Saturday, July 31, 2010

Notes on friendly looking people



I always tell myself I don't know how to manage interaction of secondary characters with Charles, my protagonist for Solace, in order to heighten the feeling of alienation around it. This afternoon, there was an incident that reminded me this kind of thing happens to me now and then. Guess where it was? At the dog park. The ultimate summit of my social interactions.

I don't do well with the friendly looking type. You know, those people who escape the city into suburbs because the price of estate is smaller and people "friendlier"? These guys. I find them bland and scary. I met one this afternoon. I was sitting at a picnic table with Scarlett, minding my own business while she was buzzing around. Arriving from the bicycle lane, with a 1000$ bicycle and an all out Tour-de-France costume was "Beloeil Guy". How do I know he's not living in Montreal? His bike. He would have lasted two weeks on the Island before getting robbed.

Dude take a rest on the chainlink fence. At that moment, I'm sure he just wants to check out the dogs, Scarlett was already sniffing his feet. He looked at me with the smile of a man satisfied with his life, for whom waking up every morning is a blessing and an adventure. You can sense already why I hate him right? This guy has a bungalow, a couple of kids and he works 40 hours a week, mows his lawn on the week-end and travels to France once every two years. I turn my back to him, but I keep a side glance on his side because it's he's one type of dog thief. The one that steals it in a Montreal park to give him a "better life" in his oh-so-satisfying suburbia.

"Heya" he says.

I turn around, frown and point at myself.

"Yeah, ya" he insists.

There was no one around, so I was doomed to have conversation with this idiot. In my ever peaking judgmental bullshit, I expected him to talk to me about boxers, lecturing me about them, only to answer me he had a Shitzu when I ask the question. Well no, this dunce found a way to surprise me.

"Ya got anything to sell?" he says again.

On the moment, I didn't exactly caught on to what he was saying. The notion of having someone looking like him talking to me was baffling enough already, I couldn't wrap my mind about what in the blue fuck he was talking about.

"Ya know, to smoke?" he precises.

"What?" I answer, furious. "Do I look like a fucking pusher to you?" I say.

I don't smoke. I might have a bit of a drinking habit, but weed or hashisch aren't my thing.

"Well, YA!" he says, before taking his bike and turning over in the other direction.

What was with this guy? One can't wear a Slayer t-shirt without being a pusher? One needs to have a small dog in order to look respectable? Fuck these friendly types and their bullshit. Xenophobia...what is different is dangerous! That's a first time that happens to me in Montreal. I have fun thinking he came all the way from the South Shore to ask me that, only to get turned around.



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Creedance Clearwater Revival - Run Through The Jungle



CCR is amazing for one reason. They are one great up-temp band you can bob your head to, but they have the gloomiest, most eerie lyrics. I love listening to Creedance when I write because there's a "curse" feeling to it. Like cajun sorcery or something. They chronicle the frailty of mankind with their unique, southern style. They are up-tempo, but yet, their song would fit on the darkest, most violent settings. I discovered them very late, but here is my favorite song by them, hoping it will inspire you too.

Creedance Clearwater Revival - Run Through The Jungle

Whoa, thought it was a nightmare,
Lo, it`s all so true,
They told me, `Don`t go walking slow
`Cause Devil`s on the loose.`

Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Woa, Don`t look back to see.

Thought I heard a rumbling
Calling to my name,
Two hundred million guns are loaded
Satan cries, `Take aim!`

Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Woa, Don`t look back to see.

Over on the mountain
Thunder magic spoke,
`Let the people know my wisdom,
Fill the land with smoke.`

Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Woa, Don`t look back to see

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Friday, July 30, 2010

Friday Night's Utilitarian Communication



It's Friday. Josie is in Boston, the dog is dead tired from playing two hours in the park and I have nothing to do but to sit down, eat Ramen noodles, rock to Slayer and write. What a sweet fuckin' deal this is. Did you guys know there has been an International Day Of Slayer for the last four years? I stumbled upon this earlier on the net. Since the American Powerhouse have released Christ Illusion on 6/6/06, June 6th have became the National, then the International Day Of Slayer.

I think it's amazing. Slayer has been the most constant and relentless metal band on the planet for almost thirty years. They have outlived trends like the black plague and kept doing what they do best, which is to annihilate. What do they get for their trouble...a...fucking...INTERNATIONAL DAY! The rascals behind that pulled this feat are dead serious. They even organized a discussion with various society and music academics to discuss the cultural relevance of Slayer. I'm glad they have more to celebrate about then winning a fucking Grammy.

In other news, I have written a 15 pages chapter in Solace today. I always thought a writer who made chapters longer than 10-12 pages liked the sound of their own words too much, but here I am now. It's an ever growing frustration, making a good novel. You always feel like you need to write more, to put more details, to specify things. I get why Henry Rollins said that writers are terrible people. It's an infuriating and unsatisfying task, like washing every seats of a football stadium with a toothbrush. Your mind need to be elsewhere, but not at the same time. When the story is there, it's the shape that's not right. You have to trim and shape like a ice sculptor with a chainsaw. Nonetheless, I see the end of the first draft. It's very clear now, if I can kick my own ass hard enough, re-writing will happen before 2011.

That kid Charles was at the park tonight. I get along with him. More than any other dog owner I meet over there. Eerily enough, he has the same name than Solace's protagonist. He's also only two years older and share a lot of traits with him. I know what you're thinking. I'm not creepy enough to do this. It's him that appeared as soon as I named my protagonist. He's cool and he doesn't try to steamroll me with his life or his canine knowledge. Our dogs were playing together tonight when that woman arrived. We talked with her, she was cool...then, these other people arrived and shit started being strange.

They surrounded that woman, who was telling us the story of how she got her dog and started to give her random and strangely intimate advice. They were three, two men and one woman. One was quiet, playing with Scarlett and Charles's dog Sheriff but the two other started like this:

"Glad to see you can finally find time for yourself" said the intruding woman.

Charles and I looked at each other, suspecting some random bullshit to happen. The random woman with the dog mumbled something I didn't hear and sat at the pic-nic table. Both the intruding man and woman starting lecturing her about the benefits of finding time for yourself and how it would send a good example to her daughter. That it would show her how to be autonomous and shit.

Don't you love these Rent-A-Friend type? They show up when you're alone in a public place and they figure out that since you're alone, you need them so whether your dog plays with theirs or not, they'll mob you up. That poor random woman seemed to recognize those fellows, but if she was any close with them, she probably didn't arrive at the park at the same time than them because she ran away from a dinner or something. Point is, I don't think she knew them outside the dog park and here they were, giving her advice on how to be a single mother. None of them looked to me like being the parent type to top this. Charles and I had enough after five minutes and left. Don't worry guys, he's not an hallucination from my deranged mind. I know that because he doesn't look anything like John Macias.

I should go work on Origin a little bit before going to bed. I have completed an important chapter of Solace today, this should be my priority. I should have a full first draft of episode one soon, so I can send it to my readership for feedback and to my graphic artist for inspiration. I have so many killer ideas, but I don't know if I have the patience and the vision to make them into reality.

Off to work I am.

Always.

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Ain't No Sunshine



I can't stop watching this video. There are things I cannot explain myself. Like car surfing for example. Why would anyone do car surfing? When you parachute...you have a parachute. When you bungee, theres a huge rope that makes sure you don't end up with your head like a pumpkin on November 1st. During car surfing there's...a car...and the ground. Nothing will save your face or ultimately, your life.

