Sunday, August 19, 2007

The Stinkies Overheard

I mentioned in a previous post the phenomenon of "The Stinkies," a strange subgroup of physically odd and socially inept people who I first discovered while working at Tim Horton's.

I spent part of my morning at that very same Tim Horton's store, typing up a DVD review for Generation X's irreverent movie magazine. The concept of "The Stinky" was INVENTED in that store, and as luck would have it the two ARCHETYPAL examples -- who we naturally called "Mr. Stinky" and "Mrs. Stinky" -- were sitting in the store and having a bizarre argument.

Mrs. Stinky was clearly brow-beating Mr. Stinky in her creepy, phlegmy, piercing, almost unintelligable voice. I couldn't hear a word HE said (and I could barely follow her side of the conversation either), but here's the most accurate transcription I can give. I think it offers some insight into how the Stinkies communicate with each other:
No I'm not goin! I'm not goin! Nope! I'm not goin! No I'm not goin! I asked you three years ago, forget it! I'm not goin now! I'm not goin now!

You screwed up! What? What you mean? Where you goin? Sit sit! You screwed up, didn't ya? You screwed up good, didn't ya? Didn't ya? You screwed up good, didn't ya? We could-a gone three years ago. Why didn't ya? Why didn't ya? Why didn't ya? Nope, I'm not goin now. I asked you three years ago, didn't I? I'm not goin now. I'm not goin. I'm not goin noplace. You said no. I ain't got time for it.

You can fix it so they have-ta come here.

Just Because It's Sunday: "Let Go the Line"

The last song I hear during my "Nights o' Booze" is whatever song the cab driver is listening to. Tonight, after a GORGEOUSLY PERFECT time -- wonderful people I haven't seen in years -- the cab driver was listening to the Most Wonderful Song Ever.

I was listening to the song and it "pinged" into me: I was five years old again (sans lipstick), listening to my Snoopy radio while killing the little red spiders around the artesian well...and it was the song! THE SONG!

I'd totally forgotten it, and the cab driver was playing it. I was in a state of bliss. I interrupted his life story and demanded to know: "Who sang this? WHO SANG THIS WONDERFUL SONG?" And he said "Max Webster."

We had a howling fight. NO WAY Kim Mitchell had been put his greasy fingers on such a wonderful song. When I was a child, Kim Mitchell was a big freaking joke...I guess if you were a Canadian Rock Groupie in the '70s (like my wonderful Mr. Cab Driver) then Kim Mitchell was a pretty cool guy, but when *I* grew up he was a terrible CanCon nightmare. No way! That song could NOT be by Max Webster! Kim Mitchell wasn't involved!

But he was. The song is "Let Go the Line." It's wonderful and appropriate and everything a song could be. I can't find an original video, but here's some guy (Terry Watkinson) performing it for me, and also performing it for anybody who's drunk and happy this weekend:

Nothing demystifies a song by some guy (Terry Watkinson) mutilating it. THANKS TERRY. You killed my childhood.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Kicking Out the Crazies

I served so many customers at Tim Horton's that I was bound to deal with many difficult, aggressive, and downright crazy people.

If you've never been in that situation, then you can't imagine what it's like to have to assert a non-existent authority in the face of downright nuttiness: you can tell them to "get out" a hundred times, but they can simply call your bluff until you phone the police, and even then it could take half an hour for them to show up. Crazy people also tend to act up during the busiest times, when you can least afford a distracting confrontation...they probably know that if they bug you when you're busy, you might give in to their demands just to get rid of them.

I was sitting in a Tim Horton's tonight when a bouncy girl came in with her boyfriend. She started talking to one of the new employees:
GIRL: You're new here, right? I used to work here too, I'm still waiting for Sandra to send me my last cheque. I quit last week, and you know what? I had five dollars in tips from my last day, but I forgot to take them with me, and somebody STOLE my tips, can you believe that?

EMPLOYEE: Wow.

GIRL: So I called Sandra today and she said I could just come in and get two free medium cappuccinos. I'd like to get those now, one with milk and one with lots of chocolate.

EMPLOYEE: Uhhh, just a minute...

GIRL: Hey, I just want my cappuccinos, Sandra said it's okay.
It was obvious to me that this girl was full of crap, but she was so bald-faced CHEERFUL about it. The employee went and got her supervisor.

This supervisor is only about 17 but she's a tough girl...it was fascinating to listen to her struggling to keep calm, ALMOST swearing but then remembering her role and cutting herself off. It was an admirable display.
SUPERVISOR: Yeah, Eileen, you've got to leave now.

GIRL: I came for my cappuccinos. Sandra said I could have them.

SUPERVISOR: You stole sh... You stole stuff and Sandra said we can't give you anything.

GIRL: You get on the phone and call Sandra, she'll tell you.

SUPERVISOR: Sandra was already here and told us we can't give you sh... Ahh, get out of my store NOW.

GIRL: I'm not leaving until I get my cappuccinos.

SUPERVISOR: I'm calling the police.

