It's Always Halloween Already

This whole phenomenon of complaining about the early promotion of Halloween has gotten to the point where businesses are actually joining in on the complaining in the copy of their own Halloween sales.

I have ordered a fair number of things online in the past. It’s the sort of thing I’ve often done in states of dubious consciousness in the small, ephemeral hours of the night when my itinerant attentions fell upon objects that seemed desirable and downright necessary at the time. One of the natural consequences of this practice is the influx of advertisements from all sorts of barely remembered online stores in my various email boxes. Recently, I’ve been receiving some that complain about the early onset of the Halloween season even as they do their part to bring it about and seek their profit from it.

For clarity's sake, that line at the top was actually part of the advertisement. Nevertheless, they make some nice stuff. I bought some gold platform shoes and three pairs of leg sleeves in hot pink from them a few years ago. Good times.

Hypocrisy is usually one of the most loathsome sins in my eyes, but the audacity with which it is committed here makes it too ludicrous to be truly execrable. What bothers me here is the pervasive idea that the autumnal season should not be dominated by a focus on Halloween. I’m inclined to believe that the opposite is true. Nothing else goes on in the fall. It’s a time of decay. Trees are withering. The weather’s growing cold. The daylight’s slowly dying. A frivolous focus like Halloween is exactly what I want. It’s a welcome distraction from the dubious portents of the season. Thanksgiving is technically the earlier celebration, but it lacks the thematic potency that enables Halloween to exert its hold over the collective consciousness in the two months that precede its arrival. Thanksgiving’s two major selling points are food and family. The latter concept is never far from the minds of those who cherish it, and it isn’t particularly desirable for those who don’t. Food just isn’t something that can generate a significant amount of enduring excitement when its arrival isn’t imminent. It can barely hold my interest over the time between the placing of an order in a restaurant and its eventual delivery. It certainly isn’t enough to occupy my mind for an entire half of a season. Halloween can hold my attention and affection forever. Whenever someone attempts to cast aspersions on my indefatigably flamboyant style by reminding me that Halloween’s over, I explain that I am still celebrating. I don’t even really dress up for the holiday anymore. Wearing the costume of another almost seems disrespectful. I wouldn’t wish to disguise myself on that venerable day. I wear the costume of Jaymes Buckman, and I always shall. That’s how I express my reverence for Halloween. Incidentally, it’s also how I express my reverence for myself. Whatever.

I should probably mention that my distaste for autumn has decreased considerably over the past six years. I officially decided to like it in 2011, and my newfound gusto for the season was strong enough to endure even in the face of my father’s surprise death on the Thanksgiving of that year. It actually can be a marvelous time of year from the right perspective, but I still cherish the looming presence of Halloween throughout. It suffuses these months with an inimitable flavour, and I’ll brook no complaints about that.

Update on 2013-09-30 06:08 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Best Halloween sale? Any one that owns it.

Spaghetti Style

Alright. What is going on here? I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you, abstract personification of a theoretical reader. “Spaghetti Style”? That’s my focus. The rest of the label doesn’t exactly fit any familiar norms of elegance, but that’s Tinkyada’s prerogative.

There’s room for some linguistic chicanery in the food industry. That’s no lie. I’m accustomed to that. I understand it generally. Honesty isn’t exactly a priority, but there’s a velleity to avoid actual fraud. People don’t necessarily have to know what they’re getting, but that knowledge must be an option. That’s why you get phrases like “cheese product” on the packages of food items that can be used in situations that would ordinarily call for cheese. And let’s be clear. There are times when you want cheese, and there are times when you want cheese products. I recall times in my childhood when circumstances would delay dinner to the point where a snack seemed appropriate. I remember one of those instances from a warm summer night on which I walked to the refrigerator as my mother reminded me that supper was not exactly imminent. To this, I gave an answer of easy acceptance, happily grabbing a trio of Kraft Singles from their slick blue package.

This was not a time for cheese. I had a craving on that night, and it was one that could only be satisfied by the consumption of raw Kraft Singles. That’s the sort of scenario that benefits from a clear delineation between cheese and cheese products. My gratitude to the food industry.

But that can’t be what’s going on here. What stops these long, thin strips of pasta from qualifying as spaghetti? I could understand if there were some quibble that prevented them from calling themselves pasta, but there isn’t. That claim is made quite clearly on the label. Has the circuitous idiolect of the food industry become pervasive to the point where companies just slip into it even in situations where it isn’t actually required? I would think that additional complexity is the last thing dinner needs. I suppose that that’s just another reason for me to avoid cooking.

Update on 2013-09-23 00:29 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Best cheese product? 

Are there cubed Kraft Singles? We should look into that.

Does Wales Have Cheese Mines?

“Far below the lush peat of the Welshlands, Collier’s cheese mines hide the finest cheddar of the United Kingdom. Hardy men come from all corners of the Commonwealth to tap the rich, golden veins of dairy treasure that are the pride of Wales. They dig deep into the earth for this creamy bounty, and we bring the product of their labour to you.

Powerful! Welsh cheddar.

Puissant! Welsh cheddar.

Pungent! Welsh cheddar.

Penetrative! Welsh cheddar.

Welsh cheddar. Straight from the cheese mines to you.

Also, fuck Somersetshire. Don’t believe a damned thing they say.

Welsh cheddar.”

Update on 2013-09-15 21:02 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Best cheese? Cubed.

I Skipped Thursday

The new season’s first month did not have the most auspicious start for me.

August ended pretty well. I don’t think that I even noticed that it was ending. I just continued on the summer path I’d been treading for months. On the penultimate day, I went out to the beach with some friends I hadn’t seen in a while, and they later joined my guitarist and me for one final summer session of street music.

