Are you complicit? #metoo.

Any of you been on social media today? It’s sad that this #metoo campaign had to exist, but the hope is that the bravery of sexual assault survivors (A.K.A. every woman ever) in coming forward both highlights the alarming frequency of these assaults and provides solidarity for those whom it’s an all too common occurrence. I mean, there should be little argument that any occurrence is all too often, but let’s be real. We live in a world of shitty gendered bias. There are many reasons it sucks to be a woman in our society. Whereby so often these assaults went unmentioned or understated #metoo seems to have changed those ellipses to exclamation marks. Good. I (naively?) hope any who’s been wilfully hiding under a rock starts to take notice.

I’ve seen an avalanche of invaluable conversations. I feel stuck in this weird rally back and forth. It’s not the least bit surprising to hear of how widespread this behaviour is, but that doesn’t make it nice to hear. It’s fantastic to see these aforementioned conversations being raised, but disheartening how commonly the #notallmen brigade jumps in to recuse the statistical validity of calls against men to do better.

I don’t know if any #notallmenonites are reading, but maybe try looking at women calling on men to do better a little differently. It’s another way of saying “the exception proves the rule”. If a woman is talking about her mistreatment at the hands of men and you don’t think it applies to you, maybe you’re the exception that proves her overall rule. If that’s the case, try not jumping in and making it about you, because it probably wasn’t about you in the first place.

The thing is men, we’re all complicit in this societal bias whether we realise it or not. I’d be very surprised to hear otherwise. It’s pervasive enough to be unavoidable. Over the years I’ve said and done a ton of things that contributed to the culture without understanding the insidious ways in which I did so. I’m sure I still do. Acknowledging past faults is important in seeing the path towards better behaviour. Here’s a short list of the stuff I have done and/or may still do unintentionally:

  • Rape jokes. In my teens/early 20s the concept of punching down wasn’t even a blip on my radar. It was all about being as edgy as possible, to push the boundaries to reassert some misguided sense of bravery. Oh no, of course I didn’t think rape was funny, but using it as an abstract concept showed, I dunno, my unwillingness to adhere to rigid social structures? Fuck that. How brave I was as someone who didn’t most likely would never have to face the act firsthand. Fuck off forever, this mentality.
  • Devils Advocate. Forcing people to argue something that caused them emotional strife. Never mind that I had no emotional stake in the subject, I just wanted to argue and flex my intellectual muscles. Or I just liked being “technically right” or some other shitty nonsense. Once again, fuck off forever.
  • Placing my desire for sex above the autonomy, needs and wants of women. Even if I’d never physically pushed anyone towards any sexual activity they weren’t actively seeking (I may well have), so much of this stuff is insidious and ingrained. Did I wilfully misinterpret or ignore “no” signals and keep pushing for a “yes”? Did I objectify women and see them for how their sexuality could benefit me rather than as a person? Befriend women purely because I wanted to sleep with them?
  • Judging women on the way that they looked or dressed. Way to discount someone’s humanity. The clothes that I wear do not fully express the person that I am. Why would anyone else be different?
  • Ignored or spoken above women because I innately didn’t value their opinion? Of course. I’ve spent my life as a loudmouth and it feels like I’ve only recently learned the importance of listening. I have no doubt that I constantly did this and likely still do without thinking.
  • Constant use of gendered language. I’m sure a ton of people mock this kind of specificity, but I feel like there’s something in the way that we talk. Language is an important tool in conveying both meaning and intent. The number of times I’ve referred to large groups of mixed gender as “guys” doesn’t sound like much, but it also sends subtle messages about gender based hierarchy. It’s something I’ve picked up unintentionally throughout my life, but there’s no reason why we can’t unlearn unhelpful patterns. Nobody is truly ever too old to change.

This is not even the tip of the iceberg. Like it or not, all men contribute to patriarchal dominance and oppression. If you’re interested in changing this, maybe examine your behaviours and decide which of these contribute to the kind of world you want to see. Listen to women, not just when it’s trending. If they’re not talking, become the kind of safe space where they feel they can confide. If women are confiding in you, don’t just be horrified. Act, change, grow and help embolden this change in others. Call in shitty behaviour when you can. Call it out when it’s necessary. We can all be better and we have no reason not to continually work towards whatever shape “better” takes in our lives. It’s not a destination, it’s a journey.

