It's moving day Monday!

And by this I mean that I'm switching to a new url.
It appears that tumblr is more convenient for a lot of things (and isn't for a lot of other things, but I'll figure that stuff out).
My new url is veryfunwords.tumblr.com, since I kind of have that motif going on (it's also the name of my twitter, though I don't really use that, but I sometimes do, so if you have twitter, hit me up.)
So, uh, yeah, bye blogspot? I'd feel bad, but you were kind of terrible.

It's sometimes-things-change Sunday!

Hey,

So, as you may or may not have noticed, things have changed a bit, everything's a bit bigger, a bit better, and no, this doesn't have to do with that one comment I got, it's because I wanted to put the little "about me" blurb in there and it messed up a few things. Most things are back to normal, but because of some limitations of this website, and because I don't have the necessary skills to make a website of my own, there will be some troubles. Namely, almost all of the archives are going to be in really small font and I'm sorry for that. I'd explain why, but it's a really boring story, and it'd take me, like, an hour to get it all back to normal and I don't really want to do that, so yeah. It's still readable, if you have good eyes, but I only bothered with the front page.

That's really all that's different. Sorry if you don't like it, kudos if you do, I'm personally indifferent, I liked the tiny font, big words scare me, but I'll power through.

Cheers.

It is SHITTY MOVIE SHATURDAY!

You see what I did there? Usually it's spelled Saturday, but I spelt it Shaturday. It's called a play on words, doggs and doggettes, I'm kind of awesome like that. 

Here's the deal with today. I watched both X Men Origins: Wolverine and American Pie. These are shitty, shitty movies, no matter what anyone tells you. Okay, American Pie is more outdated and stupid than shitty, but trust me, Wolverine is a shitty movie. 

I feel a little bit weird calling Wolverine a shitty movie, because I just praised Transformers 2 and G.I. Joe for being mindless action movies, and embracing that. But here's the thing, those movies are good at being what they are. They are good at bringing toys to life and making those toys blow each other up. And they are good at being what they are because the fact of the matter is that talented people were working on them. They were good at doing what they do because the people working on them were good at doing they do. Wolverine, however, did not have talented dudes and ladies working on it. Or, if it did, those people did not care about putting out a good movie. The acting was ridiculous, the plot made no sense, and, with a rare few exceptions, the special effects were shitty. Even the action sequences were uninspired to a pretty large degree. It is, by no definition that I know of, a good movie. The thing about the other movies is that they didn't try to be good movies, they tried to be entertaining. Which meant that the emotional content is incredibly limited, and all the scenes between the action was purely comedy and exposition. Wolverine expected us to care about these characters that I really didn't. And it sucks, because the movie had this amazing amount of potential: a dude that can't die is on the run from another dude who can't die and there are explosions and shit along the way. Hell, give that to me as a pitch, and I could bang out a screenplay that would be awesome. Except probably not because I'm not a screenwriter, but still, you get the idea. I could certainly make something better than the shit I wasted my time watching. I'm sorry, not very many things make me as angry as this movie did. I refuse to believe it is a movie, at all, even. What I watched does not constitute a film. 

American Pie was better, but that's not hard. The deal with American Pie, though, is that it confused me. It was nowhere near as hysterical as I expected it to be, and I have no idea how sincere it is. For example, one character joins a jazz choir to get laid, and he meets a girl, they fall in love, and he misses his big lacrosse game to sing with her at the recital. I honestly do not know if they were making fun of that sort of story, or if it was completely sincere and everything. There are no clues, one way or the other, about whether this plot arc, which is a pretty important part of the movie, is comedic or if it's there to provide emotional weight to the film, or what. Seriously, it is very perplexing. Another example, in the first 10 minutes of the film, it is established that the main character has a thing for this girl. She isn't mentioned again for half the film, when she has a brief sexual liaison with him (which messes up hilariously!) and then she's put on a plane to Ukraine. And again, at the very end, she shows up over webcam (which I didn't know existed in 1999 but apparently they did) and it's implied they have a long distance thing going on. There were, like, no hints of this, this girl is barely mentioned and isn't even a character, she's a comedic device. Also, I think she's the only topless girl in the movie which is weird because this is American Pie, I thought it was completely a tittie-comedy. Also, Sean William Scott drinks semen, a story that Jason Biggs starts telling in one scene, and ends, like, 3 scenes later. Watching this movie is like watching Donnie Darko: confusing in so many ways, but you think you liked it. 

Also, what the hell guys? Only 2 people commented last time? WHEN I TOLD YOU TO COMMENT? I guess I'm killing myself, because my happiness only depends on how popular I am on the internet. 

