beattie and John Geiger, about Beattie's own trips north to exhume the bodies of Franklin's crew.
The book is dry and clunkily sentimental, and it is so repetitive that you wonder if you aren't reading the same chapters over and over again. It's written, in fact, as though it were the awkward offspring of a research paper and a journal, which is exactly what it is.
Beattie was the man who developed and (it would seem) supported the theory that Franklin's expedition was debilitated early on by lead poisoning, mainly due to hastily-manufactured tinned food. Most of the bodies and relics from the 1840s are long gone -- scattered by the elements, lost under the ice, acquired by the Inuit -- but the bodies of three crewmen have remained buried on isolated, inhospitable Beechey Island.
So Beattie and his team went there with a portable laboratory and dug up the corpses. They were amazed to find that the 140-year-old bodies of John Torrington, John Hartnell, and William Braine were almost perfectly preserved...and it's the gruesome pictures of the men that are the real stars of the book. Bulging hands, rubbery lips, gritted teeth, staring eyes, emaciated bodies, all dressed in period clothing and looking barely dead. The bodies are downright eerie...if you want nightmares, here are a few online shots.
That's it for me. No more Arctic stories for a while. I'm plunging into Sherlock Holmes because I much prefer reading about that smug bastard than spending another week perpetually icebound.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Exo Hair Postmortem
Last month Vanilla sent me a link to Exoskeleton Cabaret and told me that I absolutely MUST buy some of their hair extensions. I said that such things require elaborate makeup and clothing that doesn't suit me, and she pointed out that the models were quite understated and I should stop being a wuss. She was right!
So I bought two of their pieces: a ponytail fall made out of wool and plastic, and a pair of enormous "tubular crin" extensions.
Saturday was the big night and I gave myself half an hour to get them "installed." But you see, I've always had this problem with hair...
First off, I don't like the incredible PICKINESS of hairstyling, where everything must be meticulous or it looks stupid. Separating my head into REGULAR pigtails is arduous in itself, but building up HIGH pigtails has always been my worst nightmare. My hair is incredibly heavy and my arm-strength is marginal; after half an hour of building, demolishing, and rebuilding my high pigtails I was ready for the sanitarium, and also losing hair.
Then the extensions themselves, attached to thin strips of elastic fabric that are obviously intended to be attached to something -- like a barret -- instead of just being tied up and pinned to death. Then just imagine the joy of arranging these things; it was like herding cats, albeit sixty of them made out of extremely light, long, bouncy plastic.
It took an hour, and by the end of it I was hardly feeling glamorous. All I wanted to do was come back home and make a drunken video with a hand-puppet (see below).
But here's the thing: I think I can do better next time. Maybe I'll try putting them closer together, and attaching bobby pins to the extensions BEFORE I put them on. I can't recommend these extensions highly enough: they're sturdy, they look amazing, and people can't stop touching them.
The latest few pictures are up on Flickr, but I'd like to leave you with this enigmatic shot of Victoria and I which you can try scrounging up a rationale for:
So I bought two of their pieces: a ponytail fall made out of wool and plastic, and a pair of enormous "tubular crin" extensions.
Saturday was the big night and I gave myself half an hour to get them "installed." But you see, I've always had this problem with hair...
First off, I don't like the incredible PICKINESS of hairstyling, where everything must be meticulous or it looks stupid. Separating my head into REGULAR pigtails is arduous in itself, but building up HIGH pigtails has always been my worst nightmare. My hair is incredibly heavy and my arm-strength is marginal; after half an hour of building, demolishing, and rebuilding my high pigtails I was ready for the sanitarium, and also losing hair.
Then the extensions themselves, attached to thin strips of elastic fabric that are obviously intended to be attached to something -- like a barret -- instead of just being tied up and pinned to death. Then just imagine the joy of arranging these things; it was like herding cats, albeit sixty of them made out of extremely light, long, bouncy plastic.
It took an hour, and by the end of it I was hardly feeling glamorous. All I wanted to do was come back home and make a drunken video with a hand-puppet (see below).
But here's the thing: I think I can do better next time. Maybe I'll try putting them closer together, and attaching bobby pins to the extensions BEFORE I put them on. I can't recommend these extensions highly enough: they're sturdy, they look amazing, and people can't stop touching them.