Saturday was a late night too. In the vague proximity of the dawn, I decided that I wouldn’t worry about trying to get to sleep until I actually felt tired, summarily acknowledging that I’d probably get near noon before that started to happen.

My memories of the details of the ensuing hours are slightly fuzzy, though it might be fair to mention that some of that is probably due to what my brain went through on that day. I think that I started to consider sleep around 11:00, but I got distracted and postponed it further.

I awoke in pain and confusion at some point in the evening. I’m still not totally sure about what happened. I know that there was a seizure of some sort, and the fact that a bunch of stuff from my desk was on the floor when I woke up could lead one to assume that I was sitting at the desk when the event happened. However, my clothes had been moved from my bed to my chair, and that’s something that only happens when I decide to go to bed. I’m really not sure about any of this.

These sorts of things always mess with my brain. It does something to my mood and my memory. It makes the preceding days feel less real. Between that, the cold weather that greeted me upon my rise, the actual shift in calendrical months, and the sheer contrast between the good times of the weekend’s beginning and its unfortunate end, I could not have asked for a cleaner break between seasons.

But I didn’t ask for a clean break. A clean break is exactly what I don’t want. I prefer to coast along on summer breezes until the sweet Samhain scent of of Halloween makes its presence known. I rarely know exactly what to do with the intervening time. In fairness, I have come to love autumn in recent years, but that doesn’t make this much easier. The fact that yesterday’s spontaneous stop at the dollar store revealed an entire aisle of Halloween stuff might, though.

There is a bit of symmetry in this. My last seizure was at the beginning of the summer, and it affected my left arm in a way that made it fragile enough to suffer several dislocations throughout the following months. This seizure ended the summer by doing something similarly heinous to my right arm.

I felt quite infirm for most of the week, but Thursday definitely marked a turning point of some sort. I woke up late in the evening, and my return to consciousness was greeted by leg spasms. Upon trying to walk, I found that it wasn’t worth the bother, and I decided to return to bed and try again. After a couple of hours, I awoke again to identical sensations, and these led me to call the whole day off in favour of an early start to Friday.

I’m pleased to say that this actually worked brilliantly. I got up around 4:00 in the morning and sought ways to fill my day. I realised that I hadn’t dyed my hair in a while, and though that fact was partially attributable to a pale desire to wait for greater length, I felt that this particular Friday would be my last completely free day for a while. This Monday marks the start of a particularly busy period at the restaurant where I work, and the end of that period signifies the cessation of my duties for the winter. This weekend was basically the calm before a storm that directly precedes a deeper, more profound calm.

Anyway, I stopped in the middle of writing this to go to the salon, and the results are unsurprisingly fantastic. I also tried something new with my eyebrows.

I don’t know. Maybe that’s a more auspicious start?

Update on 2013-09-09 00:31 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Biggest obstacle between summer and Halloween?

Thanksgiving.

Redundantly Flawless Victory

I was flipping through some old comic books recently when I saw this. They weren’t that old. They definitely weren’t old enough for this to make any sort of sense for me. I didn’t look at the date on the issue, but I remember when this game came out because I bought it almost immediately and let it sit in oblivion for a year before I even opened it. It was the spring of 2011.

Anyway. Before I continue, I’d like to make clear the fact that there are levels to this anomaly. Multiple levels. I don’t think that I’d be talking about it if it only had one level. I wouldn’t even get out of bed for one level. Actually, that last bit’s occasionally a bit of a problem for me, but I’ll leave that for now.

First of all, the print industry’s not exactly in an outrageous state of growth right now. Even mainstream publications need to put effort into moving forward, but niche products really seem to be struggling, and this thing fits quite comfortably into the latter category. One would assume that these guides would have to be doing particularly well to continue at this point.

But I really don’t see how that can possibly be assumed.

The offerings of this project seem to be directed towards the people who played these games in the early Nineties. These were the days before the internet could be used for everything. These were the days when people lined up and payed to play these games in arcades. Secrets couldn’t be learned by a quick trip to the web. They couldn’t even be reliably gleaned through hours of consecutive practice, for one’s time at the machine was limited by the amount of change in one’s pockets and the impatience of the rest of the people in line. Special moves, strategies, and things of that sort could be passed by word of mouth, but such information was hardly infallible.

But these are not those times.

Alright. Fine. Obviously, there are certain minute points that could theoretically lean in the thing’s favour. Perhaps some people don’t want to spend a lot of time on practice. Understandable. That can be replaced fairly effectively by five minutes on the internet.

I’d even accept the fact that there are some people for whom the internet isn’t the most natural of things. They might not know the resources the web has on offer or the ease with which they can be accessed. However, I would doubt that many of these people fit in the demographics towards which these games are marketed. They’re surely not plentiful enough to finance the continued success of these guides.

But this madness goes even deeper than that.

All of the secrets this advertisement promises? All of the special moves and finishing rituals? All of that is clearly and readily available within the game. Every single thing. The entire list of special attacks for the character you’re currently playing can be accessed directly from the pause menu. That was the first thing my friend and I did in our first match when I finally opened the game in the summer of 2012. It took 40 seconds.

Update on 2013-09-02 06:33 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

And it comes in hardcover? How can it possibly come in hardcover?

I really just don't know

Hale Snails and Vapour Trails

I’ve heard people say that current trends in recent animated films like “Turbo” and “Planes” hold morals that glorify and exacerbate the worst qualities of this generation. For some reason, I’ve been seeing fewer movies recently, but I don’t think that I would have wanted to see these ones anyway. I’m thus unable to speak to the details of these narratives, but I’m familiar enough with their structures and the arguments against them.

