deja vu is awesome!

on wednesday night kathy and i went to indie dance night. we got there fashionably late because we prioritised rockstar:inxs, so it was after midnight when we finally arrived, which i guess is regular ole time for independent dancers, but jessica was finished dj'ing by then and in all honesty, i thought the dj spinning at that point majorly sucked. i found trying not to be ironic while dancing ironically really hard, in an ironic way, as was trying not to cry when i got elbowed in the face. i perfected the running man though, i'm totally serious. i think i really got my rhythm down. other awesome things happened too, but i was totally too drunk to fully comprehend their awesomeness. i totally looked like this:



fuck yeah!

deja vu is awesome!

i think might have temporal-lobe epilepsy.

the death knell.

does anyone else ever die a little inside while watching rockstar:inxs? here's the thing. they represent humans, real humans, who all have the gift of song. the thing is though, their songs aren't gifts, they're travesties.

case #1 in point: jd fortune, someone from many of your home province, singing "we are the champions," a song that should never ever have been sung by anyone but freddie mercury. when he was alive.

case #2 in point: daphna dove, who looks like a frightening cross between penelope cruz and pocahontas, and whose father was "instrumental in discovering the scorpions," screeching her way through "rock the casbah." the shareef totally don't like it. and, thankfully, neither did the band, inxs.

case #3 in point, which has nothing to do with the songs, necessarily: dave navarro choking up when the band, inxs, announced that they were sending not one, but two rockers home, thereby setting a precedent that may or may not be upheld. in any case, dave navarro got choked up, and i really wanted pocahonelope and butterfly girl to be like, "y'all a bunch of lilypads."

i started a tape trade without you.

i got 2 people from here to be interested in my tape trade, so i'm going to make them send trades to each other. instead, i implored my peeps from another message board to have a trade with me and they're into it so you all lose, suckers. lachie and elise, start making mixes. you are each other's trades.

a proposition to anyone willing.

in the past i have been an active participant in several honest-to-god mixtape (and cd) clubs. one such club operated thusly: 2 organisers took the names and other information of participants and matched them up anonymously with other participants, thereby making it all a grand surprise until the tape (or cd) was received. you knew who you were sending the tape to, but your recipient didn't know who s/he was getting a tape (or cd) from, and you didn't know who you were getting a tape (or cd) from. this one was fun because it was like secret santas, one of my favoritest games in the world. un autre club operated as follows: one organiser made the same tape (only tapes!) and sent copies to all of the people who subscribed to the club. he charged $20/yr for membership and that included cost of tapes, shipping, and a new tape every month. or thereabouts. other clubs were just very informal tape trades among friends. these are my favorite. so my proposition to you, friends, is this: i want to trade tapes (or cds). i promise to do it and i hope you promise to do it. we can work out the details later. some of you live very far away and i miss you to bits. please let me know if you'd like to participate and feel free to offer suggestions in the comments.

yay!

what i really want to do is direct.

i need a big break. who can get me into pictures? i can stand still for hours on end and don't bore easily, i can look devastatingly sad one minute then euphorically ridiculous the next, and even though i'm in my mid-20s, i can pass for a teenager, which will help get me versatile parts for many years to come. halifax is like the studio city of nova scotia. where is beach girls filming? there's a character named francesca in it. it's totally fate right!

living the dream.

today, on my radio show, i got to live a dream: i gave away a cd to the first caller! it was amazing. the only thing different is that in my dream, it's not 35/90 degrees in the shade.

in excess.

i have nothing to say about rockstar: inxs.

ok, i will say this: they are really living up to their name with this trainwreck.







the album 'kick' reminds me of a book i read about mars.

happy birthday to the infamous paul hammond.

today is paul hammond's birthday. he is a quarter century old. i didn't have existential angst when i turned a quarter century old, and he probably won't either. i got my existential angst a few months later, but he'll probably be ok.

it's also sort of elliot's birthday too!

oh dear me.

i like very, very expensive clothes.













i need a job.

"i wear my sunglasses at night."

after seeing corey hart on much more retro this morning, i have a renewed interest in his one-hit wonder, "sunglasses at night," which, yes, we did get in the states. i mean, how ingenius is the lyric 'don't switch the blade on the guy in shades'? he even follows it up with some amazing rhymes to that same effect: 'don't masquerade with the guy in shades' and 'you've got it made with the guy in shades.' local rad girl mary cobham goes for a similar rhyme aesthetic with her song "ferguson ferguson," rhyming "ferguson" with words like "obsure," creating "obscure-guson" and "blur," creating "blur-guson." modern poets for our time, they are.



speaking of shades, does anyone want to buy me these diors?