Brrrrruce

For reasons ranging from missing my YYC best ladies to my brain is melting out of my head and pouring out of my eye sockets and I need a goddamn break, I headed to Calgary for a quick 24 hour visit this weekend. Although I was only there one day, it was totally the best. I miss that city a lot. It is still familiar enough from my ACAD Fart School days that it is comfy like a hug and I mostly never get lost, but enough time has passed that there are always things to discover about it and it feels like a proper getaway. Plus, as I mentioned, some of my favorite people in the world live there. It went by like speeding motorcycles, but what a nice time.

I went and checked out part of the Oh Canada exhibition at the Esker Foundation Gallery and it was mostly totally good. The show is spread out across a few spaces and it made me wish I had more time so I could see it all.

With no hesitation, the standouts were the Brendan Fernandes' neon masks (which are done no justice in this photo, they are so rad). I went back and stared at these three masks, about five times. They flash on and off and they are huge and frightening and gorgeous. They feel like a party that you totally have no business being at. I was crazy about them. Brendan Fernandes. Check him out. http://www.brendanfernandes.ca/from_hiz_hands.php

And this crazy-ass Marcel Dzama film. A Game of Chess. It is a pretty funny coincidence (to no one else but me) that I saw this after just posting about Bauhaus Ballet a couple of days ago. The similarities are pretty striking. I wonder if he saw Bauhaus Ballet and was like 'meh, fuck it, most people won't have seen this', or if the build-up of influences in his life just led him to making this weird thing that echoes an already existing other weird thing. I had a long conversation over lunch today about whether or not it should be assumed that it was an accident or if everyone just steals everything now. There is so much information bouncing around all the time that it really could be either, and my opinion changes depending on how cynical I am feeling at any particular moment. The Dzama film is here:  https://vimeo.com/35884866  Compare it with the video in my last post (The End of the World) and tell me what you think?

It seems like there is a lot of idea borrowing around. I am certainly guilty of it here and there, although in my defense I honestly never notice until I have made something and worked on it for ages and then I step back and get my head out of it for a second and realize that it is totally referencing something that I obviously really like. Guess how many times I have accidentally tried to write this song:

The answer is lot of times. It is kind of my most and least favourite song.

(Note to self: Immediately incorporate choreographed moves to all Lad Mags activities from now on. And dig those turtlenecks! Daaaannngg ladies...)

There were some really meh pieces in the part of the Oh Canada show that I saw as well, which was kind of a bummer. It was curated by MoCA in Boston and I guess an outside perspective can't help but feel a bit weird to people who are not outside, but there were a couple of disappointing choices. Just a couple of old boys club winkwink pieces that didn't have much going for them aside from the guy who made them has probably been buddies with the curator since 1986. But I guess that is how anything happens, if I think about it. Buddy connections. And after all, what the fuck do I know? I can think of 25 contemporary Canadian artists off the top of my head who do better work, but then that is just my opinion and I am not much of a curator so my opinion is not worth much.

Here is info on the show from MoCA's site if you are interested. If you can get to Calgary I highly recommend you put your eyes on this show. It's wonderful, and the Esker gallery is a really nice space.

Later, we went to this really cute store in Inglewood that mostly sold terrariums and preposterously priced candles, and another store that I think just sold beard oil and fancy pocket knives. Oh Calgary. The things you get away with. (It smelled AMAZING in there, though. Like, what you wish every dude smelled like. Like clean laundry, vetiver, bourbon, outdoors, and money. Swoooooonnnnn.) Not very many dudes in Edmonton smell like that. It is something to aim for.

There was another funny story about what happened when we went for Mexican food, but maybe that is not super appropriate for a public blog post. I believe I have had the last Bulldog of my lifetime though. We'll leave it there.

WORST IDEA EVER. 

Oh, this is funny. I visited my favorite bookstore ever, which is called Shelf Life Books, and Twyla found this book for me called Paris, I love you  But You're Bringing Me Down by Rosencrans Baldwin.

You guys, this book is ruining my life. It is great. It is totally funny, witty and observant and the author can write really great prose. He is easy to relate to and doesn't seem like a bad guy... but the book is an account of him and his wife moving to Paris (arriving as total Francophiles) and just having all of their dreamy expectations ground into the dirt. Language barriers. Paperwork. Asshole expats. Winter. French politics. Restaurant disappointments. Groan. WHAT IF THIS IS THE WORST THING EVER AND WE JUST END UP LAYING ON THE FLOOR SIGHING AND LISTENING TO THE SMITHS EXCEPT IN PARIS?