Essentially, the protagonist is an inexperienced misfit with vast potential who finds himself in competition against professionals of the discipline in which his talents lie. Despite his naivety and lack of training, he’s able to succeed against the professionals through sheer willpower and natural talent. A pessimistic interpretation would take this to signify an endorsement of the impatience and narcissism that supposedly typifies my generation. Incidentally, I happen to think that generational stereotypes are nonsense. I’m obviously not the best person to say this, for I am flagrantly impatient and narcissistic, but those are personal faults that cannot be ascribed to everyone who was born within two decades of me.

Anyway, I’d disagree with that interpretation for two reasons. First, it’s a narrative trope that goes back for millennia. Protagonists are generally supposed to be interesting, and the easiest way to make a protagonist interesting is to make him special in some way. Do you remember King Arthur? Do you remember when he was a scrawny kid with few prospects and fewer muscles who attained kingship by pulling a sword from a stone in which it had stubbornly stayed against the force of dozens of strong men? Do I even need to mention that many of those men were probably knights with years of leadership experience that might have been more practical in the ruling of a kingdom than divine appointment or prestigious lineage? Admittedly, the tutelage of a wizard tends to balance things out, but the point stands.

I’d also like to say that such tales don’t lead people to expect victory without effort. Anyone who carries that expectation will lose it immediately after discovering that it doesn’t hold up in practice. Maybe he’ll realise that he needs to work for what he wants, or perhaps he’ll give up after that first failure. The world has always been filled with people of both types, and it always will be. That’s not the point of the story. The point of the story is an emotional one, and it’s designed to get people to give themselves a chance. After sheer laziness, one of the biggest reasons for which people don’t try things they’d’ otherwise enjoy is intimidation. Any skill that one might try to pick up has already been perfected by multitudes of other people who’ve been practicing it since childhood. Although that’s an understandable reason to avoid something, it’s also a terrible one. I recently discovered that the guitarist for my band, who is a truly glorious musician by all accounts, only started playing in the middle of his adolescence. He knew people who were already proficient in the instrument, but he didn’t let early inferiority stop him, for he was passionate, and he knew that mastery is not always something that’s apparent at the start. It’s an obvious truth, but it’s one of which some people still need to be reminded.That’s why we have stories.

Sometimes those stories just happen to be bad.

Update on 2013-08-26 06:48 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Sword of the stone versus Excalibur. Which wins? 

The sword in the stone was really more of a ceremonial blade, while Excalibur was clearly made for battle. Excalibur wins.

Fly in the Water

I recently ran my first half marathon for no reason. It was late, I was bored, and I couldn’t see a reason to stop after I’d finished the usual four kilometres. It was a fairly good time, though there was a point at which my leg sleeve started to slip, and I feared that it would fall and force me to stop. Fortunately, it stayed up for the entire night because it loves me. I think that there’s a beautiful kind of purity to the love I share with that fluffy thing.

I also got lost around Kipling because of that maddening loop thing and the transition from Bloor to Dundas. I thought that I was continuing along Bloor, but I’d actually failed to make the switch to that street’s new path. When I realised my mistake, I ran up a tiny road by the name of Aukland and turned east on Bloor until I reached that loop again. I actually tried to consult my phone’s map at that point, but that failed miserably because traffic loops are even more incomprehensible without any representation of depth. I ran around the loop and returned to Bloor, but my divided attention must have caused me to inadvertently invert my map. I dropped my phone around that time too. Maybe that did it. In any case, I didn’t realise that I was heading west again for a fairly long time. I passed Aukland again, but there was some part of me that believed that Aukland was doing that whole Dundas thing of twisting around on itself, and that part convinced the rest of me that Aukland was indeed long and circuitous enough to intersect with Bloor twice in the space of a mile.

When I found myself among suburban lanes, I finally admitted that this was a part of Bloor I had not previously encountered. Checking my map again, I discovered its inversion and turned around there. My third encounter with the overpass wasn’t completely free from confusion, but I was able to deal with it and continue east. Things were alright after that. I stopped around Keele, drank nine cups of water, and proceeded to walk home.

Anyway, I arrived in my room to find  a fly on the inside of the cup of water that I’d left there earlier. I was thinking that it might still be alright if I could just get the fly to leave the cup, but when I tried to blow the arthropod away, it fell into the water. That destroyed any willingness I might have had to drink from that mug, and I let the water sit for a while instead. When I finally got up in the morning and poured the water out, however, the fly revealed that it was still alive and flew away.

Update on 2013-08-18 06:35 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Worst thing about amphibious flies?

They could teach the spiders . . . 

Tasty Trends

I don’t think that great taste is really a trend for anybody. Indeed, I’m fairly sure that taste is usually the only real purpose of food beyond sustenance for most people. For some, it probably even takes the top spot. There are probably a few other considerations for some individuals. I’ve heard some say that certain foods can be refreshing, but I can’t relate to that at all. What’s the point of a cool summer salad? I’m just going to throw that thing in the microwave. Food does not refresh me. Drinks do. That’s basically all they do. That’s why I haven’t even glanced at any kind of hot beverage since high school. What are they supposed to do? Are they supposed to be soothing? I don’t have time for that business.

Now, if we were talking about the emotional effects of different foods, I’d admit that some dishes have a tendency to trigger subtle responses in me, but I usually ignore those because they are wont to steal attention away from the actual taste. In my mind, concentrating on a meal’s emotional value would be like watching an old favourite movie and wallowing in the memories it brings up. That kind of thing is fine if that’s actually why you’re doing it, but otherwise it’s just a distraction.