That guy here is in the same boat...he does...a handstand...on...A TREADMILL!!!!! You need tremendous strength, coordination and balance to do such a thing. That looks like he can barely do a handstand on the ground. What did he think would happen?

I have to watch this again!

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Manliness 101: Lesson #01 "Dress Sharp"



A little bit of introduction is needed here. I said it prior to this article, manliness is in a state of crisis. Young men around the world are growing up to be the equivalent of girls, which is very wrong. Men and woman are different. None of them is superior to the other, but they are very different and require a different set of rules. Much emphasis is put on males to "please women" so they relinquish the responsibility of their body and minds.

I am a rabid believer of "being who you really are" is more attractive and more healthy than trying really hard to look like someone else tells you to. I know what you're going to tell me: "Why giving a class on the subject then?". Consider the subject of these classes as tools one can utilize to remind himself how a real man should approach different situations. I'm not trying to fit you into a mold, I'm trying to get you to create your own. Because that's the core of manliness right there: Staying smart and rational.

So on to the first lesson...

Dress Sharp

Unlike one would think, fashion is a central point of manliness. The world is filled with judgmental people that will categorize you with a single look. So one has to be aware of how he looks. Clothes are utilitarian, don't get me wrong. They are first and foremost, a way to not get arrested for public indecency, but they also talk about who you are. Everybody would like to be judged for who they really are within, but real world doesn't function this way. So consider the way you dress as a business card.

It's OK to look like a white thrash sometimes. On Sunday morning, when you have to give back DVDs to the rental store, who cares of you're wearing a wife beater and pain-stained shorts? You're in and out of there in a flash. But whenever you need to make a good first, you need to dress sharp. No need for a necktie and a suit if you're not job hunting. I'm not talking about a 80$ t-shirt with glitter on it either. The key to male fashion is minimalism. You use clothes, clothes don't use you.

A pair of jeans, sober shoes, a t-shirt or a shirt of a decent color is enough. The jeans have to be plain and forgettable. Any kind of intentional rips or washed out design will make you look like you're auditioning for White Snake. If you're dying for original pants, get some camouflage trousers at the army surplus. They make them in all kind of interesting colors nowadays. Keep your jeans simple and decent sized. Baggy pants are OK as long as you don't have to pull them up. They are wore at the waist. Remember, manliness is about minimalism and economy. You don't need to attract attention by outlandish clothing.

T-Shirts have to be fitting. Too tight will make you look like a douchebag and too large will look stupid. Colors are also very important. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T WEAR ANY PINK. IT WON'T MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE SOPHISTICATED . You will look like you're begging for female favors and therefore they will turn away from you. Try to keep your color sober and glitter free, but more important, ask a girl what color fit you. If camouflage green makes you look sick, you look stupid again. In doubt, fall back on classics: black, red or blue. White will make you look like a Backstreet Boy. Different prints (read witty comments) on your shirt are acceptable and even encouraged. You can also wear shirts of your favorite band as long as they are not Nickelback. Then, manly men will throw quarter rolls at you in the street.

Keeping the clothes on the down low is important for two reasons.

1.You let people know you have taste, but you're not obsessed with your image.

2.When you're applying one tiny change to your appearance, it's going to look amazing.

Of course, you want to compromise from your comfort zone as little as you cam. Looking sober and slick is what you aim for. But...sometimes a change is required. From a girlfriend or from the world in general. If you manage to keep yourself minimalist and sober, one change is going to look like a complete makeover. Therefore, the chances of a potential makeover happening to you are slimmer.

One last thing, about branded clothes. It's OK to wear them during sporting events (like Archgod of manliness Sebastien Chabal in the display pic), they are comfortable and of good quality (Under Armor particularly). Don't think about wearing Sebastien's tank top in the streets though. Don't wear clothes out of purpose. Don't let them use you. In the manly point of view, it's a non-sense to pay for a name when you can get the same clothes for half the price.

Oh and only use perfume on special occasions. Speed Stick will do for the everyday hustle.

Check list:

-Jeans (no rips, no washout), baggy pants are acceptable if worn at the waist

-Sober colors, but make sure you don't wear a color that make you look stupid

-Black, Red and Blue never fail

-No sports wear unless you're doing sport

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Suggestion - Lucy Woodhull



As a part of the collateral earnings from my entry in The Rejectionist's Anniversary Uncontest, I have discovered (and made friends) with a few other bloggers. Among them, I had the pleasure to find out about the deliciously demented writer/blogger Lucy Woodhull.

Lucy is what Mitch Hedberg and Joyce Carol Oates's lovechild would look like if it was bubbly and took heavy prescription drugs. Primarily a romance writer, Lucy also writes a lot about the craft of writing and many other preoccupations of the real world. She's the proof that you don't need to be academic and boring to be pertinent. And that you don't need to be a self-indulgent prick to be a writer.

Take a look at her blog - You say "weird" like it's a bad thing she keeps up with a mysterious co-writer named Fellatia Harding. But if you're too lazy to browse, here are some direct link to her awesomeness. So go see her little world of Ajax-Laced Feminism.

In Defense Of:Adverbs

War And Peeps

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My afternoon with Jay Gatsby



No readers can't deny the talent of Francis Scott Fitzgerald for narration. His knack for the subtle hints at emotions of a mountain-moving strength leave very few people unchanged. Unfortunately, there is a kind of people that we could call "non-readers" that don't have the "time" or "the interest" to invest into the greatest tales ever written. These are the same people that cried during Armageddon and thought Edward Cullen in Twilight was a model boyfriend. But who am I kidding here? I'm going to watch The Expendables as soon as it hits the theaters and I expect to enjoy the hell out of it. That's escapism I guess.

In front of the blatant failure of film directors to transmit the quiet flame of Jay Gatsby to the big screen, what medium is there left to get non-readers to appreciate the genius of Fitzgerald? Painting? Meh. Graphic novels? I think we should forget it. There are pages to turn and words to read still anyway. The latest medium transition that The Great Gatsby underwent is...*drum rolls*...video games! That's right, the insightful observations of Nick Carraway on the dramas of life are now a video game, where you can kill a lot of people.

I'm kidding here. Of course, being a gamer since I was in diapers, I had to test the waters. Movie based video games are renowned to be shitty promotional products, but what had to be won, trying to cash in on this novel? Nothing! My point exactly. So I gave it my best shot. As the game starts, you're introduced to the main characters Nick, Jay Gatsby, Daisy...oh and before I could get into the story, the phone rang. Fortunately, there is this nifty feature in the game, pausing it as soon as you click outside the gaming window.

"Genius X...hem...Dead End Follies" I stumbled, focused on the task at hand.

"Hey" said the voice over the phone.

I wasn't exactly sure who it was. The voice sounded familiar. "Hey man" I said, hoping the voice would identify itself.

"Where is he?" he said. It was a man's voice.

"Is that you, Ubisoft Neighbor?" I asked, politely.

"Where's Gatsby?" he continued, impatient.

I didn't have the faintest idea. Was that a real question? A Where's Waldo type of question? Or the rhetorical kind? Like..."Who's John Galt?". I stayed put, not knowing exactly what to answer to this riddle. My anonymous phone interlocutor was panting in anger and/or excitement.

