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.

Quote of the weak

I just read a T.S. Elliott quote that said something like 'the natural state of a creative person is anxiety'. (Sorry, I know I butchered that. If you are a T.S. Elliott purist and I have offended you, I am 50% sorry but also 50% think you should get a life.)

I wonder if it's true though, you know? On one hand, there are all these people make it look easy, like they breathe and make art with the same level of difficulty and volition. But how? It seems like there is never enough time in the day and everything is so distracting and it is so hard to know if what you are doing is worth anything, even to yourself let alone anyone else, and if you ever stop everyone will forget that you ever existed at all and everything just moves so fast and suddenly you're so old... Lots of anxiety seems to come from the idea that I have more anxiety than most, being an utter fucking fraud. How do people just DO and just KNOW? I have no idea.

In any case, it is kind of comforting having someone speak with authority on the things you secretly wonder when you can't sleep at night.

Also, like I have a single fucking thing to complain about.  If this were even 50 years ago, none of this would even be an issue because I would be a wife and mother and that would just be... it. No one is starving. No one is impeding on my right to do much of anything that I want to do. I bitch and moan about art because I have the privilege of bitching and moaning about art. Ugh. What a jerkoff. If I spent as much time making stuff as I do delivering stern lectures at myself, though, there would be no bitching and moaning at all. Anyway, that sorta circular logic doesn't help get things done.

Speaking of quotes, the Mr.'s dad threw this one at me a few months back: (It's John Adams! Doesn't that make me seem SMART??) "I must study politics and war, that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. Our sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain."

Like I said, if this were even 50 tiny little years ago, I would not be complaining at all....


Ok. Enough Novembery complaining. Check out Pamela Love, who makes the pretty shiny things most recently dazzling my magpie eyes:

Please, someone, give this to me immediately.

One more pretty thing:
A recycled wood corset that makes my heart flutter...

Also this is pretty funny: http://moustair.tumblr.com/

(via Lost at E Minor)

I have decided on an exciting adventure for the spring and now (hint) I need to make some quick money. I am going to do some shameless self promotion here in a little bit, and I'm sorry, I will try not to be tacky about it, but I need to sell some arts and things and get the hell out of Dirt Town for a little while, or these mopey bummer blogs are going to be coming fast and furious all winter long.

The AGA's Refinery Party is coming up pretty soon, that is exciting. (Look at this promo photo by Fish Griwkowsky!) The Lumberjack Formal dress code is getting me pretty excited. I have so many options that I may have to pull a costume change or two over the course of the night.

Capital City Burlesque's contribution is going to be pretty adorable, I think. And funny. I am really excited about the whole thing. The sneak peek photos that have been circulating of the monsters that Smokey and Josh Holinaty are making for the event look pretty amazing. I think this is going to be one of those events that gives us all the feeling that we're all going to be alright. Good timing.

Okay, before I go, one more quote that is possibly my all-time favorite, although I reserve my right to contradict or change my mind about that at any time...
"Quand on est dans la merde jusqu'au cou, il ne reste plus qu'a chanter." (Samuel Beckett)

Ok! That's all for now!
xo!

Phile

The Edmonton weather can't decide what it is today, and it is kind of sunny with crunchy fall air, but the clouds are low and the air pressure is wrong, making it feel like a fat guy is sitting on my head. Or maybe it is just that I listened to this first thing when I got to work:

I like this record's bleakness, not the oppressive downer type, but rather like the whistful ghost that you KNOW haunts your creaky old workplace (I mean it, the Armoury is fucking spooktown) is singing her brittle feelings too close to your ear.

Classy move: their record is available for pay-what-you-want download here.

Speaking of brittle music, Doug thought it would be really funny to bash out a super quick and dirty song in his studio last night. No vocals yet, we're working up to it, in fact not really even verse/chorus structure in there yet, but I played drums, which was totally difficult for two main reasons:
1) I don't know how to play drums.
2) From what I can tell, playing drums is really hard.
We did it anyway, and the resulting song ("Fish Griwkowsky Panty Raid") is here if you care to listen to it. I still like you if you don't care to listen to it. We are just dicking around.

So there is this fashion blog called Oracle Fox that I was introduced to by Miss Genevieve Savard. Some of the narrative voices in it are a little pointy (I can't actually tell if it is a she or a they), but looking at fashion makes me want to make art for whatever reason (probably because I am too chubby and Edmontonian to actually be invested in fashion in any  way other than aesthetic appreciation) and the fashion featured here is almost always my favorite. Anyway, they posted photos from the White Fairytale Ball and the decor is so DREAMY. It makes me want to throw a fabulous winter party for grown-ups where we all look nice and the food is just right and the music is nice and there are thoughtfully designed cocktails. Cufflinks. I want to see my friends wearing cufflinks. Anyway, here are the photos. If you feel equally inspired and want to co-pilot a winter ball please let me know asap.

(Sorry about the photos not fitting in the little middle colour bar. If I make them smaller you can't see the details)

 

Sigh.


Anyway, back to dirt-crusted real life. 

Remember how I said that I was doing that hand-drawn animation and it was taking forfuckingever? Look at this one, done totally with markers on paper. Holy shit, animating the movement of water!?! Talentboner. I wish there was more colour, but still, talentboner. ***MAJOR WARNING BEFORE YOU WATCH THIS: The song that goes with it was so irritating that I was very tempted to stab  through my eardrums with scissors. I very very strongly suggest you watch this with the sound off. If you ignore this warning, don't come crying to me when you have gagged to death from a twee overdose and have ended up trapped for eternity in a prison made of crystallized sugarfeelings.
Ok, here it is:
Kijek/Adamski Pirate's Life - via BOOOOOOOM!

Ok. This has to be a short one, I guess. Time to do some real grown up job work. Here, why don't you call up a friend and dance all dirty:

As for today's recipe, I am kind of tired of eating after Thanksgiving. I don't know about you. Instead let me give you a secret eye make-up remover tip. Look in the pharmacy section of your drugstore or grocery store for rosewater and glycerine. It comes already blended: handy! It is usually in the section where they have Calamine lotion, mineral oil and other old-timey multi-purpose remedies. Save-On usually prices it at about 4 dollars for the generic brand. It works like a dream and isn't full of poisonous crap that you probably shouldn't be soaking your eyeballs in (seriously, when I read the ingredients labels in some of the stuff I put on my face I can feel myself getting wrinkly cancer).  (Don't put it all over your face though, glycerine is pretty serious business in terms of moisturizing and might end up giving you zits if you're prone. Eye zone only!)

xo!