The latest few pictures are up on Flickr, but I'd like to leave you with this enigmatic shot of Victoria and I which you can try scrounging up a rationale for:
Nightclubbing with Schnapps the Seal
I've taken a bit of a break from the lip-syncing domestic drag shows -- storyboarding them is a pain -- so on Saturday night I decided to do a relatively unplanned experiment: to make a "talkie" with multiple camera angles, starring Schnapps the seal who works for scale (fish).
Unfortunately my insane hair extensions took so long to apply (more on that later) that I didn't get a chance to film anything until I got back home at 1am, considerably inebriated and on the verge of drop-dead exhaustion.
That's my way of explaining what you're about to see...if you dare.
Unfortunately my insane hair extensions took so long to apply (more on that later) that I didn't get a chance to film anything until I got back home at 1am, considerably inebriated and on the verge of drop-dead exhaustion.
That's my way of explaining what you're about to see...if you dare.
Friday, February 22, 2008
"Our Past Present" Reviewed by Heathen Harvest!
Over at Heathen Harvest there is a wonderful review of "Our Past Present," the split CD of material by Jim DeJong (Infant Cycle) and myself.
Like other reviews of the CDs it points out the "distinct yet complimentary" nature of the two styles, and again the UPhold segments are referred to as "cinematic." I particularly like this description:
The review is very positive, and coming from such a great webzine it's a particularly nice boost for my state of mind!
Like other reviews of the CDs it points out the "distinct yet complimentary" nature of the two styles, and again the UPhold segments are referred to as "cinematic." I particularly like this description:
All the tracks on here are suffused with an eerily expectant atmosphere coupled with a velvety and suffocatory claustrophobia, as if presaging some unforeseen disaster just about to spring itself onto the unfortunate victims.I like to think I have a velvet approach to suffocation, so this is a great compliment. I really DO care about my musical victims.
The review is very positive, and coming from such a great webzine it's a particularly nice boost for my state of mind!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
The 1920s Technology Update
It's certainly true that we live in a time of fast-moving technology, but those folks in 1928 were no slouches either. They were so busy coming up with new inventions that they barely had time to apply Odorono twice a week!
By September 29, 1928, the "talking pictures" had finally arrived. A lot of technological work still needed to happen -- sound syncing, improvements in sound recording and amplification, mixing techniques, soundproofing of studios -- but by that time people were pretty much ready to accept what the studio scientists were cooking up.
In a short article called "Black Magic," though, The New Yorker describes several other inventions that were establishing themselves.
I can't find any information about the main topic of the article -- "Photograms" --but it seems as though this technology had existed for some time (I recall articles much earlier in the magazine about the low quality of telegraphed photos).
Anyway, radio was still to be king for another fifteen years or so, and The New Yorker concludes with the latest advances (which would not have been news to anybody -- like me -- who'd been reading the advertising copy for the previous few months).
By September 29, 1928, the "talking pictures" had finally arrived. A lot of technological work still needed to happen -- sound syncing, improvements in sound recording and amplification, mixing techniques, soundproofing of studios -- but by that time people were pretty much ready to accept what the studio scientists were cooking up.
In a short article called "Black Magic," though, The New Yorker describes several other inventions that were establishing themselves.
I can't find any information about the main topic of the article -- "Photograms" --but it seems as though this technology had existed for some time (I recall articles much earlier in the magazine about the low quality of telegraphed photos).
Photograms are pictures, or documents, sent by wire the same as telegrams.The editors then make a keen distinction (keep in mind this is 1928).
Newspapers use photograms for news pictures, in cases like the Florida hurricane. Lawyers send photograms of legal documents, making error impossible.
Musical scores are often sent--song hits of Tin Pan Alley are released in San Francisco within twelve hours. Fashions are sent from Paris.
Don't confuse all this with television. Television (are we boring you?) is very, very different. At the Radio World's Fair last week, which was terribly dull, we took a look at television. A man with a scrubby mustache let himself be televised. He showed his teeth and winked and leered, which is about as far as television has gone at present. The pictures didn't do justice even to that. His mustache was vague, and his chin finally faded out altogether. What we could see of him looked pretty grim. Nobody is using television yet and we can well understand why.I can't find any substantial online references to this early television experiment, but it may have been one of John Logie Baird's 1928 transmissions between London and New York. If so, Baird's prototype had only thirty scanlines, a far cry from the 486 we're used to in NTSC-world. You can see one of those early facial images at the link; Picasso would have appreciated it.
Anyway, radio was still to be king for another fifteen years or so, and The New Yorker concludes with the latest advances (which would not have been news to anybody -- like me -- who'd been reading the advertising copy for the previous few months).