"I've seen him go back to your apartment last night. Don't lie to me, friends don't do that to each other" he insisted.

"Huh...sure, let me check, the place is pretty big here. Lot of room" I replied.

That was a half-truth. Unless that guy was peeking into my appartment like James Stewart in Rear Window, there was no way for him to know I only had one vacant room. I went there and checked anyway. As I opened the door, there was this tall, towering blond dude, wearing a white costume and one of these flat, funny looking hats from the 20s.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?" I said, grabbing the cricket pallet my girlfriend used to chase looters before knowing me.

"Hey old sport" said the intruder.

"What? Get the fuck out my house before I call the cops on your ass" I said.

"Sure sport, sure, but beforehand I need you do to something for me". he said.

"WHAT?" I yelled, exasperated. "I have a review to do".

He handed me a package, in a white box, wrapped in a large blue ribbon. "Give that do Daisy when she comes back. Tell her it's from Jay".

"WHAT? THE HELL MAN? THERE'S NO DAISY LIVING HERE. YOU GOT IT ALL WRONG, IT'S JOSIE, NOT DAISY".

He looked troubled.

"ARE YOU SENT HERE BY PENGUIN PUTNAM?"

My own allusion made me understand what was going on. Steve, my old friend from Bethesda Games was trying to make me buy another product. I ran back to the living room and picked up the phone in a contained, but imperial fury: "STEVE, YOU GARBAGEMAN OF HUMAN MISERY. I WILL NOT BUY THE EXTENDED EDITION OF WALDEN WITH THE WRITER'S CLIFF NOTES AT THE END. NICE TRY, ASSHOLE". But there was no Steve on the phone anymore.

The game? Oh, it's your typical "find the object" like the Mystery Case Files series. You're treated with a Nick Carraway narration throughout the story. It's clever, but it's a slash in the water. They should give this game to play in schools though. It's a fun an involving way to go through The Great Gatsby. It's an appropriate introduction to the literary classic, a good way to get kids early into something else than Twilight.

They'd have to give this as a mandatory exercise in school though, or the licenses are going to sleep on the servers. And before schools give video games to play...well...we're a long way from that. I should get Steve on the case before he gets fired from his new place.



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So You Want To Be A F@*&in' Fighter? (Complete Series)




When looking at the world with Roughy McRough's magnifying glass, you can say that I have two areas of expertise in life. Writing and the whipping young and th foolish into becoming decent fighters. The good leader of Top MMA News Keith Grienke allowed me to make my earthly relevance reach its pinnacle by hosting a my series of weekly articles about how to behave in order to reach the highest peaks of MMA competition. Here's the whole series for you, my beloved (and ever growing) readership!


So You Want To Be A F@*&In’ Fighter? – Rule #1 – Shut Up - Feature
So You Want To Be A F@*&In’ Fighter? - Rule #2 – Show Up - Feature
So You Want To Be A F@*&In’ Fighter? – Rule #3 – Know Your Place - Feature
So You Want To Be A F@*&In’ Fighter? – Rule #4 – Know What You're In For - Feature
So You Want To Be A F@*&In’ Fighter? – Rule #5 – Never Be Satisfied - Feature

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Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Zero Punctuation - Crackdown 2



Unsurprisingly enough, Yahtzee gets cracking on the biggest release of the summer, Crackdown 2

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Alice In Chains - Grind



Some bands take more meaning as you grow older. I always thought Alice In Chains was cool, but for the last two years, I've been into them way more than I ever was. The powerful riffs of Jerry Cantrell and the melancholy of Layne Staley are two variables that create a subtle and unique brew of Metal. Grind is the last hurrah of a man that doesn't want to be forgotten, a lucid outlook on a life that passed him by. It's touching without being corny. Oh and the video is awesome.

Alice In Chains - Grind

In the darkest hole, you'd be well advised
Not to plan my funeral before the body dies, yeah
Come the morning light, it's a see through show

What you may have heard and what you think you know, yeah
Let the sun never blind your eyes
Let me sleep so my teeth don't grind
Hear a sound from a voice inside
Sure to play a part, so you love the game
And in truth your lies become one and same, yeah
I could set you free, rather hear the sound

Of your body breaking as I take you down, yeah
Let the sun never blind your eyes
Let me sleep so my teeth don't grind
Hear a sound from a voice inside

In the darkest hole, you'd be well advised

Not to plan my funeral before the body dies, yeah
Let me sleep so my teeth don't grind
Let the sun never blind your eyes
Hear a sound from a voice inside



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An Argument AGAINST Metal



Any hipsters that thinks they invented musical snobbery are dead wrong. It's a phenomenon as ancient as the Thunder Gods of the Kingdom Of Metal itself. I'm barely exagerating here. Metalheads aren't the buddying Neanderthals we're made out to be by the outside world. At least, it's not a COMPLETELY true portrait of us. Thrash Metal fans and old Dio worshippers might be immune to this, but snobbery is at the reach of any metalhead. There's a few different kinds so let's brush a quick portrait.

1.Musical Snobs

They are purists of Black or Progressive Metal. Mostly Progressive. The the purist, the only important thing about Metal isn't the music. It's about the complexity. If a song doesn't include an eight minutes guitar-wanking solo, it's not worthy of their almighty interest. They do not measure the worth of a band by how hard they rock or how much ass they kick on stage. They measure worth by the technical prowess of their members. There's how a discussion between me and them is going:

ME: Fuck man, I love Phil Campbell's riffs, they make me want to punch someone out. Motorhead fucking rocks.

MUSICAL SNOB: Phil Campbell sucks man, he has no technique. Have you ever heard John Petrucci play? He's the real deal.

ME: Yeah I heard Petrucci play, you're comparing apples & oranges here. "Smiling Like a Killer" and "The Glass Prison" aren't exactly aimed at the same public.

MUSICAL SNOB: Dream Theater should be taught in school if you ask me, it's a damn shame you can't appreciate true music.

ME:All right, you play guitar, I punch people and write angry prose. These are two different kind of activities man.

MUSICAL SNOB: Whatever, I don't like Motorhead. Petrucci is more of a composer. He would have done classical music if he lived in the 16th century or such.

The musical snob can be spotted at shows in the back rows or on the side, near the amps (but not TOO close, it would ruin his ears), fixing the guitar player, drummer or whatever his deal is his. He's in an admiration trance and he's way too busy connecting musically and spiritually with his leader to bother with the visceral joys of the mosh pit.

2.BM Snobs

Black Metal is an amazing and powerful blend of music. I consider it the pinnacle of all the dark and hateful feelings in Metal. It's strong, scary and beautiful. Unfortunately, there's a strong Indie Black Metal movement. The genre has taken birth with bands that had little money for recording studios and released tapes on the market with an atrocious sound. Now, every "in" band tries to sound as dirty and low-fi as they can, in order to replicate the greatness of the pioneers. So, in order to be a black metal band you have to: 1. Sound like your album has been recorded in a hole on the ground, 2. Play the same songs than the bands you listen to
3. Be racist (it's all about hatefulness) 4. Have the less people possible know you (because you play music to express the darkness of your soul, not to have people hear you). My casual discussion with a Black Metal snob goes like this:

ME: I really like this Mutiilation guy, there's a lot of feeling in his music.

BLACK METAL SNOB: Yeah, that sellout?

