Love the job...Lovin' it

Before I settled down to work this morning I chatted with everyone on my MSN that's actually up at this ungodly hour, read everything in the Epoch Times, and browsed two backissues of the Varsity.

New Music Genre: Tart Pop

Introducing my own Academy of the Overrated

"-Levitt's overrated. In fact, he may be a candidate for the academy."

"-Right!"

"-Mary and I have invented the Academy of the Overrated for such notables as"

"-Gustave Mahler"

"-Isak Dinesen and Carl Jung"

"-Scott Fitzgerald"

"-Lenny Bruce. Can't forget him, can we?"

It's scary when you watch movies like Last Days, Elephant, and My Own Private Idaho and listen to Gus Van Sant talking about his exploration of the human condition, because what are we supposed to make of a world that heaps all of its adoration onto this supposedly serious artist when we all know that the world is not nearly as vacant, senseless and devoid of motives as he "observes" it?

Comfortingly, most of the films for which he wrote the script were panned by critics.

To someone as boring, irritating, self-indulgent, and nihilistic as Gus Van Sant, my only response is "Up Yours!"

...And you think herpes is scary?

Jane Jacobs Dead; Siqi Lives

The glorious(??) but ubershort run of my blog (one month all in all) is a testament to my amazing stamina and the seriousness of my literary aspirations. But it's not really all my fault: some may attribute it to writer's block, which is untrue and entirely too flattering; and I say it's just an unfortunate mix of inertia and working an academic job.

Working as a summer researcher (read: paper shuffler) in one of the drabbest buildings on campus is analogous to eating too much potatoes: you get little out of it and end up farting a lot. I pray to my stars that my supervisor will never see this--to his credit, he's the nicest and most congenial professor ever, and climate change is a good research topic in so far as it appeals to my do-gooder, public-sector, anti-car side--but should the frigging babushka at Butler's Pantry ever call me back for a second interview, I'd switch jobs and don a waitor's outift in a heartbeat.

Collision of the Worlds

But life does have some surprises in store even in the drabbest corner of the universe. I walked into the registrar's office today to borrow a sharpie and there he was: a fellow blogger whose identity and blog I somehow (creepily) stumbled upon on facebook and creepily followed.

As is the case with most stories this one began with a bit of tainted intentions. Bored on facebook one day I decided to search the most fob-ulicious names: Walter, Walt, Edison, Lawrence, and eventually Soloman. Lo and hehold there is actually a Soloman here at UofT, a diva no less, with his own blog.

I guess the blog, which was really interesting, erudite, and updated, redeemed it all. I figured the whole Soloman thing was just a sad mistake his parents made after watching the History Channel in a boozy state; and as far as parental misconduct goes, it's really not all that bad. My parents once told me for whatever reason that I looked ugly when I smiled and the gap between my teech showed; someone should have called social services in on them.

Summer in the Annex

I have an air conditioner and am thankful for it. Every day when I come home hot and sweaty, I throw away the fact that I'd spent the entire day researching climate change and jack the air conditioner all the way up. The sheer pleasure of suppressing guilt is unparalleled.

In good weather I'm prone to long walks. I frequent Harbord Fish and Chips; the smell of frying fat makes it the most congenial place on earth.

Other pleasures are more unexpected. I found the book "Metropolitan Life" by Dorothy Parker-lite, Fran Lebowitz, in mint condition in a garbage pile on Major St. A good read, but I just hope I won't pick up some random bacteria from it, like, Garbagitis (haha).

Movies

I tried to review movies when I get the time to. But then the last movie review dates from March so apparently that was successful. I finally saw Stardust Memories but could see nothing except for Woody Allen's genius cracking under his own fame. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was quite good (finally dragged my lazy ass to see it), and Art School Confidential was a bummer. What is it with people like Max Mingella who think that just because they can act drippy they are good actors?

I saw X-Men and liked it. Not to say it's not shitty but I went in with really low expectations. So don't ask.

Today I was called in by the Public Space Committee people to help screen and critique films for their upcoming film festival. I was unlucky enough to see first-hand this rancid travesty of a home video called Winking Circle.

Nothing good comes out of small town Ontario, Avril Lavigne being the case in point. So when you are about to watch a bunch of grade 11s from Uxbridge, ON exploring individual expression through basement pot parties, painting their parents' pick-up trucks, punk rock concerts in the garage & skateboarding, you know it's not gonna be easy. But it felt more like someone holding my eyelids open and giving my eyeballs paper cuts, because 1) this "Wink Circle" organization actually exists, and 2) people beside me were nodding appreciatively.

(See the horrors for yourself)

I hope people from my organization never see this, but I hereby resolve that, should this movie pass screening, 1)I would quit this thing once and for all and 2) I shall pray day and night that the God of Good Taste will strike all these people down.

There, I've taken all you dear readers into my confidence. But confidence comes cheap these days, so don't get excited 'cause you are still not my friend.