Anyway, I doubt that people like tasty food because it’s fashionable. I don’t think that there’s some chef who’s yelling at his young apprentice to replace his fetid fare with something delicious for the stylish crowd.

“Hey! Apprentice! Put out the good stuff! The hipsters are coming!”

“But what are we going to do with all this slop we haven’t used up yet?”

“Save it for Sunday afternoon. That’s when the geriatrics come in.”

“Good call. But why do you keep calling me ‘apprentice’?”

“I don’t know. What else would I call you? Do you have a problem with it?”

“It just sounds too formal. Why don’t you call me ‘boy’? Like they did in the old days. It just sounds more classic.”

“Hm. ‘Boy, fetch the dishes!’ Actually, you’re right. That does sound better. Thanks, boy.”

“Yes, sir!”

Anyway, food isn’t really a trend. Certain aspects of cuisine may be. Gluten hate? That’ll probably pass. Greek yoghourt? That could be a fad. But I’m reasonably certain that people are still going to want to eat things that taste good long after all the quinoa has faded from sight. Even when the reign of bold white letters on bright red backgrounds has ended, there will still be a demand for edible goods that cause pleasure when they are placed in humanoid mouths. That’s not going to change. Did you think that we thought that you were going to change? Don’t worry, guys. No one suspected that you or your competitors would suddenly just start trying to make awful things. From what I understand, that’s not really a thing that people often do. Unless . . .

Wait. Is there some sort of postmodernist food conglomerate I don’t know about? I suppose that they’d probably do something like that. Great taste isn’t a trend, but bad taste could be.

Update on 2013-08-12 02:49 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Can taste be accounted for? 

From what I have heard, it cannot.

Dynamo Love Star

Recording is still going well, but it's also going slowly. In an effort to sate what must be an excruciating hunger for more Hot Apollo tunes, I've decided to share this little visual demonstration of our newest song with you fine people tonight.

Feel free to join in on the chorus, guys.

Update on 2013-08-05 04:49 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

What can stop the Dynamo Love Star? Nothing.

No True Fascist

I don’t like the use of the term “grammar Nazi”. Believe me when I say that it has nothing to do with the terrible actions of the actual Nazis. My apathy about such taboos is no secret. I’ve heard some say that common references to historical horrors diminish the significance of those events, but I don’t have time for that. No one’s actually going to stop taking these things seriously in appropriate situations because they’re used less seriously in other situations. Do you know what I mean? There are plenty of ways to use concepts like Nazism in productive ways. The Soup Nazi’s a pretty good example. His appellation compares him to his historical namesakes through his intensity as it contrasts the scope of his dominion against theirs. Rampant Nazi flavour is also a part of what makes Darth Vader and his friends seem credible and stylishly intimidating. The fact that they didn’t actually kill millions of real people doesn’t make it seem disrespectful. This sort of dissonance isn’t just restricted to Nazis either. Games like “Call of Duty” are tremendously popular in all parts of the world. This is true despite the fact that players generally take the roles of American soldiers, which means that there are a bunch of Japanese kids right now who are gleefully murdering caricatures of their grandparents. And it’s fine! Really. I can’t say that it would be wise to bring that sort of attitude into other aspects of life, but I hold to the belief that fiction isn’t responsible for bad behaviour. People who do bad things in imitation of fiction would have been inclined to do bad things anyway.

I’m also wont to believe that there’s a sort of numinous statute of limitations on historical villainy anyway. Would anyone actually be bothered if Tolkien had come out and said, “Yeah, the orcs were totally an allegory for the Ottomans. I’m surprised no one picked up on that.” Out of respect for the guy, I should probably say that that is exactly the sort of thing he would never do, but the point stands. Nobody would really care. Well, someone probably would. I realise that it’s essentially impossible for people to bring themselves to shut up for a moment or two, but I accept it because I don’t really like silence either.

Anyway, I should probably get back to the point that I haven’t really mentioned since the introductory sentence. The term is problematic because the Nazis were actually good at what they did. What they did was horrible, but they still did it well. Hitler was like the Wolverine of racism.

Conversely, I’ve never encountered a pedant who actually knew what he was doing. Few of them even try to hold themselves to the standards they arbitrarily impose on others. Furthermore, Nazis actually had a cause. They were disastrously misguided in their pursuit of that cause, but their fundamental goals weren’t inherently unreasonable. They just wanted their country to be glorious. It’s fine to take issue with their definition of glory, but I can readily understand that drive to be awesome. I don’t even really know what could justify pedantry, though. It’s fine to be eloquent, but it’s hardly imperative for everyone. A lot of people can communicate effectively without being grammatical. That’s actually sufficient in most situations. Unsolicited corrections just waste time. In that sense, one could say that they actually bring the level of discourse down. I’ve actually worked as a proofreader, but I never correct anyone unless I’m specifically asked to do so. I’d like to get to a point where I can replace the word “asked” with “paid” in that sentence, but my resume is still pretty light, and the print industry doesn’t really seem to like paying people. Still. How weird would it be if Mr. Whipple got invited to a party and tried to stop all the other guests from squeezing the toilet paper? Weird and annoying. We understand that that’s your job at the supermarket, George, but you can’t be taking your work home with you.

I’m even inclined to abhor prescriptivism of any kind. I like to speak, act, and do various other things in certain ways, but it wouldn’t be sensible of me to expect others to do the same. I don’t want everyone to be like me. I just want them to like me. There’s a pretty significant difference.