ME: How did he sell out?

BLACK METAL SNOB: He signed a record contract. I'm way past LLN man. I'm into this new Bulgarian group. They recorded their album on a boat. They didn't even name is. It's a black cover with nothing on it. Listen to this.

ME: Sounds like a hair dryer inside a car.

BLACK METAL SNOB: Well, at least this guys keep it real.

The Black Metal Snob can be spotted in packs of two to four individuals at shows. Some of them will mosh, but most will stand on the side and head bang. I can live with these guys at shows, because if they pay a ticket so see someone, it means they really like him. Or that they want to see that obscure band from Poland as the opening act.

3.The New Snob

There's a new crowd of metalheads I spotted at Heavy Montreal this year. The kind that wasn't there before. They are baffingly thin or just fat enough to make you wonder if their parents fed them Cheeseburgers as their grew up. They wear an Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt and there is no way you can reach to these guys. They are super defensive and you CAN'T UNDERSTAND. Whatever you say, your Slayer t-shirt is an offense. If you're not into Avenged Sevenfold, you CAN'T UNDERSTAND MAN! An even if you are, you can't understand more than they do. Here's how's the casual conversation goes.

NEW SNOB: Fuck yeah, they are so intense.

ME: NO they're not. Rob Zombie is beheading a deer on the other stage, that's intense.

NEW SNOB: There's no soul in this, no emotion.

ME: What?

NEW SNOB: You don't get it. You're so vulgar.

ME: What? The fuck? The guy is signing a ballad dammit. Want to listen to something real? I got some Sodom in my iPod, here, take a headphone.

NEW SNOB: GET THAT AWAY FROM ME

ME: Huh?

*points at the stage*

NEW SNOB: CAN'T YOU SEE THIS IS REAL?


They can be seen at shows, usually when a label books one of his favorite bands in the first part of an artist you want to see. They are in corners or completely on the move, so they can pass by you without being noticed. Anyway, that said, I still believe metal is the most uplifting brand of music that was ever invented, but sometimes, it's baffling to see so more narrow mindedness and so much judgement across such a powerful crowd.


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Tuesday, July 27, 2010

An argument FOR Metal



"Metal is a way of life. You can't say 'I was really into Slayer one summer'. Or you're a Slayer fan or you're not"

-Rob Zombie

There are many subjects I am torn about. Metal is one of those. I used to drink at the well of its fury to keep me alive all those years, but now more than ever, I am questioning the direction where the genre is going. Here's an argument FOR Metal, which I will base on the following question: What did I like in this over-aggressive, chaotic and nightmarish musical style?

Easy one. It's over-aggressive, chaotic and nightmarish. Metal appeals to emotions that human being have buried and marked as inappropriate for living in society. It's a return to primal instincts and therefore, there is a survival factor to Metal there isn't in your typical music. A sincerity, from the artists and from the fans that you might find in some of the punk music, but not much elsewhere. Think about it, what other musical genre do you know where fans are sandwich-people for their artists? What style do you know is more primal than being a metalhead? Put on some jeans or camo trousers, a t-shirt of your favorite band, grow your hair or shave it to zero...and grow a beard.

What are these forbidden emotions metal appeals to? There are two main ones:

1. Anger

For a metalhead, it's OK to be pissed off and want to destroy everything. Quite frankly, it should be OK for everyone, but there are laws against that. Unlike what the common folk might thinks, it's not chaotic, unguided destruction. It's a heavily politicized and intellectual assault, even in its most transgressive genres. Think about it as a Nietzschean violence, where the solidity of conventions and philosophies are tested. Bands like Mayhem, Gorgoroth or Anaal Nathrakh will require you to open your mind to appreciate the supernatural blizzard of their wrath. You can measure the value of your beliefs by how well they resist the grasp of these bands.

2. Despair

The handling of despair through metal has been getting out of hand as of late. It's the very first emotion that was communicated through Metal, when a certain blues band from U.K decided to make a song called Black Sabbath. The whole emo-screamo-I'm-not-emo-because-I-have-breakdowns-in-my-songs current is playing with despair as if it was a sport or something, but there's always Doom Metal to keep it real. Bands like Khanate and Xasthur have been showing the necessary will to descend into the dephts of human darkness and make you experience it with the intentions to hurt you and leave you changed forever. Despair, when experienced, goes way beyond the playful girl allusions.


There will always be bands that keep it real. That's what's so great about Metal. Some will sell out to the current trend and die when it'll run out, but those who persevere and believe in their music always win, which is not the case outside the genre. Would the like of Slayer, Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath would have survived without us, the dedicated metalheads? No. That's what so special about it. Metal survives without major labels, without mainstream support because the fans are supporting it with an enthusiasm you find nowhere else.


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Electronized



It's easy to judge. Comforting I'd even say. Staying in your comfort zone is a sure fire way to be always right and to keep your world small enough to know everything about it. I need to be reminded that sometimes. Last Sunday after breakfast, Josie wanted to go to Piknik Electronik with her sister M, her boyfriend Alex and Pete, a high school friend that came to Montreal for her birthday. I didn't want to go, but that day being her birthday and all (we decided her birthday would last four days this year), I made an effort.

I didn't want to do for many reasons. First, I wanted to go to Heavy Montreal if I took time to go to Jean-Drapeau Park, I wanted to go there. All the good bands played the day before, but with luck I could've seenRob Zombie or some mildly cool artist like that. Also, I didn't know anything about Piknik Electronik. I thought it was an asshole spinning Rihanna CDs for nine hours while superficial people drank Pinot Grigio and danced. In other words, I thought this would be like being in a club, except it's outside. And clubs make me aggressive...

Boy I was wrong. I stepped out of the Metro station, right into Heavy Montreal to hear the playing band: Hail The Vilain. A "new brand" of metal from Ottawa, which is very lightweight and trendy if you consider that the almighty Slayer graced the stage a few hours before. Hearing their set made me suddenly not that unhappy to miss the shitty day of Heavy Montreal.

The PikNik was also quite the experience. The "typical club crowd" I expected to be there was consisting in MAYBE 2-3% of the people. The rest went from the casual Sunday park crowd to the Weirdo Raver. Among the crowd we had a girl dancing with fluorescent pants and a Santa Claus hat, a shirtless monster walking his 100 lbs dog, a mohawked dancing man who danced for the whole duration of the event...to the beat of the first artist. This was amazing.

While the neato-metalo were screeching in their mics and butchering the music I love at the other end of the Island, I was graced with the discovery of an amazing band, dDamage. Two crazy French brothers, Jean-Baptiste & Frederick, playing a unique blend of haunting techno-thrash music. They were more violent and inspired than anything that played in the Metal festival on that day. They put a 90 minutes relentless pummeling on the crowd, blew the preceding (and following) DJs out of the water and multiplied the number of people dancing.

Good meal, relaxed crowd and a musical discovery is a lot to gain from an event I didn't want to go to at the first place.I am sermonizing people about the virtues of metal all the time and I proceeded to get my ass kicked by electro artists who tore the place into pieces.

I will think twice next time before passing judgement.

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Monday, July 26, 2010

Jane Austen's Fight Club



I hate Jane Austen. Fortunately, millions of other readers also do. There's a new trend in literature, which is to make fun of her best novels by adding to them more entertaining elements than slow and mundane family conflicts. Pride & Prejudice & Zombie was a fresh and fun view on the work of Austen, so was Sense & Sensibility & Sea Monsters (To be quite frank I haven't read it yet...but I'm sure it's awesome).