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Bismuth is booming.

I had a psychic reading today. Maybe I was just jazzed about the release of St Vincent’s MASSEDUCTION and her pending Fear the Future tour. Perhaps I was just concocting a tangent that allowed me to talk about how great St Vincent’s new album is and how excited I’ve been for its release. As an ardent fan of basically everything Annie Clark has done since Actor (I like the stuff beforehand, that was just the point at which I discovered her work), I’ve been glued to the endless tongue-in-cheek mini interviews she’s been posting over Facebook. I’ve adored the visual direction of her album promotion and I’m so stoked that the album delivered this hard. Once an artist gets big enough that they’re advertising in Times Square, I think it’s only fair to worry that they may have strayed into some kind of diluted mass appeal. Worries abated, I’ve now got something to sink my teeth into over the next few months.

Anyway, the reading. Some spirituality store on Bloor was doing an open house. Free Tarot/mini psychic readings. My girlfriend and I were looking for fun daytime activities and figured it’d be worth checking out. As a kid who grew up on fantasy novels, horror films and superhero stories I’ve always wanted to find something, anything that’d let me grasp onto a belief that there’s another layer of existence out there. As if by attuning oneself, you could peel back the veneer and become receptive to another plane. To bring magic and/or the supernatural into our world. To touch the past and/or future and roam the world in a more confident, knowing sense. To finally understand what it is that people get out of spirituality and use that to enhance my life.

Of course, every time I walk into a store and see suggestions that crystals are anything more than geological growths, my asshole involuntarily clenches. I’m not trying to imply in any way that there’s anything wrong with these kind of beliefs. For all I know (which is nothing, in this case) Bismuth, a lab grown metal crystal, may well have spiritual properties. If it doesn’t, but it happens to make people more comfortable/confident to believe that, then I’m glad they’re coming out of it with a positive result.

Oh, that’s right. The reading. The dude started me off by saying that he’d just finished his course. That he went into it out of interest and found some latent abilities as he progressed. I appreciated his candour, but at the same time diminishing his successes was a poor way to engender confidence in me about his abilities. He said that I struck him as an organised person, but at times not. Okay, fair enough. Sometimes I am more organised than others. He said he saw a big family disagreement with me. I thought for a second. Nope, not that I’m aware of. Or maybe it was with a friend. Someone’s pissed at me? Bummer. Definitely a money loaning thing. I haven’t loaned anyone money, so that struck me as a little odd. He mentioned a sick family member. Someone in the hospital. Or it could be one of my friends. Maybe one of my friend’s family members. At this point I wasn’t sure if this came to him or if he was fishing for a nibble. I found myself not wanting to look him directly in the eyes, because I felt like it might throw him off. This was odd, considering that I go through life looking most people directly in the eyes. He said I was someone who was quite into playing sports. Is Magic the Gathering a sport yet? I wondered. Yep, definitely into sports, he continued, contact sports. Contact sports are my least favourite type of sports, I thought. He continued. A business venture I was looking to do would fail. Wait, no. It wouldn’t fail, but it would be harder to make work than it initially appeared. It would take more people than it initially appeared, but it could work. He asked me if I had any questions I wanted to consult him on. I told him thanks for his help. After I left the room I saw him walk out of the store, to return several minutes later with a bottle of water. Maybe he was just tired?

Dear universe. I’m open to it, but you’ve gotta give me a better sign than that.

And what? I thought I was hot stuff because I’d just bought a sweater?

It’s funny, but I can already feel the quality of this entry declining with each word. This week has seemed like an exercise in sleep deprivation. I don’t know how much caffeine I had yesterday, but it may have exceeded the amount of regular ol’ water I drank. I think back to my early 20s, how burning the candle at both ends was a symbol of pride. I didn’t drink coffee and I slept for around 5-6. hours per night. I don’t know what the appeal was. Maybe it was some misguided desire to make life an uphill battle. Like how some gamers play on hard mode. They’ll die again and again, but the challenge makes it worth it. Come to think of it, at that age every day was one little death after another. I’m not gonna say that at 30 everything’s come together, but I’m getting by.