GIRL: Call Sandra!

SUPERVISOR: Get out of my store, girl!

GIRL: {Appealing to the customers standing in line} I can't believe this place, I can't get my cheque, they won't give me the cappuccinos they owe me.

SUPERVISOR: You are DAMAGED, girl!

GIRL: Huh? I have a UNIVERSITY DEGREE, you know.

SUPERVISOR: You got a degree, why're you workin' at Tim Horton's? Get out of my store NOW.
The girl did leave, promising to call the manager to get it all "straightened out." The supervisor, suffering post-adrenaline freakiness, explained to the customers that this person does this every day.

As Delirium-gal Annissa screamed at me last week: "Has the whole world gone MAD?!?"

Thursday, August 16, 2007

I'd Buy Anything By...Adrian Belew

I don't much care for masturbatory guitar virtuosos. You can play really fast, Mr. Van Halen? So? What really matters is the guitarist's ability to integrate with other instruments and -- in the case of Adrian Belew -- go completely off into left field, then come back still grinning a nerdy grin.

He has worked with everybody -- Frank Zappa, David Bowie, Talking Heads, Laurie Anderson, King Crimson -- but he's also had a fun (but slightly spotty) solo career. He's an accomplished drummer and pianist, often playing most (if not all) his own instruments. He has a beautifully quirky personality that encompasses both joy and tragedy...though usually joy.

He's achieved massive critical and niche success, yes. But actual fame? Ironically, the closest he came to being a rock star was with a goofy pop song about how he'd been UNABLE to achieve stardom, despite working his butt off. A duet with his daughter, it illustrates Belew's "cute" side.

After the Belew-fronted incarnation of King Crimson toured with Tool they came back with a new sound (and album) that is decidedly NOT cute. Here's the meta-song, "Happy With What You Have to Be Happy With."

Albums to buy? Definitely Mr. Music Head (one of my favourite albums, BRILLIANT songwriting if can get past the aforementioned "Oh Daddy") and any one of his recent "side" albums (why not start with "Side One?") Avoid "Young Lions," his post-Music Head stab at stardom that today sounds too cheesy even for Belew. For fans only: Guitar as Orchestra. Sure he can make his guitar sound like an orchestra, but that doesn't mean he should.

My Fantasy Office

I used to fantasize about having my own office. I didn’t fantasize about WORKING there…instead, I pictured my future office as a tranquil place with a small fridge and subdued lighting, where I could go at night and read or perhaps have wild sex on the couch.

In University I did have a few offices, but they were sickly places without windows or adequate ventilation. I did schoolwork in those offices and sometimes I slept in them, but I never viewed them as a sort of refuge.

I still look at buildings and fantasize about having cozy offices in them. Yesterday, while imagining the joy of having an office in an old public school, I realized that I already DO have an office, or at least a mostly-private cubicle...but I would NEVER think of hanging out there for pleasure. I spend enough time at my workplace already. Even when the six-year-old neighbour on the right is practicing his newly-discovered "shrieking ability," and the teenage neighbours on the left are bashing themselves against my workroom wall, I'd still rather be at home than at my office.

The more I think about it, the more I understand that what I REALLY yearn for is a PLEASURE COTTAGE, isolated but still close to my home, that is cleaned nightly by custodians and has a fabulous view. And a couch.

So in other words I'm out of luck.

Octavia and I

I’ve been spending a lot of time on dates with my AlphaSmart Neo word processor (tentatively named “Octavia,” for reasons that are either obvious or silly). We’ve been sitting in parks, in coffee shops, and on the front steps of my apartment. We even took an ambitious Kitchener/Waterloo walk/bus tour, of which more in another post.

Whenever I throw myself into an activity I’m aware that it could be a “fad.” Some of my fads last years, and some of them are recurring, but a few are brief flirtations with productivity methods that are quickly shucked when my routine ends up changing. So the fact that I’ve managed to hack together the bulk of three short stories – more fiction than I’ve written in the last ten years combined – is both amazing and worrying: can I keep it going? Is this a dead-end? Will Octavia retire to the basement when the winter comes, allowing me to return to the other things I've stopped doing, like...errr, writing blog entries?

Could be, but the Neo is a very nice device anyway, and it complements my customary writing style. My method of writing has always been like kneeding dough: I force myself to type substandard, off-the-cuff junk until a glimmering of an idea appears, then I go back and edit it to massage out the idea, and the piece is edited over and over again until it is both polished and (hopefully) a good short story.

The Neo makes this a breeze. I can skip between the workspaces, each of which contain ideas or stories or character lists in various stages. The small-ish screen doesn’t hinder me because I’m not much of a “page-formatting” writer: every time I revisit a piece, I start back again at the top (or, if the top has already been polished, at the next section down…and you can easily navigate between sections on the Neo) and I gradually descend through the story, kneeding the wording, deleting the pieces that have become unnecessary, adding detail, and occasionally branching into whatever “theme” seems to be forming.