So, here's for you my dear readership, the women of Pride & Prejudice doing their own re-enactment of Fight Club, which also happens to be one of my favorite novels...like...ever! Postmodernist Man Angst Vs The Self-Effacing manners of the 19th century's well endowned. WARNING: Iconoclasm Ahead!

Thanks to Cynical-C for pointing this out.

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Technical Difficulties: "Focus"



A few years ago (four), I was booted in the face by an unknown Latino type. In those days, we used to let any deranged strangers with an inferiority complex in the gym. That day, I lost consciousness, capacity to take punches and my (already) humble capacity to focus on things. Back then, I was just happy I was able to keep my teeth in my mouth, but I had misjudged this new woe. This would transform into an oversized behemoth of mythological proportions. And it was invisible of course. I have to blame my lack of concentration on something, so here it is, kick in the face. It's YOUR fault.

I drink coffee on an industrial level and I'm working my mind to impossible levels of multitasking, but it's all supposed to fit in the greater pattern. Because you know what? I AM WRITING A NOVEL. I am planning to sit through those ungodly urges to check out Facebook, Gmail, Dead End Follies and all these web sites that should matter less than Solace and its achievement as the Great Northern Novel. I'm going to sit through all of this and try to finish this painful first draft until Christmas...and then...I HAVE A PLAN.

I am going to buy a Netbook. I am going to buy a Netbook, so I can forget to buy a USB cable and refuse to configure the wireless internet. This way, I won't be able to pick up the waves to save my life. This is going to be awesome. I already have the computer name of my Netbook-To-Be.

Typewriter.

This is all there will be to it. It's going to be a glorified typewriter with no ink toners to change, no sheet to roll in and no liquid paper needed to correct typos. I miss the days where you were left alone with your typewriter and your mind. I am not the one for those multitasking machines. For example, it's impossible to buy a cell phone nowadays. You have cell phones, video game consoles and Facebook status updaters, all in the same machine.

Dammit, I'm getting far from my point. I have wrote 10 to 15 pages a week for the last month or two. It's not bad, but it could be a lot better if my shit was together. I'm in a central point of Solace (just passed middle) and this could all tumble down to a complete first draft by Christmas. When my close my eyes now, I wrestle giant snakes or I'm running from these behemoths to want to swallow me. It's epic, but it's draining. There is also Origin, looming around the corner. Fuck, so much stuff. I'm alive, but I have to focus on the road or I'm going to crash into a suburban bungalow.

Fortunately, I have my mantra to turn to. More fortunately, it's tattooed on my arm, so I cannot get away from it. Let's recite and go to work now:

The initial inception must be pure. All energy must be put to use. The end must never leave your sight. Complete destruction must be had. You must maintain drive that goes beyond obsession, beyond purpose, beyond reason. Every movement must be in the forward direction. When in the woods, seek the clearing. The path shines to bright, it's almost blinding.


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6 Great Novels That Were Hated In Their Time



Say what you want about Cracked, but it's an amazing web site. Its mix of caustic humor, pop culture encyclopedia and sometimes pure intellectualism makes it entertaining and light hearted at the same time. The educated crowd of Cracked are readers. Here's an article from Jacopo Della Quierca, about the terrible reception of great novels. You heard me right fellow novelists. Even when you're published, you can face commercial and critical failure...and succeed 50 years later. Time and death can apparently buy you credibility. I'm exagerating here, I've read half of the novels mentionned (Huxler, Golding, Tolkien) and they were great.Time and death don't buy your writing credibility, but it sure does sweeps the haters away.



#6. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley


The Story You Know:

It's Aldous Huxley's chilling 1932 tale about a future centered upon sex, drug, and assembly-line worship, depicting humanity caught in an endless cycle of buying gizmos, working trivial jobs and taking drugs to make the depression go away.

How Poorly it Was Received:

Critical reaction to Brave New World was "largely chilly," which is the short way of saying that it did to the literary world what Willy Wonka's boat ride did to your childhood.

The result was an outright panic of literary criticism which resulted in the book getting universally panned, and ultimately selling only a few thousand copies upon its release in the U.S. Why? Everybody hated Huxley's vision of the future.

Even fellow futurists like H.G. Wells were shocked by the book's dystopian landscape. Despite being the same man who wrote War of the Worlds, Wells describe Brave New World's bleak future as "a betrayal." As for the book's more forgettable critics, i.e. everyone else, responses ranged from dismissal to childish name-calling.

After all, he's talking about a future where mankind is pacified, not by a totalitarian dictator, but by infinite distractions, trivial entertainment and bullshit? Ridiculous!

However, it can truly be said that Aldous Huxley got the last laugh. Brave New World has gone on to become one of the most celebrated and influential works of the 20th century, and its author one of the most equally respected/creepy intellectuals on the planet. After redeeming both his and his World State's reputation, Huxley died on November 22, 1963--the same date as C.S. Lewis and the Kennedy assassination--just so he could mess with us one last time.

Thirty-seven years later, he would be awarded the ultimate achievement for a work of literature: having an Iron Maiden album named after it.

#5. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck


The Story You Know:

The definitive American story about the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl and how hard life sucks if you're anyone in a Henry Fonda movie.

Also, there's a famous scene in the story where a young woman breastfeeds a dying old man, which we're totally not going to make fun of because it's seriously that beautiful.

How Poorly it Was Received:

Imagine if Inglourious Basterds was released in 1929. Something like that.

Despite boasting what was clearly the classiest case for lactivism since Ancient Rome died, The Grapes of Wrath received less than a warm welcome when it was released.

Since "Fuck the Poor" had pretty much been America's policy all the way from the Gilded Age to the Roaring Twenties, Steinbeck's devastating depictions of American poverty, plight and migrant camps came off as "depressing" to most readers, and by depressing we mean part of a communist/socialist conspiracy.

The Grapes of Wrath was denounced as a "pack of lies" and "a libel" from both the left and right wing of the political spectrum. The book was censored, banned and even burned in towns across the United States including Steinbeck's own hometown.

Despite the treatment The Grapes of Wrath received, Steinbeck eventually benefited from the support of Eleanor Roosevelt, filmmaker John Ford and reality, once people found out that most of the book was based on true events. In fact, Steinbeck had actually downplayed the horrific conditions of the Dust Bowl--which included an explosion in black widow and tarantula populations...

...because he was more interested in telling a story than scaring the nation into a communist frenzy.

Sure enough, the book ended up becoming really important and helped Steinbeck win the 1962 Nobel Prize in Literature, which at the time actually kind of meant something.

#4. Lord of the Flies by William Golding


The Story You Know:

It's what you get if you combine the first season of Survivor, Swiss Family Robinson and Saw. Also, for extra fun, the whole book starred children.


How Poorly it Was Received:

William Golding's brilliant work of social commentary and symbolism was a complete commercial failure when it was released, but the truth is Golding was lucky that the book even made it that far. More than 20 publishers passed on the Lord of the Flies, no doubt due to the "excessive violence and bad language" Golding smacked his audience with like a blackjack upside the head.