What other possible motivation is there for pedantry? Well, I suppose that some might do it because they don’t have anything of value to add to the conversation, which would mean that the people who claim to care about language are incapable of using it productively.  If that’s true, there’s a somewhat depressing sense of irony in it.

Like . . .

Alright, guys. Does anyone know the amount of effort that genocide requires? It’s not easy. Those guys actually had to know what they were doing, whereas your average pedant doesn’t even seem to be able to expend enough effort to remember the difference between an object and a subject. I even had an English teacher like that once. I remember a particular meeting with her in which I casually referenced an occasion on which my father had brought my brother and me to the cinema. Obviously, I used the word “me” because it was the grammatical object of that sentence, but this incompetent hedge witch took it upon herself to lean back, raise her eyebrows, and say, “‘My brother and I.’” My father, who was actually sitting beside me at the time, instinctively placed his hand upon mine to stop me from raising it against her. Striking her obviously wouldn’t have been the kind of thing I would have actually done, but my arm definitely felt the urge. I might also say that this took place at a private school. The kind where parents actually pay considerable amounts of money for the education of their children. I can’t believe that my family’s money was intended for such mediocre instructors. On the other hand, this was the same school that gave me good marks for a philosophy essay I wrote on the X-Men. Actually, another teacher even gave me a decent grade on a separate piece I wrote for biology, which involved the X-Men and David Bowie. “You’ve got to make way for the Homo Superior!” Was that Magneto or Ziggy Stardust? I don’t think that it matters, but that was the closing line. Anyway, I suppose that my time at that school wasn’t wholly unpleasant in retrospect.

Anyway. What were we talking about?

Nazis were monstrous but efficient. Pedants are petty and ineffectual.

I think that that’s a decent summary.

Update on 2013-07-29 02:39 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Best use of Nazi symbolism?

I've always been pretty fond of that whole thing with the marching hyenas at the end of "Be Prepared".

Novelisations?

Novelisations! What are those things? How do they work? Those things are mystifying on many levels, but the part that currently stands out is the fact that they seem to be generally restricted to a genre that would probably have the least need of them.

They’re obviously not written to expand on the inner workings of the protagonists of character pieces. No one ever says, “Oh! I loved ‘The Descendants’, but I wish I could know more of what was going on in Clooney’s head. I must have the literary adaptation! It’s book club time!” But I could almost imagine a perceived point in that. Maybe. Almost.

But that’s not how it goes. The target audience is basically the opposite of that.

“I just saw fuckin’ ‘The Scorpion King’!” “Wow! What’s next on the docket for Edwin J. McDouchehat?” “Man, I’ma gets me some novelisation of that flick. Read me ‘bout some muscles! It’s book club time, mathafahkaaah! But first, I’m going to crush a cream soda!” “Dude, pun! ‘Cuz like, Crush cream soda!” “Fuck yeah, pun!”

Actually, I’m just going to take a moment here. Despite the preceding paragraph, my love for “The Scorpion King” is as grand and glorious as the empire of the arachnid sovereign of the title. That thing is a classic.

In 15 years, someone might come up and say, “Jaymes Buckman, the world loves you. What they’d really like is a collection of new, remastered editions of your favourite classic films.” Who knows? Right? I only know that I’ll slit the guy’s throat with my tongue if “The Scorpion King” doesn’t make it into that collection.

Incidentally, I saw “Iron Man 3” recently, and Ben Kingsley was hilarious. His voice in his videos reminded me of Heath Ledger’s Joker, which actually makes sense for his character in a weird way because Trevor Slattery’s a lazy actor who probably hasn’t been lucid since “The Dark Knight” was in theatres. Modelling his villainous role after that is probably the kind of thing he'd do. Also, I was surprised to discover that we don’t need Val Kilmer anymore.

Right?

That’s probably a good thing, for Val Kilmer doesn’t seem to be too interested in doing the Val Kilmer thing at the moment.

But that’s fine. Obviously. He looks very comfortable.

“But who will play David Lee Roth in the cinematic adaptation of Motley Crue’s hit autobiography ‘The Dirt’?” you ask.

That’s not important right now.

Actually, it might be.

But the most important thing in all of this is the fact that Val Kilmer seems very comfortable.

Update on 2013-07-21 19:12 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

"But can Guy Pearce convincingly portray Jim Morrison?"

I'd assume so. Furthermore, he could also portray Ray Manzarek.

The Shape of the Sandwich Probably Wasn't Intentionally Phallic

This week’s story of Hot Apollo’s adventures on the streets gets more ridiculous in stages.

 

It was on this recent Thursday evening when my cohort and I took it upon ourselves to grace the Annex with our glorious tunes once again. It wasn’t the busiest time of day, but the weather was nice enough to compel a fair amount of people to repeatedly place their feet upon the pavement in a kind of stepping motion.

So.

Foot traffic wasn’t great, which meant that our time wasn’t especially lucrative, but we were having a great time, and the response was alright. One particular guy threw a five-dollar bill in the case along with a sandwich, which seemed destined to be the night’s most salient source of amusement. I gave the sandwich man the Hot Apollo card as he left, for it is my custom to do so whenever a person expresses interest in our music.

Shortly before we finished, however, I received a text message from an unknown number. It said, “excellent blt. from subway. bi- curious first time but must have another female or multiple couples”. Apparently, the giving of the sandwich was an act of courtship. Furthermore, what had seemed to be a five-dollar bill was revealed to be pair of notes of the same denomination.

Apart from a slight bit of trepidation from my guitarist, who vaguely suspected that the sandwich might be drugged, the whole thing seemed like a hilarious example of good times, and my friend’s hunger won out in the end anyway.