To that extent, I think that I appreciate little things, but still don’t recognise just how lucky I am to have them. Take yesterday for example. Toronto lately has been going through a peculiar but not unwelcome heatwave. It’s been getting up to 25 Celsius or so, which is much less autumnal than one would expect for late September. I left a show in shorts and a T-shirt last night and I was freezing. It’d dropped about 10 degrees in a few hours. I had time to kill before my next show, so I did something that’d be out of reach for many who are less fortunate. I bought a new sweater. It was 8pm on a Wednesday, most places were closed. While strolling, shivering, I stumbled upon a Winners. Discounted clothes. I didn’t need more sweaters, I’ve got a bunch. I needed one then though. I couldn’t afford getting sick this close to the end of JFL42. Not only did I get to take my time and try on a bunch of stuff, but I didn’t think twice about forking over $23 for something I needed in the moment. Yeah, I’m gonna wear it again, but that’s not the point. I’ve reached a level of comfort where I can indulge a need if I want to alleviate temporary suffering. That’s amazing and deserves my acknowledgement. Not as a pat on the back, but an understanding that things are going pretty well and any complaints should be filtered through that recognition.

With that said, I escaped an awkward situation last night, which was only awkward because I’m a dick. I sat down to a show and was chatting with the people next to me. Then a dude in the row in front joined in. As someone who joins in random conversations all the time, this should be a teachable moment. It won’t be. The guy kept talking to me like we knew each other. He eventually mentioned that we’d met at a previous festival. I vaguely remembered him. A massive comedy fan, he came out each year, bought the biggest pass and saw as much comedy as he could. Once again, this could be an alternate universe me. That’s something I’d do. Thing was, this dude was kind of a dork. Awkward, uncool and I was way too tired to force polite conversation. It was obvious that we were heading to the same gig afterwards and I really didn’t want to spend the 90 minutes between in his presence. I scuttled out quickly and ran into a friend.

We chatted, but when we got to the bus stop he was there. He just joined in our conversation and called me by name. Shit, I had given him that information. What? He asked. I exist with a coronet of male privilege adorning my dome, I’m not used to having to be wary of what information I give to people. My friend and I sat down on the streetcar and kept talking. He kept joining in as if he was a part of the conversation. I stayed on my phone, messaging another friend to at least see if she would be joining me at the gig. When the time came for my stop, I stayed sitting. He got up. My eyes were burning holes through my phone as I ignored his presence. He may or may not have looked back, I don’t know. A cavalcade of equestrians could’ve trod past and I wouldn’t have looked up. He got off. I released the breath I was holding, said goodbye to my friend and got off at the next stop. I killed time at a Subway (almost walked into an A&W until I saw him there through the window.

I don’t know if that’s really a story. If anything, it’s the story of me being an arsehole to a lonely stranger in a foreign city. So basically, I ignored the version of myself in Portland because he seemed chronically uncool.

Geez, karma’s gonna have a field day.

It’s a good thing I’m still on holiday, cause this is in no way safe for work.

I’ve never written a fanfic before. One of my friends is hosting a competitive erotic fanfiction party tomorrow night. There was the option of finding something to read online, but I thought it’d be a fun chance to delve into something new.

 

Beth felt… listless, With Jerry gone the house was quiet. Empty. Sure, Morty had been grounded after taking in a stray Klaxion war criminal, and Rick’s attempt at making braces for Summer had left her with three rows of pearly Great White teeth. “You’ll never have to worry about her dental bills again.” He said. “If she loses any she’ll just grow more.” She’d been working late nights at the horse hospital to pick up the slack Jerry left behind. Somebody had to keep this family afloat. Still, it seemed like something was missing. She felt… thirsty. Maybe a glass of wine could scratch that itch.