The book sold less than 3,000 copies before going out of print in the 50s. In other words, there's probably a hobo making copies of his manifesto on the Xerox machine at a public library who has sold more copies. We can't imagine why. After all, the book was just showing a complete collapse of faith, philosophy and society. With children.

However, in what we notice had become a trend in 20th century literature The Lord of the Flies, despite its unpopularity, had all the workings of a Nobel Prize winner. The book was eventually reprinted, assigned in classrooms throughout the United States and Golding was dubbed a Nobel Prize Laureate, then a freaking knight.

So keep that in mind should your first dabble in science-fiction/fantasy not go over so well when you post it on your LiveJournal. You're just a few years from a Nobel Prize in Literature, so start planning now what to do with your millions of dollars and your new knighthood, baby!

#3. The Catcher In The Rye by J.D. Salinger


The Story You Know:

It's the magnum opus of the Baby Boomer Generation. The book about every kid who ever bitched and moaned his way through adolescence just so he could get drunk, molested and have his ass handed to him by a pimp.

How Poorly it Was Received:

About as warmly as that bottle of vodka in your grandmother's freezer box. The book was so controversial that even critics who liked it were afraid to show their names. The Catcher In The Rye was written in the "vulgar" tongue, which was common vernacular for the time. However, since the vulgar tongue does tend to involve lots of curse words and pussy jokes, the book kind of took a wrecking-ball to the social norms of Greatest Generation, and thus cemented the book's reputation as one of the most infamous works of the 20th century.


Critics panned the book as "disappointing," a "near miss," "too long," "wholly repellent," "amateur," "monotonous and phony" and "predictable and boring." Since we assume most people probably know what it's like to get in a fight with an underage prostitute for charging extra for non-sex, we're going to have to agree with the critics on this one.

Oh, and then there's the whole controversy over the book inspiring high-profile murders because of the whole "catcher in the rye" analogy its main character Holden uses. However, since that argument makes about as much sense as the ending of Children of the Corn, it's probably safe to say that the dude who shot John Lennon was, in fact, a nutcase.

The public, as it is often wont to do, eventually ignored the critics and embraced the book to the tune of now 65 million copies sold since its first publication. That's more than any of the Twilight novels, kids.

#2. Moby-Dick by Herman Melville


The Story You Know:

It's like Jaws, only with an enormous, albino sperm whale and lots of metaphors instead of a shark and bad hats. Also, Richard Dreyfus is slightly more badass in this version: Instead of the single most annoying ichthyologist on the planet, he's a South Pacific cannibal named Queequeg.

How Poorly it Was Received:

Contemporary reviews for Moby-Dick were harsh. Very, very harsh. Think Son of the Mask meets Battlefield Earth.

Despite introducing the world to some of the most original characters in literary history, not the least of which were Captain Ahab, Queequeg or the God-like Moby-Dick, Melville's poetic prose completely went over everyone's head. Part of this was due to one publisher accidentally omitting the book's crucial epilogue, which kind of tied the book together not unlike a fine Persian carpet in a lazy man's apartment. The other reason for its bad press was that most critics just flat-out didn't like it.

One of the most esteemed literary magazines in England dismissed the book as a "catastrophe." One Methodist publication slammed the book as "unfit for general circulation." Some of the more dickish critics went so far as to attack Melville himself, along with what they took as "his rhetorical contortions, all his declamatory abuse of society, all his inflated sentiment and all his insinuating licentiousness."

In other words, the book was hated by the type of people who think "insinuating licentiousness" is a good way to insult something. Granted, readers will find it tough to read Moby-Dick these days without reaching for an online dictionary now and then, but you can't fault Melville for being smarter than most modern readers. After all, the book was dedicated to Nathaniel Hawthorn; it's not like you can expect to find the word "pimpmobile" in every chapter.

Fortunately, Melville won the long, long, long war for literary appreciation, and is now considered one of the finest writers in American history. After all, the dude wrote Moby-Dick.

#1. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy by J. R. R. Tolkien

The Story You Know:

In the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the many races of the weed-smoking lands of Middle-Earth put aside their mutually-shared racism to sit down and have a very serious discussion about jewelry. What follows is Tolkien's epic tale about the One Ring, the 19 Rings of Power, the Necklace of the Evanstar, the Ring of Barahir, the sweater-vest of Mithril, the Crown of Gondor, and other luxury items that Saruman "the Many Coloured" probably has stashed away in his closet.

The trilogy has gone on to sell over 200 million copies, spawn an entire generation of grown men who cry over "Grey Havens," get adapted to film a few times and usher an entire sub-culture of nerds the likes of which we may never see again.

How Poorly it Was Received:

According to the J.R.R. Tolkien Encyclopedia, "No 'mainstream critic' appreciated The Lord of the Rings."

The reasons for Tolkien's negative feedback were numerous, not the least of them being that he was a career linguist, not a professional writer. The New York Times described Tolkien's writing as "high-minded" and "death to literature itself."

The New Republic described the book and its characters as "anemic, and lacking in fiber" which was apparently a real burn back then in the pre-Cheerios days. Even heavyweights like Isaac Asimov weren't sold by the book's whole industry versud the environment message, retorting that modernity "or perhaps the modern world... wasn't all bad."

Hell, not even Tolkien's friends were all that big on it. Tolkien had to stop reading samples of the book to them on account of negative feedback/hurt feelings. One member of Tolkien's circle, Hugo Dyson (H.V.D. Dyson in geek) once famously moaned from a sofa during one reading: "Oh, fuck! Not another elf!"

Nevertheless, the book's popularity in the United States exploded in the 60s because of none other than the hippie movement. A healthy cocktail of the Vietnam War, environmentalism and an event horizon of substance abuse caused a renewed appreciation for what was described as "mellow freedom like that of the Shire."

Coupled with a totally unauthorized paperback printing of the book which beatniks purchased to "stick it to the man"--being Tolkien--"the man" had no choice but to re-release the book for America's drugged-out audiences.


So if you've read a fantasy novel or played a video game recently that has magical elves and dwarves in it, thank a hippie.


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Saturday, July 24, 2010

Rejection's Greatest Hits Part 1



Following my recent involvement in The Rejectionist's contest and a great post on Claudia Del Balso's blog, I have decided to take a closer look into literary rejection. This seems to be a rite of passage for every writer to get rejected. The number of queries, good writers and overworked assistant make rejection inevitable. Le Rejectionist's boss "Steve" admitted himself having turned down James Patterson and Danielle Steel (hey, they suck,but they sell!) There's worse. Here are a few catastrophic rejections. I will post some here & there to help my fellow writers gain some perspective on the worth of their stories. Rejection is not an objective process.

Crash by J.G Ballard

"The author of this book is beyond psychiatric help.Do not publish"

Diary Of A Young Girl by Ann Frank

"The girl doesn’t, it seems to me, have a special perception or feeling which would lift that book above the “curiosity” level."

Animal Farm by George Orwell

"It is impossible to sell animal stories in the USA"

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

"... the book is much too long. There are too many long speeches... I regret to say that the book is unsaleable and unpublishable."

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

"... overwhelmingly nauseating, even to an enlightened Freudian … the whole thing is an unsure cross between hideous reality and improbable fantasy. It often becomes a wild neurotic daydream … I recommend that it be buried under a stone for a thousand years."