On the following afternoon, I received an unidentified call from a man who immediately asked for my name. When I told him, he said that he didn’t recognise it, adding that he’d made the call because he’d found my number on his phone. Then he hung up. I was momentarily puzzled until I realised that it was the same number from which the previous night’s text had originated. Unsolicited propositions that involve sandwiches are droll enough, but I’m inclined to feel that it’s even funnier somehow when the latently bisexual drunkard who initiates the thing doesn’t remember any of it on the following day.

But now I just want to know whether he’d remember if we’d gone through with it.

Update on 2013-07-15 06:10 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Best courtship gift from an old drunk man? Leather pants.

Recording

I think that we're going to start with this one.

Recently, I've been doing most of my performing on the street instead of the stage. There are a number of factors for this, but most of them stem from the fact that Hot Apollo doesn't currently have a drummer. The best way to make these songs work without drums is to base everything around an acoustic guitar, which doesn't really require a venue at all. I've actually come to love the acoustic versions we've been doing lately, though Hot Apollo is still intended to become a full electric band again in the near future, which will necessitate a return to the stage and all of the attendant organisational annoyances. 

But street performance has revealed to me some of its own advantages, and these go beyond the decreased emphasis on planning and forethought. It's a new, different, and fairly efficient way to bring the music out to new people and interact with them in the process. This is old news to anyone who has ever stood with an instrument on a street corner, but I'm thoroughly enjoying the experience and regretting the fact that I've only been able to start recently.

All of this is at the fore of my mind right now primarily because of one meeting that came about through an afternoon of busking in Kensington Market. One of the many pedestrians who presumably enjoyed our music on that day has offered to lend his technological skill and knowledge to the task of making what will undoubtedly be the first truly decent Hot Apollo recordings. I've heard some of the stuff he's done with his own music, and it's pretty great. If you're interested, my personal favourite can be found at http://youtu.be/9lV2-682nOg. 

Anyway, I'm pretty excited, and I intend to put some of the tracks up as they're made. Soon!

Update on 2013-07-08 03:49 by Jaymes Buckman

Best bad recording? That "Raw and Live" Sex Pistols album I borrowed from my friend when I was 15. From what I remember, the sound quality was too atrocious to discern anything of detail, but it was my first real introduction to the band, and it had a bunch of Sid's solo stuff that's still inexplicably intriguing to me.

Taste Some Truth

Damn it, Vitaminwater! I can't trust you when you do nonsense like this! Why must people always go and break the scales that they set for themselves? It only serves to make whatever point they're trying to prove seem immediately untrustworthy. 

Just come out and say what you mean, Vitaminwater! Be a man! 

Oh, I know that arguments could be made against me here.

"Oh, but Jaymes!" they'll say. "It's easy for you to be a man, for you already are one, whereas Vitaminwater is really more of a fortified aqueous solution. Check your privilege!"

Well, I can say that my privilege has been thoroughly checked, but the lack of testosterone, genitals, and corporeal form can do nothing to excuse base cowardice of the type so audaciously displayed here by Vitaminwater's craven chicanery. 

Look, Vitaminwater. I'm going to be honest with you here. Honesty is something I can do. I am by nature a weaver of truth. 

Incidentally, I know that truth doesn't really have to be woven, but I just prefer it to the unwoven kind.

Anyway!

Honesty time. Truth hour. Moment of perspicacity. 

Vitaminwater, you must understand that I'm not criticising you for arrogance or anything of the sort. Vanity is my virtue. I know that confidence can be a healthy thing in massive doses. But you've really got to learn to take it to the top, Vitaminwater. Don't hide behind false scales. You're whispering, Vitaminwater. You need to shout. If you're really sure of yourself, be direct about it. 

"Hey! Our drink tastes like eleventy billion, you bastards! Drink the fuck up!"

Is that so hard?

Damn.

Update on 2013-07-01 06:54 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Best vitamin? C. 

Cereal's Basically Like Sex Anyway

I just realised the implications of the dude's sppon and the lady's bow. Very clever, Sexcereal.

.

I'll readily admit that I have no basis for comparison, though. 

But I keep seeing these advertisements at health shops as I walk around. 

Aphrodisiacs already seem like slightly superfluous products anyway. At best. At worst, they seem downright counterproductive. When is the lack of desire ever a problem? I didn't think that it was common to have a desire for desire. 

It's not too rare for people to have desires that exceed what they can attain. It's not even that uncommon for people to be unable to act upon their desires. One in five? Something like that. That's not that uncommon.

But I don't really know why anyone would want to spoil a lack of desire. A lack of desire can be a great time. That's the time when you can actually do things! 

"Huh. I don't want to have sex today. Now I can finally get around to buying groceries or whatever."

But this thing is even worse because it's specifically designed to be eaten in the morning. That's got to be the worst time for arousal for a lot of people. Did you really just need to be in a loving mood right before work? That doesn't really sound like the wisest plan unless you have some especial desire to spend your lunch break in the bathroom. 

Admittedly, morning obligations and sexual desire are two things with which I have no significant experience, but these seem like pretty safe assumptions to me. 

Update on 2013-06-24 05:45 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Best cereal? I don't know. Froot Loops? But someone recently gave me some dubious information about the supposed illegality of their ingredients? The kind of information I rarely heed. But Frosted Flakes seem like a safer bet anyway. Raisin Bran's always a great time too.

Roll-Ups Redux

Really, Italpasta? I'd expect more integrity with a name like "Italpasta".

