Told to me at work today:
"My first thought was, Oh My God, they killed Denton."
Now, they did not kill Denton, nor did they attempt to do so, nor would Denton have allowed himself to be killed, were that the case. But still: I love my job.
However, the Greenhouse has been asking for a lot of my time lately, so my time it shall have. But it's not like you've been missing on any wonderful stories in the meantime. I've been playing Diablo 2, and I got stopped by cattle for about twenty minutes on the weekend. That's it.
I do, however, have one thought which I shall pass on -- if all Volvos are "male", then where do new Volvos come from?
I ask you to imagine, deep in a rune-lined cavern in Sweden: The Queen Volvo. She is the Alpha and Omega of all things Volvo. That which bears her name must obey her will.
I'm totally making her into a comic-book villain some day, but if anyone wants to beat me to it, have at it.
Showing posts with label Awww yeah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Awww yeah. Show all posts
26.6.08
Ego-logically friendly.
I think I've got it figured out. Nick Cave is the musical equivalent of a martial arts movie. You see, you watch them for three things:
1) The charisma of the lead.
2) Seeing the lead do awesome things.
3) Talking about those awesome things with your friends afterward.
It's the exact same vibe with the album "Dig! Lazarus! Dig!". Nick Cave howls out a sentence, and you're left stunned by its delivery. Then, you don't tell your friends what the song sounded like... instead, you say, "And then Nick Cave said this!"
You don't believe me? *ahem*:
So awesome.
Speaking of awesome, here's my latest project:
1. Save up about $250 that I can afford to lose on this.
2. Get a design done for a T-shirt. The slogan: "Denton Froese Brings The Snacktime."
3. Transfer this design to 30 T-shirts of various sizes.
4. Donate all shirts to Value Village and the Salvation Army.
5. Wait.
And then, one day, I'll be at a friend's friend's birthday party, and I'll introduce myself to someone. That person will do a double take, and then look at me with disbelief. Finally, they'll slowly ask: "So... did you bring any snacks?"
And I shall reply, "No, no. I don't bring the snacks -- I bring the snacktime. So, now that I'm here, let's all go for Slurpees."
I should have thought of this years ago.
1) The charisma of the lead.
2) Seeing the lead do awesome things.
3) Talking about those awesome things with your friends afterward.
It's the exact same vibe with the album "Dig! Lazarus! Dig!". Nick Cave howls out a sentence, and you're left stunned by its delivery. Then, you don't tell your friends what the song sounded like... instead, you say, "And then Nick Cave said this!"
You don't believe me? *ahem*:
I can see my buddy Doug tapping on the window
Hey, Doug, how ya been?
He hands me a book of holocaust poetry
complete with pictures
and he tells me to get ready for the rain...
So awesome.
Speaking of awesome, here's my latest project:
1. Save up about $250 that I can afford to lose on this.
2. Get a design done for a T-shirt. The slogan: "Denton Froese Brings The Snacktime."
3. Transfer this design to 30 T-shirts of various sizes.
4. Donate all shirts to Value Village and the Salvation Army.
5. Wait.
And then, one day, I'll be at a friend's friend's birthday party, and I'll introduce myself to someone. That person will do a double take, and then look at me with disbelief. Finally, they'll slowly ask: "So... did you bring any snacks?"
And I shall reply, "No, no. I don't bring the snacks -- I bring the snacktime. So, now that I'm here, let's all go for Slurpees."
I should have thought of this years ago.
1.8.07
Soundtrack For The Night.
Road trips make for fun travelogues, and better anecdotes, but what they do best is package a whole week of experience into one tangible moment. For me, that's usually done with music.
In Newfoundland, that was Wagner's Ring Cycle. CBC was the only radio station I could find in those rocks, and since I was driving out to a viking settlement in the middle of a storm, the mood was too perfect for me to complain.
In Halifax, the song was Hawksley Workman's "Almost A Full Moon". Why? No fancy symbolism here -- that's just what I was listening to as I fell asleep in my rental car in an underground parkade. It is a great song, though... it's actually a recipe for pumpkin soup, with the title repeated incessantly in the background like a mantra.
Ottawa 2005: Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen. What can I say? I was at a wedding.
Ottawa 2006: Jumping Jack Flash, the Rolling Stones. What can I say? Elite Beat Agents is a fantastic game, and I finished it during that trip.
So, what about Yellowknife? I'm tempted to say "Go West" by the Pet Shop Boys, but really, that sort of karaoke lightning and thunder happens every time my friend Jason and I are together for too long.