I guess it is good to have some cold slimy realism fish-smacked across your face every now and then when you get too starry-eyed, and ultimately this guy loves Paris again by the end (mostly), but man. My anxiety about this potentially totally terrible decision has increased by about 500%. I was having a talk about this with my friend in Belgium recently, and I think what I have decided is that if we go over there to build a thing together, we are going to be aces. If we go over there and sign up for a grind job and try to eke out a grey little life there we are doomed. It is reinvent or die, I think. No Paris office jobs for me, monsieur. Non, merci. Although in all honesty, sighing and laying on the floor in Paris beats sighing and laying on the floor in Edmonton any day.

Also, Rosencrans. His name is Rosencrans.

Hey, check out these weird psychedelic grotesques from the 19th century. These weird little proto-animations are called Phenakistascopes.  I am totally in love with them.

This one is from 1833 and it looks like the inside of my brain when I have too much shit to do, the moment before I make 200 lists on post-it notes and return to the world of sane people. (Sorry everyone that I talked to in the last 2 weeks!!)

It seems like you should definitely listen to this song while you are looking at those things. Slouchy psych dirges forever and ever please. This song is the perfect soundtrack for my day today. Sooooo whateverrrrrr. Give them your money here. Do it. Being in a band is expensive.

Oh! This is really rad... New Acquisition Announcement! I have wanted one of these forever and ever and D came home with one the other day as a Congratulations on Selling Your Condo present:

Maybe this isn't very exciting for you, but this pedal sounds bitchin' and is totally the missing ingredient to me getting the guitar sound that I have been wanting, so it is really really exciting for me. Good job, D. You may stay.  OCD Pedal, I love you, and I forgive you for the Comic Sans that was used on you for SOME FUCKING REASON. 

Speaking of hot guitar sounds... Boogarins - Deliver me from this dense mid-week, mid-February cocoon of blehhhhh. Boys and fuzz and Brazilian sunshine. I'm cured. I love this band. Give them your money here. Do it. Being in a band is expensive. 

I think I accidentally dug myself into a stress-cave because I can't actually remember the last time I went out and saw anyone socially. Is anyone there? Can we have a winter cocktail party? Ok. Here we go. A nod to the old days with this dumb blog. Recipe time.

When it is dark for this many hours a day, all I want is dense, herbal, strong drinks. I suggest that we have a Black Manhattan party very very soon. This is a drink that I first had in Calgary with Twyla. I think it was at Model Milk, but I can't tooootally remember because that is how things used to go with me and Twyla in Calgary. Anyway.

Black Manhattans are assembled kind of like a standard Manhattan, except in place of sweet vermouth, you use Averna, which is a type of amaro. It has a really strong citrus peel and licorice taste that is soooo niiiice with Bourbon.

So bitter. So fancy. JUST LIKE ME.

Before we get started, here is a tip: one recipe I looked up suggested that Buffalo Trace or Bulleit 10 would be better bourbon to use because they are dryer and more Rye Flavoured. I have not personally tested this, so you can take that or leave it as you see fit.

Ok, here we go.

You will need:
- 2 ounces of bourbon
- 1 ounce of Averna*
- 1 dash of Angosturra bitters
- a couple of brandied cherries.
(One recipe called for maraschino cherries, but I think maraschino cherries are fucking disguuuuuuustiiiiiiiing, so if you want to come to my cocktail party we are going to use brandied cherries or we are going to call the whole thing off.)

Stir these ingredients with ice until chilled and then strain into an appropriately beautiful glass for such a concoction. Sip slowly and reflect on the fact that eventually it is not going to be fucking winter anymore and someday we will forget about all of this.

*One recipe warns that Averna is not to everyone's liking and that if you are new to this flavour you may want to start with a 4:1 bourbon to amaro ratio. This is also a good idea if you want to reduce the sweetness of this cocktail.

Le China in Paris. When I am a ghost I will haunt this place for all eternity. <3

This is a place that I have had cocktails in Paris and it is absolutely fucking perfect for delicious cocktails that cost as much as rent and for having serious film noir feelings. (I mean, look at it.) When I move away, if you ever wonder what I am doing at 4:00 PM your time, I will be here, trying to convince some handsome and pissed off bartender that he should let me order off-menu while I shout this recipe at him in broken french over that glossy beautiful bar. Heavenly.