The only thing to report about the newest in radio sets is that they now mostly plug into the electric-light circuit--no batteries. They are also disguised artfully in period furniture. Some of them have liquor cabinets.All true...during Prohibition no less! What has been confusing me is that these sets were advertised as plugging into LIGHT SOCKETS. Like, you twisted them into the socket of a lamp where you'd normally place the bulb. I'm wondering if this was a novelty idea or if electrical outlets were really scarce at the time.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Kill Your Husband, Smell Good
The folks at Odorono certainly have their moral code all worked out, here in the September 22, 1928 issue of The New Yorker:
You may have more of a past than a future, but you are personally irreproachable.This is right up there with the Murad cigarette ads, which imply that being "calm and collected" is more important than -- say -- accidental vehicular homicide.
Have you shop-lifted, smuggled, poisoned your husband, broken good men's hearts in your dark past?
Don't let conscience worry you! Use Odorono!
Anyway, for those who use Odorono in the recommended dosage (twice a week), here are the benefits:
Fastidious women frankly depend on Odorono for freedom from perspiration embarrassments. Its sure protection gives them poise, keeps their skin immaculate, free from moisture (in spite of exercise, humidity, heat). They wear good clothes--and do not ruin them by ugly under-arm stains.
Odorono is harmless. Delightful to use. Instantly effectual.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Facebooking
Okay. I've spent a few weeks on Facebook and I think I have a good sense of its pros and cons.
First of all, it IS a wonderful way to keep casually in touch with people, usually in a cute and noncommittal way. You can find out what people are up to, remind them about upcoming events, share pictures with them, and basically take care of all the stuff that you'd never bother calling or emailing about.
The thing is, some people are VERY ACTIVE within Facebook. They're constantly posting updates, adding applications, and joining groups, and every time this happens you are notified about it. Not coincidentally, the people who do this frequently tend to be the people I am only tangentially friendly with, so I spend my Facebook sessions being bombarded by crap from people who I care little about.
And I'm automatically distrustful of these applications I'm always prompted to install. I doubt there's any security risk involved, but in my opinion they're just useless clutter that I'll never use anyway. Why do I need a special application in order to get a pleasant message from somebody? Why don't people just send me a nice email, instead of forcing me to install a "good karma" application?
I suspect the answer is because the applications are one step further removed from regular human interaction. If somebody sends me an email saying "you're hot," I am generally creeped out. But if they prompt me to install a "you're hot" application -- and I know that all of THEIR friends are being prompted to install it as well -- it stops being a REAL message and becomes something else, like a happy wave or a drunken "cheers."
Obviously there are many different ways of looking at Facebook; some people see it as a vibrant community, some as a lifestyle, some as a networking tool, and some -- like me -- as a way to maintain casual contact. And since I'm bad at keeping in contact this is a good thing, but I REALLY don't want to be reminded every time somebody I barely know is washing their hair.
First of all, it IS a wonderful way to keep casually in touch with people, usually in a cute and noncommittal way. You can find out what people are up to, remind them about upcoming events, share pictures with them, and basically take care of all the stuff that you'd never bother calling or emailing about.
The thing is, some people are VERY ACTIVE within Facebook. They're constantly posting updates, adding applications, and joining groups, and every time this happens you are notified about it. Not coincidentally, the people who do this frequently tend to be the people I am only tangentially friendly with, so I spend my Facebook sessions being bombarded by crap from people who I care little about.
And I'm automatically distrustful of these applications I'm always prompted to install. I doubt there's any security risk involved, but in my opinion they're just useless clutter that I'll never use anyway. Why do I need a special application in order to get a pleasant message from somebody? Why don't people just send me a nice email, instead of forcing me to install a "good karma" application?
I suspect the answer is because the applications are one step further removed from regular human interaction. If somebody sends me an email saying "you're hot," I am generally creeped out. But if they prompt me to install a "you're hot" application -- and I know that all of THEIR friends are being prompted to install it as well -- it stops being a REAL message and becomes something else, like a happy wave or a drunken "cheers."
Obviously there are many different ways of looking at Facebook; some people see it as a vibrant community, some as a lifestyle, some as a networking tool, and some -- like me -- as a way to maintain casual contact. And since I'm bad at keeping in contact this is a good thing, but I REALLY don't want to be reminded every time somebody I barely know is washing their hair.
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