Actually, my official soundtrack for Yellowknife, I turn to Kytami. She's a violinist from Whistler that eschewed the Royal Conservatory for her mix-master friends. The resultant sound is eclectic and electric. But more than just being nice to listen to, it's the sound of the Northwest Territorities. The strings of her violin humming over the thumping beats are like the crying winds, rushing over the heavy foundations. They're like the bush planes touching down on the lake, kicking up a spray as the sky meets the water.
Blast. I'm getting overly poetic here. Sorry about that.
Let me try this again -- the entire trip was a series of unexpected and incongruous discoveries. So's her music... and the sooner I re-discover each, the better.
This now concludes our ten-day writer's block, in which your faithful blogger could not seem to say "I had fun in Yellowknife". Please tune in tomorrow, when we return you to your regularly scheduled commentary about life in Medicine Hat, and/or Bangladesh.
In Newfoundland, that was Wagner's Ring Cycle. CBC was the only radio station I could find in those rocks, and since I was driving out to a viking settlement in the middle of a storm, the mood was too perfect for me to complain.
In Halifax, the song was Hawksley Workman's "Almost A Full Moon". Why? No fancy symbolism here -- that's just what I was listening to as I fell asleep in my rental car in an underground parkade. It is a great song, though... it's actually a recipe for pumpkin soup, with the title repeated incessantly in the background like a mantra.
Ottawa 2005: Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen. What can I say? I was at a wedding.
Ottawa 2006: Jumping Jack Flash, the Rolling Stones. What can I say? Elite Beat Agents is a fantastic game, and I finished it during that trip.
So, what about Yellowknife? I'm tempted to say "Go West" by the Pet Shop Boys, but really, that sort of karaoke lightning and thunder happens every time my friend Jason and I are together for too long.
Actually, my official soundtrack for Yellowknife, I turn to Kytami. She's a violinist from Whistler that eschewed the Royal Conservatory for her mix-master friends. The resultant sound is eclectic and electric. But more than just being nice to listen to, it's the sound of the Northwest Territorities. The strings of her violin humming over the thumping beats are like the crying winds, rushing over the heavy foundations. They're like the bush planes touching down on the lake, kicking up a spray as the sky meets the water.
Blast. I'm getting overly poetic here. Sorry about that.
Let me try this again -- the entire trip was a series of unexpected and incongruous discoveries. So's her music... and the sooner I re-discover each, the better.
This now concludes our ten-day writer's block, in which your faithful blogger could not seem to say "I had fun in Yellowknife". Please tune in tomorrow, when we return you to your regularly scheduled commentary about life in Medicine Hat, and/or Bangladesh.
26.7.07
The Exploration City.
(continued from the previous post)
After camping at the border, it was a relatively quick six hours to Yellowknife. The local heatwave kept things interesting for all my friends, as they cajoled each other to take their turn in my non-air-conditioned car. What can I say? I'll never be a hardcore camper, capable of surviving three weeks in the bush with nothing but a knife and a bottle of barbecue sauce. I have to earn my merit badges in other ways.
A few hours in, we crossed the mighty Mackenzie River by ferry and entered the Mackenzie Bison Sanctuary. On the way through Alberta, you'll see signs such as, "Deer: next 3km", "Elk: next 9km", or "Moose: next 62km". Those are all practice runs. When you see the sign that says, "Buffalo: next 236km", your eyes stay open.
Not that you need to look too closely.
Further along this drive, my passengers decided to pass the time by playing the classic pajama party game, "What Would You Rather". Two scenarios are proposed; pick one and explain your answer. The game was a fun conversation -- at least, it was whenever it wasn't my turn. I tried to ask grand questions about the fate of mankind, or challenge people's perceptions of happiness, or force a re-examination of social values. What happened, however, was that I sounded like an ignoramus incapable of understanding basic human needs.
Just like my last pajama party, really.
Later that afternoon, we entered Yellowknife. I'm not sure if there exists a stranger city in Canada -- and I've been to St. John's. I mean, in Newfoundland, they've only got two languages (three if you count French). You can hear a half dozen native tongues being spoken in Yellowknife, and they're not spoken in many other places.
As for its appearance, "out of place" doesn't begin to describe it. To get there, you have to drive through the Canadian Shield for six hours. Don't forget, this is land where farms don't grow and trees aren't cut. Signs of civilization are loosely interpreted ("Look! There's a raven that isn't the size of a condor! Mankind must be interfering somehow!"), in an attempt to feel connected.
And then, you pass an airport, you turn right at the intersection, and a modern city of 20,000 leaps out from the rocks and trees. Upon your first drivethrough, you're delighted by the familiarity. Tim Horton's! Boston Pizza! Zellers! You recognise these things, and that makes them good! The shining government offices and the RCMP buildings even fondly remind you of Regina.