Gogol Bordello fuckin' rules!

Somehow, I can't help but think about how many stories there are. I know they say that there are only, like, 4 or 5 stories just retold with different words, but that's kind of a depressing thought. Besides, if there are only that number of stories, then why do we keep on telling them? Besides, maybe there are only that many beginnings, but they can end so many different ways, and morals, man, morals are what it's all about.

I'm not calling out modern literature on this one, but I kind of liked it when at the end of the story in the old fable books they would tell you the moral. I remember I had one book that actually structured itself like that, at the end, in bold it would say, "Moral: be nice to people, yo".

And I'm thinking about this because I've heard many stories the past few days, and I've told a few, written a few, and maybe even experienced some. Maybe what I've experienced isn't quite literary. I mean, there's no character establishment, no rising action, no morals. Or maybe there are. I don't really know, because I'm one of the characters, and it hasn't been traumatic enough that I learned a lesson, or I learned anything.

Actually, that isn't really all that true, because I have learned some things. I have learned that Gogol Bordello fuckin' rules. I have learned that mosh pits are sweatier than I could ever imagine. I have learned that $2 chow mein is tastier after a concert than after a night drinking. I have learned how to get to my friend's house late at night. I have learned that the night can be very pretty over the river when you're on a bridge. I have learned a lot, and yet, I'm confused. In all the stories, the characters learn things that change their lives, that make them believe in something or lose faith in something and there's always a happy or a sad ending. But there's none of that here, I know this isn't a story, but I feel like, considering how much has happened, that something about me should be fundamentally changed. Except, that's the thing, if I am a character, and this is a story, then I would be far more of a romantic character than a novel character.

I will elaborate. The original long form of prose-fiction was the romance, which differs from modern day romances. Old romance is not about love, or rather not only about love, it really depends on the story. As far as I can tell, the main difference between a romance and a novel is the characters. In a novel, the characters push the action, they make things happen, they are movers, they are doers, they get shit done. And they are central to the story. In a romance, on the other hand, the characters are secondary, and the story more happens to them than the other way around. In other words, the characters succumb to the will of the story. Romance characters have no motivation other than this is what the story requires right now.

And, I don't know, I feel like a romantic character. I don't really mean that in a bad way, since I'm having a ball, but yeah, it's like events are shaping me, rather than the other way around. And no where was this more apparent than in the mosh pit at Gogol Bordello. This place redefined the meanings of heat and moisture, it was ridiculous and amazing. But, really, the best way to get to the front, right in front of the stage, is to let the people behind you push you up there while you focus on having a good time. I mean, I was 3 people away from the stage, and I wasn't even trying, I barely even listened to Gogol Bordello before last night. But that's the way the current pushed me, so there I was, 3 people away from the stage, and it was pretty amazing. So, I'm not sure about how I feel about fate right now, it confuses me.

Oh, and to anyone reading this who I was telling the story of the Emperor's New Clothes to the other day, I forgot the most important part. See, when the Emperor was naked, everyone in the kingdom was too scared to say anything, lest they suffer the Emperor's wrath. It was only the child that had no concept of the punishment that might befall him, and who had no concept of authority, who could stand up and say something, because he was too ignorant to know fear. I'm not sure what the moral of the story is.

Also, this may be vain of me, but I am immensely curious about how many people actually read this. So, if you could please comment, that'd be great. Besides, I want a more dialoguic thing to go down here. And my feelings won't be hurt if not very many people comment, because right now I'm under the impression that only, like, 3 people read this. Though if it's less than 3 (haha! <3! LOVE! LOVE IS LESS THAN THREE!) I might just get depressed and kill myself. So, if you want me not to die, make sure there are at least 3 comments here! Peace out! 

EDIT: Comments should be working now, sorry they weren't before, I don't really know what was happening there.

we're always talking, but are we really saying anything?

WE'RE SAYING EVERYTHING SO HOW CAN WE BE ANYTHING BUT?

Desole, here's the deal. Saturday night I went to see The Fugitives play a show on St. Laurent. It was amazing, transcendent, perfection, it was a ridiculously good show. I then came home, stayed up until about 4:30 listening to their album, then then until 4 the next day, which would be Sunday afternoon. I have slept for maybe an hour since then. While I am doing alright with the present circumstance, no matter how undesirable they are, I cannot entirely be accounted for what I'm doing.
For this reason, I am truly sorry if this post degenerates into strange parables and convoluted metaphors, though that may not be far from what usually happens around here.
I am also considering a site redesign. So I'm sorry if there's a transformation, but I assure you, if it's really weird, and weird in a bad way, I will burn it all.