Ok, there you are.

xox

The End of the World

I have had a recurring dream for the last year where I find out that the world is just about to end and I am overwhelmed with the most pure and incredible happiness.

From Lars Von Trier's Melancholia. Highly recommend. It is by far my favorite Armageddon film. It is on Netflix, and I suggest that you perch your laptop somewhere safe and watch it in the bathtub with wine. A feel-good movie for sad fuck-ups.

How to completely smash your life to tiny unfixable pieces and start again. An experiment in irresponsibility and "Freedom in the Emptiness", by Amelia Aspen. (The term "Freedom in the Emptiness" c/o Jessie Beier. Genius at large.)

I hate to be bored, and even though I made myself as busy as I could possibly be and with things that I love like CRAZY, I got bored anyway somehow and I got really really sad, and I got lazy and didn't do anything about it for too long and now I need to shake it all off and start again. I am fucking terrified, but I also know that I either have to acknowledge that I am fucking terrified and move to France anyway, or else I have to accept that I am a person who never moved to France in their life, which is the only thing that scares me more. So.

(I could listen to this a thousand times and never get tired.)

I hope that all these Eat Pray Love assholes are right when they talk about how if you resolve to give fewer fucks and fling yourself in the general direction of your heart's truest desire, everything works out. If I can't land this manoeuvre (is that even how you spell that fucking word? I stared at it for too long and it doesn't even look like language anymore.) it is going to be a disaster. It is going to be the end of the world. Ha.

But lots of people do it. It can be done. So it can be done by me.

I know that I posted this already at some point, but it has crept into my head today while thinking about this, so here it is again:

Ugh. Can we just take a pause to reflect on Patti Smith being the best ever? Actually, this Paris sickness is kind of her fault. The way that she described running off to Paris to find herself in Just Kids was part of the reason that I wandered over there in the first place.

Important to note here: posting this song does not indicate any love for Bono.

This is an artist that I think everyone should get to know... His name is Llew Meija and his stuff is amazing:

The Lad Mags commissioned him to do something for us and that is where we got the snake image that is on the cover our tape and on our new shirts. (Not all of his stuff is this witchy. He does amazing animal and plant images and does textile and wallpaper design and stuff. It's all really rad. This just suits my current mood.) Check him out and buy his stuff here: http://www.llewmejia.com/

All navel-gazing aside, I have finally started to climb the flaming shit mountain that is the bureaucratic process of moving from one country to another and it is all

I promise I won't complain about it too much, but holy shit. Help is popping up here and there because people are awesome and D and I are lucky, but still.

I am so curious to know what kind of life we'll carve out over there.

These people really took this idea to the max: http://www.chateaudegudanes.org/captains-log/
Wouldn't it be nice to be a zillionaire with a castle to play around with? I kind of want to hate these people, but also watching them pick off moldy old wood panels to discover beautiful old painted frescoes that pre-date the French Revolution, it made my pulse race a bit. Also the ancient kids' height charts. Wah. I wonder how long those kids have been dead for?

Here is another example. Chateau de Rentilly. I am not sure what I think about this one. On one hand I like the idea of re-purposing a crumbling building, and I am definitely in favour of more art space existing in the world, but:

I am not sure about this. via If It's Hip It's Here

I guess this looks like the future. Which looks a bit like the end of the world. Actually, I take that back. I think this is pretty rad. The building almost disappears in some photos. It is a venue for Frac Ile-de-France. Here is the current exhibition showing there right now:  http://www.fraciledefrance.com/explore-3/?lang=en

This is one of my favorite things ever. It has nothing to do with anything else, really. I just always think of it when I feel like I am losing my marbles. Here. Lose your marbles along with me:

I just realized with a heart-thud that I probably can't take any of my records with me. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Omnia Vanitas, Baby

HI! This thing again.

I had to change the name. That last one was TERRIBLE and the one before got someone else's fingerprints all over it and wasn't fun anymore. Let's see if this one sticks. I think it is suitably dour-sounding for one little storm cloud yelling into the void (I roll my eyes at myself to save you the trouble). Also D (hilariously) bought me this for our first anniversary (awwwwww) so I may as well just make it my slogan:

This is made by Pyrrha. It is beautiful and wildly inappropriate for an anniversary present. 

Omnia vanitas, baby. 

(It means All is Emptiness, if you are too lazy to go over to Google Translate. As I would be.)

