I feel much more inclined to write here, now that I've added the nice little photo at the top, (taken at Haaselton's in Peterborough) and put some thought into the neutral grey/pink colour scheme... I have a thing for grey, I've decided. Like Bob Dylan's speaking voice grey. It's very warm and comforting... but when I look out my window right now, it's as grey as can be, and I feel no warm and fuzzy thoughts towards the outside...
I was reading the magazine in Chapter's the other day (I've probably spent more time at the magazine rack in Chapter's than any other wooden bench in all of Ontario) called Cabinet. It was this great little quarterly periodical (read, quahtehly pehriohdicahl, as if you were reading it at an uppity Country Club in a grey moor somewhere in Britain...) about culture and music and all of those nice grey and yellow coloured clothes and whatnot... There was a column that the editor chose a colour, and the writers wrote a response to it... the colour this issue was black. Now this fascinates me beyond the normal degree of interest, because I have synesthesia, that condition where music and ideas are all associated with a colour (and sometimes a personality, it depends). I wasn't kidding when I said Bob Dylan's speaking voice was grey. The warmest, wisest grey. Just listen to Bob Dylan's Theme Time Radio Hour sometime... His singing voice doesn't really have one colour because, well, he doesn't really have one singing voice. But Desire is deep hunter green, and Blood On The Tracks has a sort of reddish/orange tinge...
I really do think I should be a radio DJ, because I could just talk about this sort of thing, forever. Besides having the jazz musician's appreciative perspective of music, I have this strange and inconceivable colourful perspective...
Speaking of inconceivable, I watched The Princess Bride at my friends' Grandma Doris' the other day. People were always astounded when I told them I'd never seen it, so I finally watched it. All I have to say is, Wesley turned into a DICK. He was so much nicer before he was all "oh I'm such a sarcastic pirate, and I'm good at everything"... I liked Buttercup though, and will definitely be naming my first child Buttercup, male or female. It was cynical and whimsical enough for my taste, and the deadpan humour was great... I do recommend it, just don't expect to fall in love with the guy Hollywood says you should.
I've watched so many movies lately, it's a little ridiculous. I won't list them all, but a few of note...
The Bounty Hunter. Don't waste your money. As IF we could have been at the Spill, listening to groovin live music, but are too poor to leave the theatre after buying a ten dollar ticket... Really bad. The funniest part was the door into the strip club. I'll leave it at that.
New Moon. My favourite part was when Edward told Bella "I don't WANT you to come," and my friend yelled "That's what she said!" I partially watched this movie against my will, but at the same time, now I can legitimately make fun of it. Oh, another great part was when Jacob turned into a werewolf, but then Edward and Bella were trying to talk to him and he couldn't transform back into a human, because then... he'd be naked... HAHAHAHAHA.
Requiem For A Dream. There is hope for the movie industry after all. Well, this was released a while ago... but very good. Jared Leto and Jennifer Connelly... Don't watch it with your parents... but it screws the Hollywood ending thing, which I love. It's an exploration of the concept of doing bad to do good... and who's to say what is bad, anyway? Nicely directed (although the weird montage every time they shoot/smoke/etc up gets a little old...) and painfully sad.
One Week. Takes place in Canada, he Rolls Up The Rim of his Tim Horton's cup, and it says "Go West Young Man". He's dying of cancer, he goes west. Sounds cheesy, but it's not. And, I'm chain drinking Tim Horton's until I find a cup like that.
Okay, I've gotta go, take some pho-tos for my mother; she's getting her students to recreate Andy Warhol's Che Guevara print, with photos of themselves... And by that, she means she's getting me to come in and teach her class how to recreate Andy Warhol's Che Guevara print...
Say hello to your doctor
love,
Toby Celery