As you can probably imagine, having been awake for so long, and since such a transcendent experience, a lots been running through my head, screaming, like I don't know, I was trying to force something to come out there, but it just wasn't happening. I'll let you in on a secret, one that may not be so much of a secret, and is now definitely not one, since I'm telling the entire internet about it, but I'm side-tracked. The secret is that I don't like to plan. Like, at all. In so many matters, I find it easier and funner and better to just wing it, and see what happens, what comes out. This is usually the case with things like writing or walking or such trivial pursuits as those. I write a lot, and right now I'm trying to get this portfolio done for fiction, but the thing is, the stories I'm writing are sequential drafts of things I wrote organically. I know "organic" is an artistic buzzword, but I've been rolling with it more and more lately. I mean, I'm doing this thing right now with my ink and papers where I'm introducing water. Water wrinkles the paper and thins the ink and it always looks really cool in the end and for lack of a better word, it is organic, because I don't entirely feel like I can take credit for what's coming out. Scientific forces I barely understand and gravity are effecting what comes out on paper more than my mind ever is, and part of me hates this lack of control, but at the same time, it's amazing and humbling, because what is on the paper are these patterns and little wrinkles and crinkles that I could never mimic, and that could never really exist anywhere else, and I don't know, it's like I didn't do it, but without me, it wouldn't be there. It's like I'm working in tandem with these forces, but these forces are forces that have no sentience, no thought, no motivation, they're just energy, they're just pushing me different places and there's no reason for it, it's just happening. And I guess that's a scary thought, but at the same time, because of these forces, things are turning out pretty okay for me, I'd say.
Uhm, yeah, so that just came out, I didn't really plan on saying any of that. It's like there's two things happening in my head, like minor schizo or something like that. There's the things my hands are doing, the words that are coming out when I'm hitting the keyboard like a punching bag, but that's all muscle memory, there's no real conscious thought to these words and yes I could make myself slow down and think. about. the. words. I'm. typing. But there's no fun to that, it's like the Beat sensibility of "First thought best thought" and I guess I never really understood what that meant, before it was just an excuse to not edit, but now I think I get it. Because I have entrenched myself in recent days in books and pop culture and caffeine and for me to say, right now, what I really want to, what I need to, for me to tell the truest truth I can, then I have to just write and trust that my body and my hands know what has to be done. And I guess it's more than muscle memory moving my hands right now, and I guess on some level my mind is dictating this, telling my fingers what to do, telling my artistic sensibilities what to do, but I'm not conscious to that, I'm just writing what I want to, and what I want is the greatest truth I can think of. And fuck it, is this art? I don't even know what the fuck art is, no definition I have read has really told me what to believe in terms of art. And I guess art is like love, there's no way to really explain it, it's one of those things that needs to be felt and touched to be understood, and yeah, that satisfies me. Because, really, I could give a basic definition of love in the same way I could give a basic definition of art, but neither of them would really encapsulated what is meant by the terms. I mean, love and art have so many implications that to separate them from these would be disastrous, it'd be the Hindenburg crashing in Taiwan, there's no real way to explain it. I mean, I'm not sure if what I do is art, and I act like an artist but until I know that what I do is art I can't really call myself an artist but, really, I've been spending the bulk of my time painting and writing right now and if what I'm doing isn't art then who the fuck am I? How would I define myself? But fuck this existentialism, I don't need to deal with this, I'm just doing what makes me happy. And I guess that means drawing pandas and writing about kittens and I guess that's pretty fucking cool in so many ways, but man, what I'm writing right now isn't really making me happy.
I mean, I'm taking this idea, of a box of kittens that grant true love, and I'm trying to make it dark and twisted but that isn't what I want to do, I don't want to write about a man who's life is ruined because of love and kittens, I want to write about someone falling in love and it all going to shit but him being happy because, fuck it, love is what's important. And that's what I want to get across, but those endings are completely shit, and those characters are flat and boring and cliches and I just want to write stuff that makes me happy, but I know that things that make me happy are terrible things. I mean, I love Transformers and G.I. Joe.
And shit man, I didn't want to get this self-deprecating. I'm going to go and figure out what I want to say and do, have a good night, and sorry for how this turned out.

Attraction is an emotion. Emotions are not based on science. And if you can't quantify or prove something exists, well, in my mind, it doesn't.