Obviously procrastination levels are CRITICAL right now, so I have been spending hundreds of hours practicing my francais on Duolingo and have decided to revive my never-read blog from twelve years ago or whatever. Good job. Also watching every period drama and art documentary on Netflix. I have technically been an adult for half my life now. I keep waiting for the time to arrive where I feel really motivated to have my shit together, but it keeps not arriving. I am starting to suspect that this is just what I am like. It could be worse, I guess, but I have wasted a lot of time waiting for some sort of certificate of arrival into grown-ass-ladyhood and now I suddenly feel like there is a lot of pressure to get done all the things I have always said I would get done. 

Here are things that have happened recently:

I quit my job.

I decided FUCK IT, I am moving to France. 

I had to start another job. (and realized that I have to stop administratively supporting other people who are actually doing the shit that I want to be doing. Arts admin and art making are nowhere near the same thing. Also, sitting at a desk is making me die. Stay tuned for more questionable decisions on the  employment front.)

I talked D into selling our condo. Moved into a new apartment that we don't own so that we are free to move to France.

I got a big wad of grant money for The Lad Mags to tour Europe with Betrayers (May/June this year! Europe buddies let's hang!)

I got talked into being the Artistic Director of the Golden West Music Fest again. (This is actually a nice thing. I love that festival, even though it eats every spare second of my time and means that I have to have endless uncomfortable conversations with people that I really like about why I can't book their band). 

I got super scared about moving to France. 

I decided FUCK IT, being scared is no reason not to move to France. 

So, we are moving to France. Holy shit. 

More things that happened recently:

The Lad Mags released a 7" that I am happy and proud about, and then our friend Fish Griwkowsky made a really lovely video for it. Sorry for the self-promo, but we worked really hard on these things and I am pretty proud of them:  

We also recorded a bunch of new stuff for the next record. Exciting! There is no better feeling than forward momentum. 

 - End Self-Promotion-  (Lo siento, buds)

The other day the weather was crappy and it put me in kind of a mood, and I was sitting at my desk at work feeling kind of anxious that maybe I am as weird in real life as I feel in my head and that maybe I just alienate everyone all the time and people are secretly super bummed when they have to hang out with me. Then I seriously actually thought "at least I am not as weird as Gowan. I bet it would be way worse if I was that weird." Actual true coping mechanism, courtesy of my brain. Jesus. 

But Gowan is pretty fucking weird. 

Ok, anyway, brief internet roundup:

Here is a photo of a couple splitting up their Beanie Babies in front of a Divorce Court judge in 1999:

REALLY. 

I am pretty sure all the problems in my life would be solved if I had this dress:

I accidentally ran out of time to finish this post, but here are a couple of quality jams and I will probably do this again soon:

Frankie and the Witch Fingers: "Diamonds" (Srsly, if this does not do it for you, your doin' it equipment is faulty). 

Tijuana Panthers:  So sun-baked 1962 that you will forget all about your 2015 frostbite. 

Have a good weekend! xo

When I'm Dead

Hi! Hi! S'me!

Procrastination levels are critical, obviously, as indicated by taking the time to update this thing that no one reads, after a year or whatever of forgetting I had it. Speaking of which, I am not feeling the recent name change. The search is back on for a new name for this dumb thing. I am open to suggestions. Please help.

I am listening to The Best Show on WMFU while I am supposed to be processing grant applications (I can't today. I just can't. I have hit the paperwork wall. Running top speed. My face is flattened, just like my will to manipulate applicant data in spreadsheets. Take me home, Tom Scharpling.)

Yo, Ma!

Anyway.

We are making a music festival. It is almost made. I thought I'd die, smooshed under a tsunami of super unsexy paperwork, the least radical way to go, but I didn't die and now the time is almost here. The Golden West Music Fest. It will be a great thing. People keep popping out of hidden cracks and places to help. Like, being super creative about ways they could possibly spend their own time and money to make our project go. I take back several of the shitty things I have said about living in Edmonton. You can do anything here. People want to help. 6% of the things. That is how many I take back. There is still winter.

Too LiveJournal-y. Let's hear a song. Audacity. They are like 11 or something, but this song rules.