She opened the cupboard to see an array of reds stretched out before her. And a bottle of something… pickled? Curious, she reached for it until she noticed two glowing green eyes staring back at her. She flinched and went for a pinot instead. If she needed to know what that thing was, she was sure Rick would’ve told her. She pulled the bottle down and grabbed a glass when suddenly the thrumming of coalescing energies erupted behind her. She turned and dropped the bottle. Her father emerged from a green portal. Beth sighed. “Jesus Dad, give me some warning next time. That’s the third bottle this…” “Tell it to your therapist…” Rick interrupted “Next week I’ll take you to a dimension where angels piss the stuff. There’s no time right now. Daddy needs your help.” Her eyes widened and hope filled her heart. Her father, the brilliant scientist, needed HER help? “Of course Dad. Whatever you need.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the portal. She heard the whipping of wind as the whirling energies enveloped her.

She emerged in a swanky living room. A large window overlooked the… Hollywoo… Hills? Where the fuck was she? “Welcome to Hollywoo.” Her father barked. “We can check out Disneyland later. The flaming coaster is the shiiiiiit.” He strode through the living room and pushed open a set of double doors. “This is why we’re here.” She followed and stopped in her tracks. In a plush king sized bed lay… Was it a horse? A man? Some kind of.. Horseman? Whatever it was, it looked like shit. Her nose caught up with her. Vomit, blood and, well, she had a teenage boy. That smell was unmistakeable. “Daddy’s drinking buddy ain’t doing so well. I’d take care of it, but the Ball Fondlers premiere starts in ten minutes and Noob Noob’s holding my seat. Anyway, you’re a Horse Vet…” Beth cut in angrily “For fuck’s sake Dad, I’m a Horse Surgeon!” “Even better.” He responded. “You’ll figure it out.” He fired his portal gun at the wall and was gone. The thing on the bed stirred, turned to the side and vomited. In its hand it was clutching a magnum of Jack Daniels. It looked at her and spoke. “Yeah, room service? Another bottle. This one’s almost done.” It promptly passed out. Well Beth, she thought as always you’re left to clean up another man’s mess. At least, I think it’s a man. She approached the side of the bed to get a better look. She leant down, resting her hand on the sheet. It landed on something… large. Her eyebrows lifted. That’s a man alright, she thought to herself, smirking. That strange thirst began stirring in her for some reason. She reached into her pocket for her scalpel and a pair of rubber gloves, then pulled the gloves on with a snap. Ugh, here goes, Beth. Always with the fucking Hayppocratic Oath.

Beth stirred groggily. Her head felt like fire. In fact she felt sore all over. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was pouring herself a drink or two after the successful operation on that horse… thing. She sat up and opened her eyes. She was in bed. She was naked. She wasn’t alone. Then the smell hit her and she nearly passed out. What happened? She looked to her right to see that same horse man snoring loudly. Her eyes widened with shock, then hazy memories drifted back to her.

She was on all fours, a large cock plunging deep into her repeatedly. In and out like a piston, filling her totally. She hadn’t felt like this in… had she ever felt like this? Hands grasped her waist tightly, holding her fast and pulling her into each thrust. She moaned as it filled spaces that’d never felt the touch of another. A hand reached up and sharply yanked her hair. She gasped, the sensations of pain and pleasure entwining in an indistinguishable strand. “SAY MY NAME” coaxed a voice from behind her. “I’M CLOSE, SAY MY NAME.” She stammered between thrusts “I have no… fucking clue… what your name is”. She shrieked and pushed her hips back involuntarily, only for the thrusting to stop cold. His hands dropped to his side.