I also have to give props to the built-in thesaurus. My creative writing teachers always insisted we use a thesaurus, but I read so many awkward and flowery writer’s workshop atrocities that I’ve shied away from them, not to mention I hate losing my train of thought while flipping through an ugly little book. But I find myself using the Neo’s thesaurus often enough for it to be worthwhile, and now I understand that – used judiciously – it’s a really effective/competent/powerful tool.

If you’re the kind of writer who likes to dramatically REARRANGE blocks of text, editing on the Neo is painful (which is why many people use it for drafts and then upload their work for later editing on their computer). But if you take a more organic, unplanned approach, Neo edits as well as any regular word processor.

There's another bonus: since my workspaces are mutating so drastically, I regularly dump them all to my computer. I place each dump into a dated folder so I can preserve old copies and old ideas that I’ve painfully abandoned. Then I drag the cat back outside and keep going.

Are Octavia and I having just a summer romance? Maybe. But what a whirlwind fling it is!

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Interactive Fiction Research

Dennis G. Jerz has spent the last several years researching an obscure but fascinating subject: Will Crowther's "Colossal Cave Adventure." Considered to be the real forerunner of modern interactive fiction, the game has been glossed so many times that it has become obscured by its own mythology.

Finally, Jerz answers some of the questions and dispels some of the myths have surround the game. With new interviews, an partial exploration of the Bedquilt caves, and -- most shockingly -- the original 1976 source code, he has written (and illustrated) a sprawling and intricate piece of scholarship: "Somewhere Nearby is Colossal Cave: Examining Will Crowther's Original 'Adventure' in Code and in Kentucky."

I.F. fans are going nuts about this, and rightly so. It's a beautiful thing.

Holy Cow, Lysol Saves Marriages!


Nope, this isn't a scene from "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," it's a warning to wives from February 18, 1928.

We already know that a Lysol douche is the most important tip to pass on to your terrified daughter. But did you also know that it will prevent your husband from having reluctant sex with your sister?
Her husband and her sister are going to the country club dance. She would like to go...but hasn't the energy. She is "too tired"...as usual.

And, when they were first married, she was always the one who thought of interesting things to do. Now, so much of the time, she is listless, unhappy, bored.

The change came about gradually. But now, without understanding why, they both know that the joy and zest have gone out of their marriage.

These pathetic, "quiet tragedies" are very common, and so often they are unnecessary. They are caused, so often, because the wife is negligent about the delicate matter of personal hygiene--or perhaps because she does not understand the facts about it.
All those years that I spent watching douche advertisements on television, they were always focused on the aesthetic argument: "you stink, darling, so take some of this." Lysol, however, was telling women in 1928 that spraying their insides with watered-down poison would prevent lethargy, perhaps in the way that setting a cat on fire makes it run really fast.

Monday, August 13, 2007

An iTunes Word Search: "Fish"

Ever curious, I found myself searching for songs about "fish." iTunes to the rescue!
  1. 4:50 AM - Go Fishing (Roger Waters)
  2. A Nice Little Fish Business and Making Money (Transglobal Underground)
  3. Around the Fish (Nits)
  4. Blowfish (Doubting Thomas)
  5. The Family and the Fishing Net (Peter Gabriel)
  6. Fish Head (Adrian Belew)
  7. Fish, Chips and Sweat (Funkadelic)
  8. Fishes (Nits)
  9. Fishing (Nurse & Soldier)
  10. Joan Miro's Procession Through the Insides of a Purple Antelope Across a Sea of Tuna Fish (Adrian Belew)
  11. Sukkafish (The Grates)
  12. Swordfish Lame?nt (The Legendary Pink Dots)
  13. Wall Was More Like the Spot than the Fish (Barnabee Log)
I see that some songs ("Go Fishing," "The Family and the Fishing Net") use "fishing" as a back-to-nature/primitive ritual. Both Nits songs ("Around the Fish," "Fishing") are superficially about fish, but mostly about freedom and movement. "Fish, Chips and Sweat" covers the "food" part of fish.

But all the other songs -- the large majority -- use the word "fish" for an alliterative or surreal purpose. I suppose that "fish" is sort of a strange and funny word, in the same way that "duck" might be (we'll try that another time!)

Women and the Cynical Bachelor (Eleven)

Emily Shops Inc. reveals to us the greatest of feminine virtues:
"All women are divided into two classes," said the Cynical Bachelor; "those who have money, and those who are persuading some man to give it to them."

"You are hopelessly Victorian," replied the Man Who Had Been Caught Young and Educated Wisely. "The two types of women are those who know what to do with money and those who do not.

"You have observed the species spendiferous, but your data is incomplete. Follow me into one of those little Salons of Feminine Sophistication, the Emily Shops, and I will show you Woman at her Best.

"Here you will find women who are buyers, not spenders. Here are women supremely happy, for here they have found clothes that mean to them the utter gratification of the greatest of feminine virtues, a Sense of Values."
This from February 18, 1928. These adverts are strangely hypnotic.