I was walking through town recently when I noticed a smell I haven't encountered in a good while and a half at the least. It was the scent of Fruit Roll-Ups, and I was momentarily startled by the wonderfulness of its intensity. For the first time in years, I was compelled to think deeply on Fruit Roll-Ups. This meditation soon brought me to a conclusion that seemed to be at odds with the heady virtue of the aroma I'd experienced.

Fruit Roll-Ups aren't very good.

I can truthfully say that I have no taste for them, and I doubt that I ever did. I can say this with knowledge of the erstwhile love I had for foods that I now dislike. But Fruit Roll-Ups are a different issue. I never liked them, yet I know that I once enjoyed them.

And it comes back to that smell. In my recent encounter with it, I was stricken with no hint of desire to consume its apparent originator, though it was obviously powerful enough to provoke this contemplation. However, the smell did briefly instill in me a vague wish for intimate associations with Fruit Roll-Ups. It made me want to rub my face in them. It made me want to wash my hands in them and wrap myself in them until my skin was sticky with their saccharine scent. 

And I realised that these were not new desires. This was why I had enjoyed the candy in my youth despite its uninteresting flavour. The smell had always filled me with these instincts and more, but their obvious impracticality had led me to simply eat the confection instead. When that action became an inadequate substitute, the candy left my life. 

Update on 2013-06-17 02:34 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Gushers are still good, though, aren't they? I'd assume so. Yes.

Sidhe-La Was a Banshee

I saw the advertisement for “World War Z” recently, and it looks like a fairly worthwhile film to me. That’s almost definitely old news, and the fact that it’s not really closely related to the book at all might just be slightly less old. But that’s alright, for it still looks like a decent story in its own right, and the original author seems to share that opinion.

There are a lot of worse adaptations out in the world, and some of those actually seem to lend credence to the occasionally hyperbolic lamentations of the creators of the original works. These are generally the ones that take enough from the original to seem credible and do everything else badly. I can see how that can hurt a work’s reputation, and I can understand creators when they say that being involved in the creation of an adaptation is like watching the dismemberment of one’s own child. But I’m inclined to think that the number of situations in which that common analogy is actually a fair one is probably a relatively low one. In a lot of cases, these adaptations don’t involve the murder of a child. The producers aren’t killers. The author’s child isn’t being harmed at all. Instead, the child is an object of envy to the producers. He’s the youth who wins all the football trophies and gets on the honour roll. The producers look at their own offspring, who is plainly a cretinous, slovenly mess, and decide to name him after the golden child. The sanctity of the author’s family is maintained. Meanwhile, the producers, displeased by the futility of their efforts to mould their own son into a reasonable imitation of the author’s, decide to engage in some twisted form of sympathetic magic by throwing money at the author in the hope that it will aid the daft endeavour in which they tenaciously persist.

I seem to recall some momentary tinge of sympathy that I once felt for Anne Rice and others in her situation upon hearing bits of her odyssey with the Tom Cruise vehicle “Interview with the Vampire”. Apparently, she was initially resistant to a number of elements of the adaptation, and the supposed impropriety of the star was foremost among these. Even I’ll admit that I was somewhat bemused when I first saw Tom in that blond hair, and I actually like the film. Actually, I just watched it again a few days ago.

But that’s obviously beside the point.

Anyway, Rice later said that she changed her mind after seeing the film, which apparently convinced her that Cruise was indeed capable of channelling the paler, more cannibalistic version of her husband. That made sense to me. After all, the dude’s a charming actor. But then I was told that she clearly must have been compelled to say that by movie executives with concerns over the potential impact of a negative review by their film’s originator.

And that seemed like a sad thought. An image of a woman in the process of being forced into submission by guys in suits and sunglasses in a dim room.

But I eventually came to realise that the tool of those guys in suits was money. That’s obviously another bit of old news. Anyway, it put a happier note on things.

Update on 2013-06-10 04:11 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Favourite bad adaptation? "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen". 

Update on 2013-06-10 04:13 by Jaymes Buckman

Actually, anything by Alan Moore could probably come close to qualifying. They're pretty good movies, but they're terrible at being faithful. I could probably give an exception to "Watchmen" on the part about being faithful, and I suppose that I can give an exception to "Constantine" on the part about being good.

Toes of the Town

So. I’m obviously really excited for the show on Tuesday. You know the one. The one at the Velvet Underground by Bathurst and Queen. I don’t even know why I took the time to specify when you clearly know the one already. We go on at midnight.

Anyway! I realised that I didn’t really have any shoes that would be completely worthy of covering my feet on such a night. Around this point, I considered the fact that I wouldn’t even need to cover my feet if I weren’t so ashamed of them.

At a period soon after this point, the opportunity for a pedicure was presented to me. Solution!

At first, I thought that my feet looked weird in their cleanliness. My big toe looked too big. I was momentarily worried. Do toes get bigger with age? Is this going to be a problem? I’d only just found a decent pair of socks for the first time in my life. Then I remembered someone’s comment about the size of my toes from 2007, and I realised that my toes have always been like this. I feel better now.

Now my feet look great, and the show’s going to be even greater.

You lucky fools.

It’s going to be an awesome time.

Update on 2013-06-03 04:21 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Best thing about my socks? They're the only pair I've worn since the winter, and they haven't broken yet. Seriously, that's all I ever wanted.

You're Taking My Money (You Don't Have a Choice in the Matter)

I was looking for a new book to read recently. I’m nearing the end of  my current one, and I shall miss the thing. I didn’t really know what I wanted to read next, and I just stumbled around for things that had the potential to catch my interest. For some reason, my mind wandered to  a cartoonish kind of Norse adventure tale I’d read in 2008, and I was surprised to discover that a sequel was released fairly recently. The original was a big book, and I supposed that its successor would be possessed of similar heft. Maybe it doesn’t really matter; I don’t even like to carry small books around.