“What?” Snorted the voice. “I’m BoJack Horseman. Don’t act like you don’t know.” Beth sighed and replied “nope. Never heard of you. He sunk back into her, but at a disjointed pace. Something was off. “Seriously?” He sputtered, unbelieving, “BoJack? Star of perennial family favourite and 90s classic comedy Horsing Around? Secretariat. Oscar nominee?” “LESS TALKING, MORE FUCKING.” She screamed. “I don’t want to think about it. This is crossing too many lines for me already.” “Fuck you” he mumbled. Beth grew furious “fuck me? Fuck YOU. FUCK ME ALREADY.” She aggressively shoved her hips right to the hilt. They both grunted in unison. “Give it to me BoJack. Give it to me like the love your parents obviously never gave you.” BoJack’s nostrils flared. He brought his hand down to her ass in a vicious arc. It stung, the sensation drove Beth wild. She pulled back to the tip then thrust into him sharply. “Again.” She howled. “Show me you hate me as much as you hate yourself.” He slapped her again. She seethed. That one would leave a mark. She drove back into her stationary hips, pulling in and out. He growled and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He pulled her face to meet hers. “Are you gonna leave me like everybody else?” he demanded, breathing ragged and shallow. She increased her pace and they both groaned. Her eyes narrowed as she stared straight back at his. “I’m already gone.” He shoved her face to the bed and buried himself all the way inside of her. The thrusting reached a fever pitch and Beth’s back arched. BoJack brayed with pleasure. Beth moaned and shuddered, feeling filthy, horny and filled to the brim with fury. She shook as the orgasm spread throughout her body, then her knees gave out and she slid to the bed feeling nothing at all. BoJack fell to her side, unconscious, but breathing.

Back in bed, Beth cradled her head in her hands. This would be one for Dr Wong. She quietly got up, got dressed and gathered her things, pain filling her body with each step. She gently opened the door and stepped out into the living room, closing it after her. She sat down in the corner next to a stack of framed photos of David Boreanaz. The familiar thrumming of an opening portal sounded to her right as Rick stepped into the room. “Sorry I’m late, Daddy had a little bender. Did you know there’s a dimension where the cheese is alcohol? I think I just became lactose intolerant. INTOLERANT OF BOOZE-FREE CHEESE THAT IS. HAHAA PSYCHE. REMEMBER THAT FROM THE 90s? PSYCHE?” She looked up at her dad and sighed. Beth no longer felt thirsty, but booze cheese sounded good right about now. “Show me, Dad. I think I could use a drink.”

Schwankers, the lot of ’em.

At this stage of my journey, I should be scheduled for a meeting with the goddess anytime now. I need some reason to overcome adversity having learned from my travels. Otherwise what was the point? To become a beer bellied hedonist filled with hollow experiences? Not on my watch!

The biggest trial so far has been loneliness. Not a soul-crushing, reaching out from the void, swathed in darkness and despair kind of loneliness, but more of an ‘I’d be having more fun right now if I was bouncing stuff off someone else’ kind of loneliness. Some activities are just more enjoyable shared. Like the Japanese Garden yesterday. It was all well and good to look at curated horticulture, sculpted zen gardens and those little bamboo shoots that drip water. But as someone who doesn’t get much of a kick taking photos of stuff (I’ve done it on trips before and I never look at it after, so why pull myself out of the moment?), it was a serene yet dull time. I could only repeat “how ’bout that serenity” so many times in my head before the reference lost its lustre. It was very pretty and aptly quiet. Once or twice I sat down on a bench, and tried to map out the sound. It’s something I started doing a while back when I used to produce audio. To close my eyes and open my ears. To listen and imagine the waveforms rebounding and refracting off one another. To conceptualise panning and balance in relation to my position. It’s a centering exercise that helps settle me. I stopped thinking about my desire for social contact and instead tried to be present with my surroundings. That being said, I could only pretend to be super impressed for so long before cutting my losses and checking out the neighbouring rose garden. It also was pretty and I huffed a rose or two. That’s the stuff.

I checked out a couple of happy hours. Ash Street Saloon had $2.75 microbrews and $4.50 burgers, so regardless of how out of place I looked in the borderline biker bar, I enjoyed my DJ Jazzy Hef jasmine wheat beer while looking at the leaderboard for Buck Hunter. Finished, I moved onto Rontoms, a classy place with vast amounts of space, comfy chairs and a cool vibe. I was still a little peckish and I had no idea what jackfruit was (the connotations are menacing enough), so I ordered jackfruit tacos and a whiskey & coke. The bartender gave an absurdly strong pour which pushed me further than I’d expected. Bored and internetting, I resigned myself to drink in lieu of having company. I could bring my own cheer right? RIGHT? I had another whiskey and thought of how I’d successfully used Couchsurfing in Montreal to meet people. I looked up local events and discovered a Portland meetup three minutes walk away from Rontoms. This was my meeting with the goddess, my turning point!