The Spy Who Cam From The Cold by John Le Carré

"You’re welcome to le Carré – he hasn’t got any future"

Watership Down by Richard Adams

"Older children wouldn't like it because its language was too difficult"

Catch 22 by Joseph Heller

"I haven’t really the foggiest idea about what the man is trying to say… Apparently the author intends it to be funny – possibly even satire – but it is really not funny on any intellectual level … From your long publishing experience you will know that it is less disastrous to turn down a work of genius than to turn down talented mediocrities".


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Book Review : Chester Himes - The Big Gold Dream (1960)



Country:

USA

Genre:

Crime Fiction/Noir

Pages:

156


I will be honest. I bought this book because of the witty and intriguing description on the back...and because it was 4,99$ in the bargain bin over at Chapters. Since then (I always research new writers I buy), I have learned that Chester Himes is the black Dashiell Hammett. He started writing in prison, while serving a sentence for robbery and wrote there If He Hollers, Let Him Go, still considered today as one of his greatest works. After leaving jail, he moved to France to rebuild his life, then to Spain, where he wrote The Big Gold Dream in 1960.

The (very) short novel is one of the nine in the Grave Digger Jones/Coffin Ed Johnson series. The fifth one to be more precise. The action picks up in a lively, over-the-top scene, where Sweet Prophet Brown, a local preacher and criminal sees one of his new followers, Alberta Wright, dropping dead after drinking the water he personally blessed. Her loving husband Rufus gets then the cue to sell all of her furniture to a Jewish gentleman who happens to discover a stash of money in Alberta's possessions. Then he his killed...and his killer is killed...which prompt our two heroes Grave Digger and Coffin Ed into action.

The lean and mean Big Gold Dream becomes even more twisted as Alberta shows up again. She had been poisoned by the blessed water, but she wasn't dead. The two detective are trying to trail the money to stop the violence at the core, but Alberta doesn't cooperate. All she wants is to protect the new light of her life, the prophet. The bodies are piling up and the two enforcers are over their head, trying to unveil the mystery. Oh and did I mention? This all happens over 24 hours....

In your usual novel series you can pick one up (no matter which one in the lot) and read it independently from the other. The Big Gold Dream doesn't work like that. It's too short to get a good grasp on the Harlem Detectives universe through he reading of a single novel. The In-Media-Res start is leaving any kind of characterization out of the story and more important, the complexity of the events leave the two main protagonists out of the novel for most of it.

The structure of The Big Gold Dream is complex enough, but certainly not developed and tense enough to make for a stand-alone novel. The pages are crammed full of action with little space for understanding what's going on. You hang on and try to follow the Harlem Detectives train as closely as you can. Chester Himes style is indeed close to the bare, raw approach of Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, but he lacks in overall vision in plotting. He knows what he wants to do, where he wants to lead us, but he doesn't know how to present it. As least, not in The Big Gold Dream.

A huge cast of characters, each and every one with their small promises and twisted and complex plot that should have taken 400 pages on his own, contribute to drain the interest from an intriguing novel that sets a rythmn that not much writers can keep. Chester Himes is a worthy writer, but if you want to get into Grave Digger Jones and Coffin Ed Johnson, start at the beginning, with A Rage In Harlem. It might save you confusion and disappointment.

Score: 68%





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Friday, July 23, 2010

10 000 Visitors



Yesterday was a big day for Dead End Follies. It was Josie's birthday. Also, it's yesterday that we have reached our 2010 goal of 10 000 visitors. July 22nd! Not too shabby for a maniacal scrawler with coffee-laced rants.

In order not to sit on my laurels, stop writing and get fat, I have to aim higher. A new objective. Let's say 15 000 visitors before the end of the year. It's a humble goal, but you never know what might happen. I might lose all my readership when I'll fly to Argentina for two weeks. Also, I might go in a coma or something. I do not wish harm on myself or on you dear readership, but I will keep it simple until December so that any number over 15 000 will be a bonus.

Thank You!

Thank You for your loyalty!

B.


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Movie Review : A Serious Man (2009)



Country:

USA

Recognizable Faces:

None (but it fits the tone of the movie)

Directed By:

Joel Coen
Ethan Coen



It's no secret that I'm a fanatic of the Coen Brothers. Movies like Miller's Crossing, The Big Lebowski , No Country For Old Men and Burn After Reading would all fare well in an hypothetical Top 100 of my favorite movies of all time. They are smart, thoughtful, low key and passionate enough to keep my enthusiasm high movies after movies. There was no valid reason for me to miss A Serious Man.

I sat down of my couch, giggling like a school girl from anticipation and pressed play. A Serious Man is the story of Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg), a science teacher in a Jewish high school. One fine day, his wife leaves him for a neighborhood widower and his life starts spiraling downwards at a frightening pace. He moves in to a motel with his brother Arthur, struggles at work with a student that offers him a bribe and seeks answers in the tradition-heavy Judaism. The movie is organized around his meetings with different Rabbis of his municipality, each one referring him to his superior.

You've all seen this story before. A Serious Man has the same narrative structure than American Beauty and other similar movies about men midlife crisis. A Serious Man smashes into pieces every stereotype of the genre though. It's a terrifying, grim and nihilistic reflection on the clash of religion Vs reality. They were never recognized for their light hearted happiness, but the Coen brothers are outdoing themselves in negativity.

Larry's quest to transcend his daily gloom is constantly stopped by hollow metaphors and religious none-sense, in which he only finds the energy to nightmare about. His multiple attempts to give a meaning to his growing pains will hit walls after walls, taking away from his energy level and his will to live.

A Serious Man is an angry movie. "Angry & Nihilistic" would be the comment I'd put on the cover. It's somehow billed to be a black comedy, but I fail to see the same wits that made Burn After Reading hysterical. The scene where Larry is battling over the phone with a representative of Columbia Record Store brought some of the "Coen Chuckle" out of me, but that's about it. The dead end metaphors and the existential pain of Larry Gopnik didn't make me laugh, they made me anxious.

I have read on the net that there's a good chunk of Jewish humor in the movie. That might be my agnosticism talking, but I didn't see anything funny. The weird cast of unknown actors (all Jewish...I think) doesn't do much to help. I found Fred Melamed interesting in the role of Cy Ableman, a manipulator that uses love and good words to bully people around and Michael Stuhlbarg does an OK job at showing emotional despair. No one will take your breath away the way Javier Bardem did in No Country For Old Men or Billy Bob Thornton in The Man Who Wasn't There.

That said, it's hard for me to give a bad score to A Serious Man. It's extremely depressing, but it's a well done movie, done in the quiet way of the Coens. The writing is violent, but it's short and effective, the scenes are vivid and make good use of the era's fashion to give it color and immersion (the 70's) and despite trying to wear people down, it's a movie that makes a strong point for what its trying to say: Don't even try to give meaning to your life, the universe's crushing none-sense will pummel you into submission if you dare giving it a shot.

There are lower points. The narrative is turning so much around emptiness that it's getting empty at some point and some characters are pale copies of the comic relief of their previous movies (Uncle Arthur). It also had a thick shell if you're not Jewish. The dialogues are good, but don't have the all around greatness of The Big Lebowski or the compact strenght of No Country For Old Men. Still, it's better than your average movie, but ranks low on their all-time achievements.


Watch it for the same reason that you would listen to a Khanate album, getting depressed. It's a bit slow (even for Coen brothers standards) but it's effective.