Then, you turn into the older section of town, and you're poking your way through native crafts, second-hand clothing, and organic coffee. Those of you from the B.C. interior will not be disappointed. After that, you're in Oldtown -- the city that was built back when it was just a bunch of bush pilots that liked to hang out together. Coincidentally, we visited during the city's Float Plane Festival -- one of the big events of the festival is the chance for a bunch of local bush pilots to hang out together.
Oldtown is a rock on a lake, where people built a house wherever they pleased, and let the officials worry about roads and power lines forty years later. There isn't a single 90-degree intersection in Oldtown, just like there aren't two houses the same shape or colour. This aesthetic extends out into the harbour, where boats and ships of all sorts float lazily in the Great Slave Lake, rusty, muddy, and perfectly content. It was upon this sight that the Haligonian in our group shed a single tear -- it must have been the seagulls in his eyes.
So, we've established that the city sounds different, and looks different. But does it feel different? I'll put it this way -- Yellowknife Airport is probably the last one in North America where the flight attendants offer you matchbooks as you step on the planes. Then, during that plane ride, the pilot will tell you to ignore the seat belts, and go wherever you please during the flight. He'll fail to notify you when the plane lands, and if he feels like it...
...he'll buzz the entire city.
The only way I can describe it is that Yellowknife is a city filled with the best type of apathy. They actually trust people to have a basic amount of common sense.
Oh, and the other way I can describe it is that it doesn't have ugly people. No, really. It's like Robson Street in Vancouver -- everyone is fit and healthy, and smokin' hot compared to the national index.
Like I said, it's a weird place. No wonder I love it.
Musicians love it too, it seems. Tune in this weekend to hear about the Folk On The Rocks festival!
p.s. Since the gypsy hick was so quick to defend herself in the last post, perhaps this time, she'd care to explain Louise Falls. Allow me to present the scenario. We're walking through some dense low-lying foliage. We hear something moving in bushes, rustling leaves and cracking twigs. Whatever it is, it's moving towards us very quickly -- and we're all well aware of the bear sighting at our campground last night. The sound draws closer until a friendly golden retriever bursts out of the bush, tail wagging furiously. We all have a good laugh, but we can't help but notice that Cara is hiding behind one of our friends.
I'm not sure how you can mount a rebuttal against the facts, but you're welcome to try.
After camping at the border, it was a relatively quick six hours to Yellowknife. The local heatwave kept things interesting for all my friends, as they cajoled each other to take their turn in my non-air-conditioned car. What can I say? I'll never be a hardcore camper, capable of surviving three weeks in the bush with nothing but a knife and a bottle of barbecue sauce. I have to earn my merit badges in other ways.
A few hours in, we crossed the mighty Mackenzie River by ferry and entered the Mackenzie Bison Sanctuary. On the way through Alberta, you'll see signs such as, "Deer: next 3km", "Elk: next 9km", or "Moose: next 62km". Those are all practice runs. When you see the sign that says, "Buffalo: next 236km", your eyes stay open.
Not that you need to look too closely.
Further along this drive, my passengers decided to pass the time by playing the classic pajama party game, "What Would You Rather". Two scenarios are proposed; pick one and explain your answer. The game was a fun conversation -- at least, it was whenever it wasn't my turn. I tried to ask grand questions about the fate of mankind, or challenge people's perceptions of happiness, or force a re-examination of social values. What happened, however, was that I sounded like an ignoramus incapable of understanding basic human needs.
Just like my last pajama party, really.
Later that afternoon, we entered Yellowknife. I'm not sure if there exists a stranger city in Canada -- and I've been to St. John's. I mean, in Newfoundland, they've only got two languages (three if you count French). You can hear a half dozen native tongues being spoken in Yellowknife, and they're not spoken in many other places.
As for its appearance, "out of place" doesn't begin to describe it. To get there, you have to drive through the Canadian Shield for six hours. Don't forget, this is land where farms don't grow and trees aren't cut. Signs of civilization are loosely interpreted ("Look! There's a raven that isn't the size of a condor! Mankind must be interfering somehow!"), in an attempt to feel connected.
And then, you pass an airport, you turn right at the intersection, and a modern city of 20,000 leaps out from the rocks and trees. Upon your first drivethrough, you're delighted by the familiarity. Tim Horton's! Boston Pizza! Zellers! You recognise these things, and that makes them good! The shining government offices and the RCMP buildings even fondly remind you of Regina.Then, you turn into the older section of town, and you're poking your way through native crafts, second-hand clothing, and organic coffee. Those of you from the B.C. interior will not be disappointed. After that, you're in Oldtown -- the city that was built back when it was just a bunch of bush pilots that liked to hang out together. Coincidentally, we visited during the city's Float Plane Festival -- one of the big events of the festival is the chance for a bunch of local bush pilots to hang out together.