Exciting news: The Lad Mags just got a grant to make a music video which is pretty awesome. We are doing a 2 part video, shooting over 2 days next week. If you want to be in either video get at me. Half of it is going to involve a giant forest party, so it will be a good time. Fish Griwkowsky is directing and shooting and Kristine Nutting was in charge of costume design (so awesome, obviously). Hilariously, the deadline falls a couple of days after the festival, during the only week when we could easily work 24 hours a day and still have too much to do, so we have been sort of losing our shit. Amazingly it all seems to be coming together, so... good. Panic is the magic motivator, once again. I swear if it wasn't for terror and jealousy I would never make or do anything. "Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity", according to T.S. Elliott. (HEADY, RIGHT??)

I have a giant scabby glue gun burn on my face (actually), but I can't believe how great everything is turning out. Here is a photo jacked from Fish's Instagram of progress on the monster costumes for the shoot. The total creeps:

I wish I could do a better job of promoting Lad Mags stuff. I feel like such a dick talking about it on the public internet. (Not here. This is mine.) HOW DO YOU SELF-PROMOTE LIKE A NON-DICK? SOMEONE TELL ME. As we slide slowly down and off various charts (thanks Edmonton, Calgary and Saskatoon for the <3), and as the little bee buzz we had going around the 7" and Sled Island stuff quiets and fades, it feels a bit like failing to not have something new to show. It's coming, really! There's a new record getting pressed soon. Don't forget us. 

Oh, here's something... let's hear the band we are splitting our next record with... The Slabs. Most of you probably already know them and have been sweated on by them and already love them and already have hazy memories of seeing a show, but just in case, their bandcamp is here

Sorry it is not embedded. I am granny luddite and I can't figure out anything. The Slabs are rad. A band full of boozy golden hearts, sweetest maniacs, party angels.

Joan Cornella

I am tired of myself already. So that is enough. See you in another 8 months or so.

"Let The Devil Into Your Heart And You'll Never Be Alone"

I just found this weeks old post that I forgot to actually finish, but I like the links so I am posting it anyway. This is from sometime in September, pre-NY trip. Sorry I forgot. Then there is some new stuff at the bottom.

-------------------------------------------------
Hi.

So I just found out that I get to go on a cute trip to NYC with my mister. He is going to play CMJ. New York is a special place for us. Well, for everyone, I know, but for us too. The way he puts it: "we arrived in New York roommates and left as man & wife." It's where we sat in central park in the rain that we didn't even notice because our hearts were just howling and we decided to just fucking go for it. Very cute.

Anyway, he is going to be sort of working for a bit of the time and I am actually looking forward to spending some time ripping around the big town on my own. I am going to see the obvious art institutions, of course, just because it has been a few years, but... I don't know, my favorite things in New York mostly happen while you're sitting on the subway or stopping at a weird little kiosk or getting lost looking for a venue or whatever. I am terrible at navigating cities by myself, I get hopelessly lost constantly, and it is the best. Ugh. That sounds so gross. I don't mean to be Wonderdick. (Mike Winters. Genius.)  I am just looking for an adventure.

Holy shit, coincidentally, look what I just found on If It's Hip It's Here... GPS SHOES!!

What in the?!?!? Made by Dominic Wilcox. Pretty handsome, for science shoes, I think. Those would come in handy for those who, like me, can't walk one city block without getting utterly lost.

Anyway.
I know I have posted a space dress on this blog before, and I fear that I am starting to develop some creepy THING for space dresses, but I really really really want this Setareh Mohtarez dress. :

Do you think you are pretty tough looking? Well, guess what? This woman has the most badass tattoo of all time. Her name is Joy Tompkins and she makes your tattoos look like little wussybaby tattoos.

These are crazy... this artist named Jon Rafman went through zillions of Google Street View photos and found all of these totally bizarro things that were captured and gathered them into one place. So awesome. Some of them are pretty disturbing. 
http://www.demilked.com/google-street-view-photos/

-----------------------------------------------

And that's as far as I got. That is the end of the old post. I think I was planning to fill in the space between those links with the usual CUTTING TRUTH and BLINDINGLY BRILLIANT INSIGHT, but I didn't. I am not fixing the old post. It is done.

Now this part is a new one.

So recently Jill Stanton posted her new comic project on her page and it is one of those things that is so awesome that I can't decide if I am inspired to make art every minute of the day, or if I am convinced to just pack it in and start listening to Cold Play and having babies because I will never make anything that good. That is how I know that I really really like something, if it makes me a little bit depressed for a few days. I heard her mention that she is going to be dealing subscriptions at the upcoming Royal Bison, so you should definitely get up on that. I know I will. Anyway, here it is: http://headspaces.ca/.

