Make Sure You're Registered to Vote

Alberta's unnecessary referendumb is coming up soon, so be sure you're registered to vote in Alberta--there are scattered reports of Albertans discovering they're not registered, and if you're unregistered, you won't be able to cast your vote on October 19

Check your registration status here. 

Thanks to Totty for bringing this to my attention. 

Blue Vegas

The Grand Canyon of Time

Hard to believe it's been almost a decade and a half since Sylvia and I saw the Grand Canyon. I'm so glad we went before...well. 
 

Our Duty on October 19

The folks at Know the Nine have articulated why those of us who care about other people should vote to remain in Canada and then vote no to the other nine questions proposed by Danielle Smith's non-binding, divisive, and distracting October referendum. While the UCP government will do what they want no matter the outcome of the vote, it's still important to show up and express our support for Canada and reject the UCP's attempts to marginalize minorities, make voting more difficult for everyone, and continue to erode our public institutions and Canadian unity. The more Albertans reject what Danielle Smith and the UCP are selling, the harder it will be for them to justify their mean-spirited, socially and economically destructive agenda. 
 

Felled by Fellini

 

Do you mock me, sir? 

A few days ago, I completed a major reorganization of our theatre room. Yesterday, not content with my work, I set about re-sorting some of my discs and adding themed decorations to the shelves. 

Suddenly, something heavy fell from above, slamming right into the bridge of my nose. I was so stunned that I didn't even yell; I was too dazed. A second later, the pain hit; it was severe enough that I wondered if something had broken my nose. When I touched it, causing an even worse flare-up of pain, my fingers came away covered with blood. 

I scurried to the bathroom and tenderly applied tissue to the wound to stanch the flow of blood, then returned to the scene of the accident. There on the floor was my prized Criterion Fellini box set--the culprit. I must have jostled the shelves, and the set, which had been perched with other Criterion sets on high, tilted over and struck its blow. 

I have now secured the Fellini in a better position. I'm just glad it didn't fall on Sylvia. 

Thanks to Stephen for the inspiration for this post's title. 

Analog Space Invaders

I've been spending my staycation decluttering, expanding the shelving space in the the theatre room, hanging art, and just generally trying to make our spaces more organized and liveable. 

That's how I rediscovered a cheap "Space Invaders Bowling" game I've never played. I don't even remember where it came from. I was going to throw the whole thing away, but then I decided to prime the neon "pins" black and dry brush the alien images green. Now I can create or enhance some gaming terrain with them. 

I think these are the first things I've painted since Mom first went to the hospital last year. 
 

19 Years!

It's our 19th anniversary! No exotic destination this year--we watched half a bad movie, but that experience was mitigated by a very good meal--and the company! 

Next year--fingers crossed--we'll celebrate our 20th anniversary someplace far from here. 

Thanks for sharing a lovely day, Squishy McMonkey. 
 

Bruce Campbell vs. the Blobs

 

Bruce would have been great in a Blob sequel or remake. But then, he's great in everything. 

View from the Cabot Trail

 

Jellybean Streets

My anthipathy for the boring beige houses that seem to be the default in Edmonton intensified when Sylvia and I visited St. John's. I wish I lived on a rainbow road. 

A Woman of Salt Lake

In 2019, Mom accompanied Aunt Jean and Uncle John on what would ultimately be her last trip to Manitoba. I can't ask her now, so I don't know if this is Mom or Aunt Jean in the image. This is most likely Salt Lake, but I can't be sure. 
 

Gemini Interprets "My Eyes Bleed Coke"

Many years ago, I wrote the following bad poem: 

My Eyes Bleed Coke

My eyes bleed Coke
My bread doth me choke
My gums fairly smoke
I’m about to croak
Ye are ye who be
Ye who see who ye be
Be ye he who sees the sea
She be the she who kisseth me
Me I am what I wish to be
Until a bottle striketh me
Never a borrower nor lender be
But give a dram of ink to Lee
Lee, he be the Count, you see
He who bites the necks of shes
And makes us think of honeybees
Who swarm and have us on our knees
Sticky ichor down me cheeks
The stale, flat Coke, she surely reeks
Me eyes bled it for many weeks
Accompanied by untold shrieks
Sugar in me humour hurts
Cries of pain my larynx blurts
But still the blood she spurts ‘n spurts
One of Satan’s crueler works
My eyes bleed Coke

I fed it into Gemini's image generator a few weeks ago; you see the result above. 

Alden Gray and the Lady

 

Themes and Nanogenres Mid-Year Check-In

Letterboxd's themes and nanogenres tracking is a fun idea, but it's taking a long time to tag the hundreds of thousands of films on the site. Hence, I'm sure I've seen more than 33 "Moving Relationship Stories" this year. 