I watched G.I. Joe again today.
Really, it has exactly the same downfalls as Transformers 2, and it might actually have a better plot. But, really, it's just as ridiculous on so many levels. I could probably go scene-for-scene, pointing out why the actions or the dialogue or the plot is ridiculous. It'd be really easy. Seriously, why was the opening a flashback to Destro's ancestor being tortured? Was Destro important? I mean, I know he designed the warheads and backed MARS, but still, you'd think there could be an easier way to deal with the fact that this guy hates the French. I mean, he's Scottish. Don't all Scots hate the French? Did I just make that up? Oh, also, spoiler alert, as there will be spoilers in this post, but seriously, I'm talking about fucking G.I. Joe. Here's a spoiler, they win, bet you didn't see that one coming. I could go on about how fucking stupid this movie is (why was Duke fighting in East Africa? And why was it only called east Africa? Is... is East Africa a country now? Why did Scarlett hate emotions so much? They gave no reason for it, she just has beef with feelings. And it's weird, because this emotionless bitch is actually the deepest character, and has the most personal development and stuff, it's weird.) but if I did talk about how stupid this movie is, I wouldn't really be talking about G.I. Joe. See, when I say this movie's like Transformers 2, I mean that they both have to be approached and appreciated the same way, because, really, if you're looking for a deep movie, full of in-depth characterization and a legible plot, then why the fuck are you watching G.I. Joe? Seriously, with this movie, it's like the screenwriters put a 6 year old kid in front of a bunch of action figures, and recorded exactly what that kid said and did. It's like this comic I read, Axe Cop, except that's exactly what they do in Axe Cop (the story is actually written by a 6 year old, and it's awesome, look it up, it's all online). And to appreciate this movie, you have to approach it on these terms. So before you start complaining about these children action movies, go back and think about how you were when you were that age, and ask yourself, "What did I want to watch?" and, almost guaranteed, something like G.I. Joe or Transformers will come out. Also, watching G.I. Joe makes me happy in an almost primal way.
Ok, just so you guys don't go thinking I only watch shitty action movies about toys (though that thinking would be somewhat accurate), I watched Hamlet last night, the Kenneth Branagh version. My juvenile and blood obsessed view on the movie? Flawless, absolute perfection, everything Hamlet should be.
For the first half. The first half ends with this amazing slowly panning out shot of Hamlet standing in front of an foreign army talking about how all these lives are a waste and the such, and it ends with such perfection. Seriously, it might be my favourite shot in almost any movie, it's completely haunting and great and there's no way to describe it until you see it. Kenneth Branagh is completely flawless, he manages to balance both the madness and the scheming of Hamlet, and be alternatively hilarious and terrifying, while I'm still on his side the whole time. Seriously, I was in love with this movie.
For the first half. The second half isn't bad, mind you, it's just weird. I mean, the first half dies with Polonius murdered by Hamlet, Hamlet exiled for this, Ophelia falling into insanity, and a general shit storm for everyone else. Things are looking completely bleak for everyone involved in the play. But when Hamlet appears on screen again, things are different. To give you an idea of how the first and second halves stack up to each other, in the first half, there is Charlton Heston telling a great and heartbreaking story of Hecuba and Priam. Charlton fucking Heston, basically told to give it his all, and make that one scene amazing. The second half feature as key characters Billy Crystal and Robin Williams, basically playing Billy Crystal and Robin Williams. It's really a shame, because I loved the first half, and as I said before, the second half isn't bad, it's just not the first half. And it's weird, because this silliness and lack of gravity until the final scene seems to be in the original play. I mean, put yourself in Hamlet's shoes: the love of your life is dead and it's pretty much your fault, her brother has teamed up with the man that killed your father to kill you, and you pretty much only have one friend left in the world. Instead of freaking out about this, or preparing for the fight to come, or doing fucking anything to show he has depth and feels sad about what happened, he casually talks about his chances in the upcoming fight, and makes fun on Robin Williams.

Give me your FACE!