Oldtown is a rock on a lake, where people built a house wherever they pleased, and let the officials worry about roads and power lines forty years later. There isn't a single 90-degree intersection in Oldtown, just like there aren't two houses the same shape or colour. This aesthetic extends out into the harbour, where boats and ships of all sorts float lazily in the Great Slave Lake, rusty, muddy, and perfectly content. It was upon this sight that the Haligonian in our group shed a single tear -- it must have been the seagulls in his eyes.So, we've established that the city sounds different, and looks different. But does it feel different? I'll put it this way -- Yellowknife Airport is probably the last one in North America where the flight attendants offer you matchbooks as you step on the planes. Then, during that plane ride, the pilot will tell you to ignore the seat belts, and go wherever you please during the flight. He'll fail to notify you when the plane lands, and if he feels like it...
...he'll buzz the entire city.
The only way I can describe it is that Yellowknife is a city filled with the best type of apathy. They actually trust people to have a basic amount of common sense.
Oh, and the other way I can describe it is that it doesn't have ugly people. No, really. It's like Robson Street in Vancouver -- everyone is fit and healthy, and smokin' hot compared to the national index.
Like I said, it's a weird place. No wonder I love it.
Musicians love it too, it seems. Tune in this weekend to hear about the Folk On The Rocks festival!
p.s. Since the gypsy hick was so quick to defend herself in the last post, perhaps this time, she'd care to explain Louise Falls. Allow me to present the scenario. We're walking through some dense low-lying foliage. We hear something moving in bushes, rustling leaves and cracking twigs. Whatever it is, it's moving towards us very quickly -- and we're all well aware of the bear sighting at our campground last night. The sound draws closer until a friendly golden retriever bursts out of the bush, tail wagging furiously. We all have a good laugh, but we can't help but notice that Cara is hiding behind one of our friends.
I'm not sure how you can mount a rebuttal against the facts, but you're welcome to try.
24.7.07
A night without nighttime.
The first night was perhaps our most adventurous. We'd driven all the way through Alberta, and gratefully snuck into the 60th Parallel Territorial Park after hours, ready to find an unoccupied campsite and pay for it the next morning.
Provided the next morning came at all.
You see, we were six people wired on long waits for great expectations. What was our reward? Lots of trees. Not quite the big payoff you might have expected, so we had no choice but to stay on, on into the night, and let the day end on its own terms. No big finale: just a long ride into the sunset.
Except, of course, that "sunset" doesn't quite mean the same thing North of 60. Here's a picture of our campsite at 11PM. It got a little darker, but not much.
You might notice the huge plume of smoke rising from the damp green firewood. That was a conscious decision -- our entire party became freaked out by the bugs within twenty seconds of leaving the car. The dragonflies looked like they belonged in the Cenozoic Era, and the biters weren't much smaller. I think we would have slept on a bed of Roman Candles that night, had we been confident that they'd work better than the mosquito coils.
Of course, all that green firewood took some scrounging and scavenging, not to mention some applied force. Here's a picture of yours truly, displaying my lightning axemanship. I might not have a single clue how to chop wood, and I might have nearly cut off my own foot a dozen times, but at least I got the merit badge for effort.
Like I said: Lots of energy, lots of excitement, lots of sunlight. It's a recipe for insomnia. I was one of the earliest to head to bed (which was why I was the first to get steamrollered*), and that was 2AM. I'm still surprised that some members of our group woke up at all that morning. Of course, once we were up, we finally got a look at where we were camping:
First you suffer the weirdness. Then you realise just how beautiful it is. That's the Northwest Territories in a nutshell.
That goes double for Yellowknife, but that's a post in and of itself... which it will be, tomorrow. See you then!
(*And no, I won't let the opportunity to mock my friends slip past. The steamroller incident? Three people jumped into the tent, and two of them rolled over me. The third one, however, rolled in the other direction, and stayed there. What was up with that?)
Provided the next morning came at all.
You see, we were six people wired on long waits for great expectations. What was our reward? Lots of trees. Not quite the big payoff you might have expected, so we had no choice but to stay on, on into the night, and let the day end on its own terms. No big finale: just a long ride into the sunset.
Except, of course, that "sunset" doesn't quite mean the same thing North of 60. Here's a picture of our campsite at 11PM. It got a little darker, but not much.You might notice the huge plume of smoke rising from the damp green firewood. That was a conscious decision -- our entire party became freaked out by the bugs within twenty seconds of leaving the car. The dragonflies looked like they belonged in the Cenozoic Era, and the biters weren't much smaller. I think we would have slept on a bed of Roman Candles that night, had we been confident that they'd work better than the mosquito coils.