I feel kind of accused by "Intense Violence and Sexual Transgression" appearing in my top ten themes. I don't shy away from that sort of thing, but I'm not actively looking either. My affection for the horror genre probably has something to do with it. 
 

Richard XXX

Now is the summer of our discontent
Made inglorious winter by this climate change
And all the clouds that poured upon our houses
Endless rain and thunder's wrath. 
 

Photoshopped Peters' Drive-In

About a decade ago, Sylvia and I stopped at the Peters' Drive-In in Red Deer en route to Calgary. I took a few wide-angle photos of the place. They turned out well enough. But while experimenting with Photoshop, I found I could use prompts to transform the image into something more dynamic than my original. 

And yet it makes me sad. Had I been more serious about photography, I could have achieved this effect myself, in camera. This feels like cheating. 
 

Back Alley Robot Activated

 

Back Alley Robot

 

Earl vs. New York 2140

Despite my wavering ambivalence of Kim Stanley Robinson's work, I continue to read his books.

I purchased New York 2140 from the West Edmonton Mall Chapters in 2017. As with many of Robinson's books, I found my greatest enjoyment in his worldbuilding and theme while struggling to work my way through his baffling characterization and prose. (I will say that this time around some of his characters come close to resembling human beings.) But at last, after nine and a half years, I have finished the book. 

In Robinson's imagined future, the sea level in the vicinity of New York has risen some 50 feet. Its residents have adapted by creating a Venice-like existence, Manhattan's streets now waterways. 

Strangely, aside from the comeback of airships--for travel, shipping, and anchoring floating communities in midair--there's very little mention of technological change in this novel, such as details on adaptive mechanisms for the higher sea levels, resilience measures, computers, transportation, what's going on with space exploration, health care, and so on. Aside from the airships and the sea level change, this book feels like it could have taken place in 1988. 

Robinson's central concern here is economics. The novel is a critique of unfettered capitalism and the harm its done to the world and its people. And by the time we reach the end of this 600 page novel, there's a peaceful revolution wherein the people of the United States and elsewhere in the world force the trillionaires to pay their fair share of society's burdens. 

(So this is a science fiction novel, after all, ha-ha, as Robinson might write.)

There are two action scenes--a midair floating city rescue, and a whopper of a hurricane that precipitates the revolution near the novel's end. Robinson somehow manages to make both of these scenes boring. 

This isn't to say that I don't appreciate the novel. I think its message is important, and the solution the characters find at the novel's climax something we might apply to our current situation. Indeed. I think if I'd read this back before Trump, its impact would have been somewhat lessened. As history has played out in recent years, I find myself thinking that Robinson's prescription might be needed about 120 years earlier than predicted. 
 

A Visit from the Clue Squad

 

Yesterday I read Jennifer Egan's A Visit from the Goon Squad. I devoured this book in a couple of brief sittings, enthralled by the non-linear narrative, the beautifully drawn characters, and the sharp, ironic, empathetic prose. About halfway through, I thought "Wow, this is really good." When I finished, I searched Egan on Wikipedia and discovered this novel won the Pulitzer. 

"Ah, no wonder it was good," I thought. Of course, winning a prize isn't necessarily the best guarantee of quality, but this time, in my estimation, the award was well deserved. 

A Wooden Performance

Mine, not his. 

 

Pirates of the Ottawa River

 

Chopperspotting

"Let me know if I'm coming too close to any power lines," the chopper pilot said. "Or one of the other helicopters." 

I told him I would.

And that's why I'm here today. 


 

Whitemud Flood

Pete, Jeff, Mike, and I enjoyed a hard-fought but ultimate futile battle against the forces of evil in a rousing game of Dark Tower Returns. 

I chose my route home poorly, for tonight's storm flooded the Whitemud, adding an extra 45 minutes to my drive home from Mike's place. 
 

This Pun Is Justified

There they were, on set, near midnight. The day had been wasted. The director, the producer, the writer--all agreed that the day's rushes weren't even looking at.

The star remained quiet, arms crossed, his lips pressed into a thin line, his Stetson tilted at such an angle that his eyes, no doubt blazing, were hidden. He stood in the shadows, listening. 

The crew argued among themselves, trying to spread the blame. The script was unpolished. The direction was pedestrian. The major stunt of the day looked cheap and fake. The catering had spoiled, throwing everyone off. 

In short--they danced around the main issue. 

The man in the Stetson knew the final responsibility came down to him. His pacing had been off, his delivery flat, his timing all wrong. Even his body language was uncharacteristically stiff. 

In the end, a brave and possibly foolish production assistant, all of 21 years old, cleared her throat. 

All eyes--even the ones in shadow--turned to her. 

"Maybe it's not my place, but..." 

She paused. 

"I think we need to start talking about the Olyphant in the room."