I arrived with five minutes left in happy hour, so got myself a Full Monty, a delicious concoction of ketel one, local ginger beer, lime and some kind of syrup, served in a copper mug. Things were looking up! I sat down with the group and introduced myself. ‘Look at all of these fellow travelers’, I thought.I thought wrong.

They were awful. Like, all of them individually. Or moreso just socially awkward and super fucking basic. Plus none of them were traveling, they were all hosts. I don’t know why that distinction mattered, but it did somehow. There was the California transplant who couldn’t stop talking about the features of different aircraft. There was his friend who kept on asking the group if anyone partook of certain hobbies (photography, video editing, running, rock climbing), saying he’d been looking at getting into them. It was like he was reading from cue cards on how to hold a conversation. There was the gal who kept steering the conversation back towards hookah bars (she eventually left to go to a hookah bar). There was the old guy who just sounded like he didn’t have many friends. There was the 20 or so year old guy who’d brought his girlfriend (maybe who was in from out of town) seemingly to show her off? He kept pawing at her or lying on her shoulder when she was just trying to make conversation with people. It was awkward and cringeworthy. Then there was the super frequent flyer guy who brought a bunch of his trophies from having flown so much. There was a scale airplane model, a thank you card from the airline, a small triangular medal thing and some earbuds. He passed these around like show and tell, gloating about all the “swag” he was getting, but pronouncing it “schwag”. “Schwag” he kept saying. It was the fucking worst. Then others passed the stuff around, saying “schwag” as they did. It was like walking into a cult ritual. By the 20th or so time someone said “schwag” I had to leave before I lost my cool. Where the fuck had these Cronenbergian nightmares crawled out from?

Maybe I’d make more friends if I wasn’t so judgemental, but hell, a guy has to have standards, right?

When cutting corners isn’t gouda-nuff.

It’s time for a confession. I’ve been writing these entries for long enough and if you’ve been following, you’ve earned this much. I’ve definitely told this to some people before. I’ve possibly even written about it here before and simply don’t know how to use the site’s search function effectively. In any case, time to be out with it.

When I was a kid, I did something weird. That’s not unusual. Well, it was unusual, but it’s not unusual (to be loved by anyone) for kids to do weird things. That comes part and parcel with learning boundaries. It’s a rite of passage that I took as my goddamn right. I was a little weirdo and now I’m slightly bigger. Little else has changed.

One day (no idea how old I was) I had a very specific craving. The craving itself wasn’t odd in the slightest. I wanted cheese. The quantity that I wanted wasn’t strange either. I wanted lots. How I went about it was where things took a turn. See, we had a stocked kitchen. This kitchen had not only food, but utensils. Even specific cheese utensils. There was a cheese knife that was handy for brie-esque cheeses. We had a cheese grater, perfect for those moments where you wanted your cheese divided into many small portions. A cheese slicer, for thin, flat segments of cheese. Plus my own personal favourite, the other cheese slicer, but with wire. It could also make thin, flat segments of cheese OR fat, flat segments of cheese. I LIKED MY CHEESE SEGMENTED, OKAY? Or, y’know, I could’ve just used a knife.

What I’m saying is, I had options. I used none of them.

Instead I tip toed near the kitchen and perked up my ears (security footage from the day). I couldn’t hear anyone or anything but my own heartbeat. Good. I advanced slowly around our kitchen table towards the fridge. Still no alarming sounds. I grasped the handle of the fridge (it was one of those flat panels with a small indent for a grip) and gently applied pressure. We kept a glass bottle of water in the fridge door and I didn’t want it rattling. I reached up to the dairy conditioner and quietly wedged it open, grabbing the large block of Tasty cheese.