In any case, I went to amazon.com and discovered that it wasn’t in the Kindle store. This seemed contrary to the claims on the author’s site about its digital availability. Because I am a desperate fool, I even deigned to check the Canadian version of the site. I soon realised that it wasn’t available in any North American channels of digital distribution. I’ve experienced the horrid annoyances of Canada’s foolishly xenophobic approach to imports before, but America has always seemed to be a place without real restraints on entertainment access. If it’s available anywhere in the world, it’s usually available there.

Well, that’s true if it’s in English at the very least.

However, the long list of nations in which this electronic novel was available contained neither of these two bastions of the western world.

Fortunately, I discovered that Amazon’s process for changing one’s country of residence is the easiest thing in the world. I got an address and postal code from a large toy shop on Regent Street and downloaded the book with haste.

Things were fine? Seemingly.

When I next checked my email, I was bemused to find a meekly worded message from some sort of customer service robot. This note informed me that there seemed to be some traces of illegitimacy in my claims of immigration, and I was told to assuage their doubts with proof of citizenship.

By fax.

Because of publishing rights.

I don’t . . .

Mother of balls, Amazon! I just want to buy a book! That’s “buy”, a word that is semantically distinct from “steal”, “rob”, “pilfer”, and many other nefarious verbs that convey the idea that the authors or their corporate benefactors would somehow lose something by way of my desire for literary entertainment. The damned thing wasn’t available here; thus I was forced to travel through the dreamy medium of the information netherworld like some sort of cybernetic psychopomp and set up a fictive summer home beside a British bookstore. I did this to give you money. Keep that in mind. I did it to give you money that you would not accept anywhere in the digital domains of my home continent.

Maybe you should calm down.

Thank you.

Now I’m going to read this book, and I’m going to enjoy it. There will be monsters, magic, and all sorts of crazy letters. It’s going to be great, and on this occasion, you can’t stop me.

Melodramatics for the win, you bastards.

Update on 2013-05-27 04:49 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Favourite rune? Kaun.

And It Started So Well

The weather was getting nice again.The apartment search was going smoothly. I woke up early to discover that work had been cancelled for the rest of the week.

 

Well, that last part was of dubious fortune, but things seemed alright. For some reason, I woke up around 7:00 on Tuesday after getting a very small amount of sleep. I wandered around for the morning and generally had a good time. Something about the long weekend caused my boss to give me the week off when I went into work, and I started making plans soon after. I got a call from a friend without a phone, and I tentatively decided to meet him for coffee in the evening.

For some reason, my apartment started to seem particularly cold in the later parts of the afternoon, and I decided to lie down under the blanket for a few moments to get a bit of warmth.

The next thing I know is darkness. I think that I regained consciousness around 10:00. A slightly panicked sort of consciousness it was. I immediately started running, but I’m still unable to remember the first part of that run for some reason. The pain in my arm was the main clue of the seizure that had taken my evening from me. I still don’t know why those things always seem to affect my left arm so acutely.

On the return from this excursion, I began to worry that I’d be unable to sleep, but I managed to get to bed quite easily. Obviously, seizures aren’t the most restful experiences.

But they are annoying!

Alright. First. These things only happen to me when I lose an extraordinary amount of sleep. That’s why I always try to get a minimum of one hour of sleep per night. It’s just responsible, guy. If my body was desperate enough for a bit of extra unconsciousness to shut itself down without regard for its health or my feelings, it shouldn’t have woken itself up at dawn for no reason. Damn! And I honestly don’t know the exact nature of the relationship between my left arm and these episodes. Perhaps my memory’s being selective, but that limb always seems to play a starring role. I remember the first one. I didn’t even know that it was happening. I was just sitting in a room with my parents, thinking that I was jokingly hurrying the conversation along with the rotations of my arm. Then the arm kept moving. Then I was unconscious.

They’re just inconvenient, man. Fortunately, I don’t get these when I’m actually focused on something. Still, that doesn’t seem like any great consolation when you’re interrupted in the middle of a breakfast conversation with your family. In one moment, you’re trying to hear your brother’s words over the din of cartoons and your own munching. In the next, your feet are in your cereal.

But I don’t think that I’ve ever known the arm thing to last for such a time. The pain was pretty constant for days, and it’s slightly sore even now. And it totally twisted my mood around too. You know that thing where a physical illness will bring you down somewhat even when your mind’s completely healthy? It’s like that, but these things affect the brain directly too. I’m fighting chemistry now. I’m not saying that I’m inexperienced or ill-equipped to do that. I am the master of my mind, sinners. But it’s still a pain sometimes.

Whatever. I’ve been feeling pretty good for the last day, and I should be nearly perfect by my return to work on Tuesday.

And I did happen to run into the friend I missed on this Tuesday. He came upon me as I was walking with another dude on Thursday, and he didn’t seem to mind the other day’s inconvenience at all. We made up for that, and he also pointed me in the direction of some new apartment possibilities. Good times.

In light of all of this, the luck of my leave seems much less dubious. That’s going on the assumption that this little occurrence would have taken place anyway. I think that this assumption is one with which I shall go.

Reset to zero. Feel good. Let’s go.

Update on 2013-05-20 05:45 by Jaymes Buckman

Bonus Question!

Worst way to get a seizure? I always felt pretty bad for those dudes who got them from cartoons. They'd miss the rest of the episode. That seems like a bit of a pity.