Of course, all that green firewood took some scrounging and scavenging, not to mention some applied force. Here's a picture of yours truly, displaying my lightning axemanship. I might not have a single clue how to chop wood, and I might have nearly cut off my own foot a dozen times, but at least I got the merit badge for effort.Like I said: Lots of energy, lots of excitement, lots of sunlight. It's a recipe for insomnia. I was one of the earliest to head to bed (which was why I was the first to get steamrollered*), and that was 2AM. I'm still surprised that some members of our group woke up at all that morning. Of course, once we were up, we finally got a look at where we were camping:
First you suffer the weirdness. Then you realise just how beautiful it is. That's the Northwest Territories in a nutshell.
That goes double for Yellowknife, but that's a post in and of itself... which it will be, tomorrow. See you then!
(*And no, I won't let the opportunity to mock my friends slip past. The steamroller incident? Three people jumped into the tent, and two of them rolled over me. The third one, however, rolled in the other direction, and stayed there. What was up with that?)
8.6.07
Soundtrack For The Night.
"Ashtray Rock" by the Joel Plaskett Emergency has been in my car's CD player non-stop for the last week. It's the return of the concept album, and it's a beautiful thing. The songs are fine on their own, but where it really shines is in the transitions. As he segues from Chinatown/For The Record (Track 10) into The Instrumental (Track 11), the music starts to shift. It's like watching Bruce Lee in action: every step has its own purpose, and still manages to support what's coming next. The melody goes from place to place, always driving forward, always getting to a higher state of energy. After the ascent, we go on the ride down: a "wish you were here" postcard, narrated by the girl at the center of the album's theme. It illustrates the concept perfectly, and opens up the final two tracks for a wistful conclusion.
It's an excellent album, so I started digging around for some more information about it. The first thing I noticed was that the girl who narrated the postcard was the same one that illustrated the cover, the liner notes, and did the woodburning for his previous album, "La De Da": Rebecca Kraatz.
Talented lady. Also, somewhat familiar... where have I seen her work before?
Ah, yes! She did a guest comic for the not-always-readable-yet-always-rewarding Dinosaur Comics by Ryan North. The fact that her strip dealt with archaeology in Saskatchewan was just icing on the cake. After making that connection, I dug a little deeper in her portfolio, and I found that she's a friend and collaborator of Hope Larson... who is married to Bryan Lee O'Malley. And that ended my little journey of links right there, because I don't need to go any further than that. You see, Bryan Lee O'Malley is the creator of...
...SCOTT PILGRIM!!!
This is important. You see, Scott Pilgrim is perhaps the most awesome comic series I have ever read. I can't describe it; I've tried before, and failed. Describing it as "The Hyper-Real Life Of A Slacker In Toronto" is accurate, but it doesn't explain why it's so good.
Don't believe me? Drop me a line. Give me your home address. I will mail you a copy of Volume 1, free. And then, you can send me an e-mail saying, "This is awesome!". Then, I will send you a reply, saying, "I know! It's so awesome!". And then you'll say, "I'm buying you a drink the next time you come to visit!", and so forth. See? Everybody wins.
...aaand that, my friends, is the story of how Joel Plaskett taught me the value of Facebook.
15.1.07
Agents Are Go!
Looking back on previous posts, you'd almost think I didn't play video games. Either that, or I was trying to be polite by not mentioning them. Regardless, the time has come for me to swoon over Elite Beat Agents.Here's the lowdown: There's a secret organisation tasked to help people in their time of need. When they see someone so despondent that they break down and lose faith in themselves, the Elite Beat Agents appear on the scene to set things right. But they don't simply fix the problem. Oh, no. They break out the tunes, and dance until the person is able to overcome their doubts, and prevail!
The game is Dance Dance Revolution with a storyline... and it's essentially how Denton's brain works on the inside. Secret agents with style, offering tactical support in the form of funky background music -- you can keep your guardian angels and totem animals, thank you very much. These are the guys I want in my corner when the chips are down.
I think it's a phenomenon we've all experienced: When the right song is playing, we know just what to do and just how to do it. We just move with the music, and it's impossible to do wrong. It's like we get the rare opportunity to be the heroes of our own story. It's not so much the music as it is the mindset, and it only takes the right riff to put you there.
Oddly enough, this segués perfectly into the latest comic series I've been reading, but I'll have to talk about that tomorrow. Until then -- Party on, dudes.
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