I stared at the chilled block of gold in my hands, wondering how they’d managed to name it so aptly. I peeled back the wrapper and marvelled at its smooth edges, how the sides dropped so sharply from the flat top. It was so orderly and perfect. I couldn’t have that. For some reason I felt compelled to disrupt it. To this day, I couldn’t tell you why. I raised the block to my mouth and took a large bite out of the corner. The pleasantly sharp taste flooded into my mouth and I sighed with relief. I looked back at the cheese brick and simultaneously felt pride and shame. I hurriedly covered it in the wrapper and shoved it back into the dairy conditioner. There was a felt tension between silence and speed, but I knew I had to be far away from what I’d done. I completed my mission without notice or consequence and got back to my room.

Later that evening, I was walking down the hallway and heard my parents talk.

“It’s just so weird, who would do that?”
“They could’ve just cut off a piece. Why would they take a bite and leave the evidence?”
“Sometimes honey, I have no idea.”

I crept back to my room, holding my secret close to my chest. They never asked, I never told.

Until now that is…

I did knot expect to tie that all together.

I’ve been procrastinating about starting this. The Internet has been far too alluring. So to make up for it, I’m gonna let you in on what I’ve been reading. Doesn’t that sound exciting? Sorry, messed up the word order there. Meant to say That doesn’t sound exciting!

Let’s begin.

I watched the trailer for Ready Player One. I enjoyed the book. It was a silly wish fulfilment narrative. The lead characters weren’t terribly well carved out. The whole thing was pandering stacked upon pandering. It was also a lot of fun, and even if it felt like the evocation of something my friends and I used to play called The Anythink Game. The premise was simple, you could be anyone and do anything you could think of. We used to play it on a trampoline. We’d be Transformers one minute and Ninja Turtles the next. I don’t know if we ever played as everyone’s favourite female Street Shark, but that was obviously a missed opportunity. Ready Player One felt in the same spirit and as such, it was a neat world to slip into. If I’d read it at age 13, I can guarantee you it would’ve been my favourite book of all time. I have no idea how Spielberg’s team is legally gonna get a hold of all that copyrighted material, but they’re the real heroes of the film. The scale of the idea makes sense on the big screen and in watching the trailer you can already see how specifically tailored to 3D they’ve made it. A big dumb film perfectly fit for a cheap Tuesday.

I had forgotten how cringeworthy a bunch of it was though.

I bought a new keyboard. I’m so tired of having to write on my phone while in transit. The Swype keyboard sure speeds things up, but it also gets overworked pretty easily. My poor Moto G can’t keep up with my fingers. I’d been considering buying a tablet or laptop, but if a keyboard can fix all my issues, why not go with the simplest solution? I realised the other day how I still haven’t adjusted to Bluetooth as a technology that exists. I’m a curmudgeon who’s already been made technologically obsolete. I was at the park the other day, marvelling at my friend’s rugged and robust bluetooth speaker. In my head, if it’s not hard-wired, it won’t work. I guess I’ve acclimated to the understanding that I often buy technology that’s behind the curve. Since my gear’s never top of the line, I just assume that all technology is as shitty as mine. The last time I bought something cutting edge was my beloved Samsung Galaxy S2. Even when it was dated, it still worked great. Stupid different Canadian networks not working with my pride and joy.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to constantly carrying a heavy work-around everywhere I go.

Lastly, T.J. Miller. I always thought of him as a provocative performance artist in the vein of Father John Misty. If that’s what he’s going for, judging by this interview he overshot the moon and ended up in another galaxy. Ugh, he comes off as a totally snarky, condescending prick. Just an unrepentant asshole. It’s a pity, his live performance at JFL42 2015 stands as one of my all time favourite comedy experiences. Densely interwoven meta commentary that was both flashy and subtle. He’s always walked that line for me, but if he’s trying so hard to present an unlikable persona, I’m fine accepting him as thus. Bummer. I hope he gets hoisted on his own petard and comes back to earth.

By the time he does, I might even have my own Bluetooth keyboard on which to write about it.

Maybe it’ll be after seeing him in Ready Player One.