So, I just finished watching Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.
My first impression was: noise. Just a lot of noise. There were new transformers all over the place, some I'd thought would be introduced or at least given names, but no. They were introduced unceremoniously, and died in similar ways. I think Jazz was back, with no explanation given. He was just there, cutting up fools. There were scenes that seemed to have no purpose, whatsoever, and so many opportunities for Shia LaBoeuf and Megan Fox to act.
So, there was a lot of stuff happening. And so much of that stuff was ridiculous to the point of not making any sense at all. Apparently freshmen aren't allowed cars. I didn't know this, is this a real thing that happens at some universities? I can understand them not having any parking spots, but just an all-encompassing no cars rule. Only for freshmen. Also, when they first arrive at the school, they drive right onto campus, right next to the statue of the founder. I'd think this would be in some square, where cars wouldn't really be allowed, especially on move-in day. Also, the whole thing with the macguffin that can save Optimus and destroy the sun and everything. Just so much was wrong with this movie.
But the thing is, I didn't care. I watched this movie for one reason and one reason only: to watch Optimus Prime fight other giant robots that can transform into symbols of authority. And in that respect, the movie delivered, and delivered such succulent meat that it left me crawling on the butcher's floor like a dog, licking up every spare piece of gristle and licking every drop of blood.
I read the title of an article that said, "Are summer movie's too smart?" And I have to say yes, but this one wasn't, this one simply was giant robots fighting. I've heard these movies be called a waste, but is anything a waste if it brings you joy? I've heard it say that we should never regret anything that makes us happy, and I've been trying to live without regrets. So yes, I invested two and a half hours of my life into watching Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, and I'd do it again. Because though I didn't take away any deep messages or ideas from the movie, I took joy in it, and I learned simpler messages of love and friendship and faith and how badass things can be.
And I'm happy with just that. If you're not, then that's your problem, and if you can't take joy from watching good prevail over evil in the most fundemental way, then there is something seriously wrong with you.

Now the streets are lined with fallen soldiers, crippled in wars I could never imagine

It's been nice in Montreal for the past few days. Which sucks, because I have finals and essays coming up, but I've been trying to reconcile this by doing my readings outside, in the open air. I figured out today that as long as my ass is on grass and my head is in the clouds with a book in my hand, I'm doing alright, and I have the potential for happiness right there. I don't mean head in the clouds like I'm being a dreamer, I mean a clear, un-broken line between my head and the sky.
But on Friday I couldn't stop myself from going for a walk. It started as a quest to find a bike I had seen the night before that was out of the way and didn't have a lock on it and I figured that if it was still there 24 hours later then it's pretty much up for grabs, I figured that's how the city works. However, on the way, I was struck by an insurmountable desire for poutine. See, the night before, I think, this guy wouldn't stop talking about the poutine at this place, the Montreal Pool Room. He said it was the best poutine he had ever tasted, and it was completely vegetarian, too, and he made it sound ridiculously good. He desperately wanted to go, so he sold it, and he's a drama student, so he sold it well. And it made me hungry, and gave me a desire for this poutine, when I hadn't had poutine for, like, 2 years before that, because veggie poutine always looked kind of gross. But if this stuff was as good as he said, then I'd make an exception, and jump right in. So I turned up St. Laurent, searching low and high for this place (which I just discovered, a second ago, is on the other side of St. Laurent as where I was looking), and I guess none of this is really important, but I walked for a long time. I walked up to Little Italy then back down du Parc, then climbed the mountain and got some garlic potatoes on the other side. It was an adventure. I decided early on that I was going to do it sans music, so I could hear everything that happened. I found amazing stores and places and curiousities such as these. I stumbled upon the chalet on Mont Real, it was ridiculous, I just found it, I wasn't even looking for it, didn't even know what it was at first, I stepped into it, and there was barely anyone inside and it was ridiculous, I want to dance in there sometime.
This is just to put you into my sort of mindset, I was amazed by this city, by what it is and what it could be, and there were so many people out, just doing their thing. The thing is, though, yesterday and today, I've been spending more times in parks and cafes, trying to get my study-on. And I have seen people, pathetic people, sorry people, sad people. I have one of their guitars, because this guy could not trust anyone else with it, even though he had just met me, and he was scared it was going to be taken from him in the night, and he needed it, so he entrusted me with it, with this thing that's keeping him off drugs and everything (so he said) and I'm supposed to meet up with him in a few days where we met and give it back to him.
I cannot imagine being in that situation, I cannot imagine living on the streets, I cannot imagine living day-to-day, and only trusting the people you meet today. I mean, I used to romanticize it, look at the travelers, mostly, with all their stuff on their back, living fleeting existences as they go from place to place, meeting people where they can, sleeping in shitty hostels and everything, but there are so many people who live like that and are miserable for it.
I mean, I'm still trying to be happy, but I've seen a lot of things recently that'll stay with me, but I think I'm a better person for it. I've kind of realized that anyone can be happy when they're blind, you know, the whole, "living is easy with eyes closed", but it takes someone special to be happy when they've seen what the world is, what it can be, what it can do to people, and not accept it, and try and change it, but still be happy, and not let it get to them. And, I don't know, I kind of want to be someone special.