If you have some time to kill and want to have your head blown off by awesome punk ladies, please look at this amazing thing: http://networkawesome.com/special/women-punk/

I went to see Stop Making Sense at Metro the other night. Accidentally went alone because I am bad at making plans. It was a bit tiring watching that many people on that much cocaine for so long, but there were totally some winning moments. I have learned that 1)David Byrne is a charismatic weirdo motherfucker and 2)TomTom Club are the fucking worst. I actually already knew part 1), but I was reminded. I like Talking Heads the most when he is launching off into the weirdosphere, as opposed to when he is rubbing up on Peter Gabriel polyrhythmic worldbeat dadjams (which Talking Heads do in SMS, a lot). 

I have also learned that sitting in a theatre alone is kind of a downer.

What else?

Nothing I guess.

I keep forgetting about posting recipes. Shit. I am hostessing a christmas brunch at my house in December so I have to start researching nice things to feed my friends. I have not started yet though, so instead I will leave you to watch this (posted on FB by my friend Jeremy Curry):

Later, stinkwads.

New name, same old everything else.

Hi! For reasons that are known by a few and not the business of most, I am shrugging off the old and stupid blog title "Dirt City Dream Captain" and adopting the moodier "Summer was a Bummer". I know change is hard, but I hope you'll stay with me. As I like to yell after every time I do a Facebook Fake Friend cull: "deadweight, fuck off!"

Besides, my friend Fish said to me the other day, "I have always fucking hated that name". Zing.

I am terrified of the US Federal Election.

I can't even be on the internet today. Everyone is so anxious. Uselessly urging all their like-minded friends on Facebook (who are either Canadian or Democrats) to NOT vote for that awful man. I think there should be a provision in NAFTA that allows Canadians to have some sort of secondary level vote for the American President, since it is going to affect us too. Doesn't that seem fair? More fair than us sitting up here helplessly watching and gnawing on our bloody cuticles and and pretending that we believe in god so that we have someone to beg to not let this go wrong?

Not that Obama is the golden saviour we all thought he would be, but the alternative is so terrifying. At least Obama seems like a rational human who gives a single shit about other humans. (And he's handsome).

We have our own nightmare running the show up here in frosty Canadia. Imagine Harper and Romney as a team? Oh god, how I wish you were there.

Is it possible to fake your own death and move to some deserted tiny island off the coast of Thailand in this day and age? Can it be done? Can someone show me how, because if shit goes down the way I am afraid it will go down, I can't stand to watch what will happen next.

I found this, but it seems to be written by someone who isn't very smart. I do not feel confident that this person could successfully fake a death and disappear. They have CLEARLY never seen an episode of CSI or Law and Order in their lives.  Do not take this person's advice: http://www.wikihow.com/Fake-Your-Own-Death

This guy did it, but definitely lacked the necessary commitment: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2072033/Canoe-man-John-Darwin-describes-easy-fake-death-life-insurance-payout.html Don't go back to your shitty hometown so you can do house repairs, ya numbskull. ESPECIALLY when you were already all the way to Panama with a stack of cash and were CLEARLY in no danger of getting caught. Dummy.

If President Mitt becomes a thing outside of my worst imaginings and I am forced to fake my own death and move somewhere tropical, I won't come back. I hate doing household fixing jobs.

Living on a deserted island seems like it could be ok... (meow):

Sorry. That was gross of me.

But not as gross as this:

Anyway, if anyone reads this who is ACTUALLY a registered American voter, particularly if you are on the fence for whatever reason, please please don't let us down. And if anything like this happens to you: http://jezebel.com/5958108/oh-lovely-at-least-one-voting-machine-in-pennsylvania-isnt-accepting-votes-for-obama?utm_campaign=socialflow_jezebel_facebook&utm_source=jezebel_facebook&utm_medium=socialflow or this: http://thenextweb.com/shareables/2012/11/06/reddit-user-captures-video-of-2012-voting-machines-altering-votes/  REPORT IT.

There are these layers upon layers of politicking and it is so exhausting trying to figure out one real thing in what is going on. It's so insidious and it's so hard not to be cynical. It makes me feel tired and sad and old. 

Anyway, if I "die tragically" when this is all done, Fish gets my records, Norm gets my books, Amy Van Keeken gets my accessories and no one is fucking allowed to read my old diaries!

xo