Score: 77%




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What form rejection means to me



*this is my entry for The Rejectionist's Anniversary Uncontest*


Dear Editorial Assistant,

I have received today your rejection letter for my groundbreakingly astonishing epic novel: ''Vampire Vs Werewolves: A Romance Of The Night Demons''. Editorial Ass. , you have broken my heart, crushed my dreams and pissed on my mortgage payments. I decided I will not let you win. I will not let you kill my blossoming career with your narrow mindedness and instead, I am going to REJECT YOU! You heard me, you overpaid, bored, decadent fat and bowtie-wearing man, smoking a pipe in a large New York Office.

I might not be Ernest Hemingford or John Upton-Sinclair, but I do know want things. Vampires are hot and werewolves are wild. You ought to know that if you're even remotely watching television. All of my friends like my novel and thought it was very original and powerful. Vampires are ethereal creatures of mystery, so it's normal for a feeble and kind human girl to fall in love with a six foot eight demon of the night. We all aspire to their power and their ethereal sexy presence so it's only normal that every human being falls in love with them. You must be stoopid if you think otherwise. Go read your Stephanie Meyer properly, you're lacking culture.

In fact, I don't think your blissful ignorance has driven you to reject my 1554 pages masterpiece, but in fact your jealousy did. My obvious talent and the mastery of adjectives I displayed in my first person in-character query letter sent you back to your own failures, buried deep down in your past. You wanted to be a writer too, didn't you? You dreamed of being the next Stephanie Meyer also. You couldn't stand that my vampires and my werewolves were better than yours. You marveled at the level of detail in the account of my 1200 years old vampire life. You wanted your creatures of the night to be alive the way mine are, that's why you didn't send my copy back.

Well, please know, Mr. Failed-And-Frustrated Writer, that I have hired a lawyer and at the very second I see any form of publication with your name on it, CONSIDER YOURSELF SUED! I feed of your angst and your fears, MR. REJECTATOR. I AM A VAMPIRE TOO. I WILL HAVE A SNAPPY RETORT FOR YOU THE DAY VAMPIRES VS WEREWOLF MOVIE WILL PREMIERE! I WILL DRINK YOUR TEARS AND YOUR JEALOUSY

Yours truly,

Annan Imus

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Thursday, July 22, 2010

A Special Holiday




Today is a very special holiday for...for...me! Today is Josie's 25th birthday! Happy birthday chérie! So due to planning, being cute and all, I will take the rest of this day off blogging to celebrate the day of birth of my loved one along with my dog, take calls from clients and write on Solace.

Once again!

Happy Birthday Josie!


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Tales from the Day Job (Life At The Helpdesk)



You figured it out by now, I don't earn a living from Dead End Follies. I would be trying to sell a Kidney on Ebay for rent money if it was the case. No, I work forty hours week in a IT Helpdesk for a company that we'll call "Genius X". They are spread out over the world, but having the distinct advantage of speaking french, I am assigned to the Canadian market. Less users, less calls and more time for Dead End Follies. This is a pretty sweet gig.

For those who don't know what a IT Helpdesk is, picture this. In a company, the IT department is like an hospital for your computer. There are different floors, different departments, different specialists for different sorts of diseases right? When you call the helpdesk, it's exactly like calling the ambulance. We're first response, but if you come to us with a severed arm or a terminal case of cancer, there's not much we can do but to refer you to the appropriate doctor. Sometimes even to the morgue.

Some people don't understand that. They call the helpdesk and think we have a flip to switch to sort out their shit. Worse even, sometimes they call us and try to make us to their job. Considering the lack of goofy IT calls on the internet, let me offer you on Dead End Follies, the greatest hits of my tenure at Genius X.

So I get this call yesterday. The client's corporate info pops up on screen and...I don't know him. My market contains 400 workers, considering I worked for more than a year with Canada only, I know almost everybody. I don't remember everyone, but when they call and give me their info I go like "Oh yeah him/her". But him...nada, nil. That can mean three things:

1)He's new. I don't know him, but I will talk to him a lot in the next week or so.

2)He's very smart. He will give me a challenging IT riddle to resolve and will be very nice with me.

3)He's a dunce. He doesn't call us unless necessary, because "that IT Shit is too complex and those phone guys have no clue of what they're doing". He will be belligerent and will take thirty minutes to try and confuse me about a straightforward issue.

"Yeah huh...I'd like to order stuff. Is it the right number to call?" he tells me.

There's plenty of stuff you can order in IT. Hardware, Software, brochures, business cards....

"You'll have to be more precise than that sir" I say. "What do you want to order exactly?"

"My computer can't read videos" he answers.

Again, very confusing. There's not a "video switch" we can turn on. I need to know the file format he's struggling with. "Genius X" has a great tool to help us overcome computer illeteracy. It's called Office Communicator. It's a Microsoft chat tool that can allows us to take control of the client's computer and get things done, rather to try and guide them, blind folks in a mine field that they are.

"Sir, are you on Office Communicator right now? I'd like to log in to your machine and see for myself what type of file you're struggling with" I propose.

"What, NO! Can't you just get me a DVD player?" he answers defensively.

"You want a DVD player?" I asked.

Now, I can say from this guy's company profile that he's from the sales department. They are my main market, so I know them kinda well. No one has a DVD player in sales. They work with Tablet PCs. Think of them as being a mix in between a Netbook and an IPad. Their work is fairly complex, so they try to keep it as straightforward as they can with the IT stuff. He doesn't need a DVD player. Most likely, he wants to watch movies on his work tablet and judging by his defensive tone when I asked him to log into his machine, a very specific type of movies.

"Yeah" he says. "I've been borrowing one from a co-worker for a little while, but I never had one from the start. They forgot to give me one."

"Well, if you want a DVD Player sir, you'll have to order it through the company IT Store" I say.

I'm here to serve the client after all. I like to think I'm good at what I do also. Whether he wants a DVD Player or not ain't of my business. It's between him and his manager. I don't know, maybe they watch porn together. SO I patiently guide him to the company web site through their IT Store. Up there, he goes WILD. Orders a DVD player, a new corporate router, a printer, ink cartridges, office appliances and then asks me this blissfully ignorant question: "What do I do now"?

"Press on the checkout button" I propose.

The computer ponders his idiocy for a few seconds and then, the reaction I expected.

"WHAT? 1194 DOLLARS?"

"Yep" I say.

"THESE THINGS AREN'T FREE?"

Apparently, he missed the whole concept of STORE in IT STORE. A place where you get goods in exchange of money?

"You don't have to pay for them" I explain."But you have to bill them to the company. They play it safe with their accounting. That's why they are so big now."

"But, there's got to be another way around. Half of these things were supposed to be supplied to me in my starter pack".

No, they weren't. Especially not a DVD player. Some of the managers have one, but not all of them. And he's NOT a manager.

"It's the "Genius X" process sir. Is your manager aware that you were missing hardware at hiring?" I ask him.

"YEAH, EVERYBODY KNOWS" he yells, disguntled.

I have no doubt.

"Then he's going to greenlight your expenses sir, don't worry" I say.

Silence. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe they don't watch DVDs together on the week-end after all. I have talked with his manager a few times in the past. A good man.

"Well, since YOU don't want to find another way around. I'm going to have to sit out on it".

"Is there anything else I can do to help you sir?"

"NO" he says. "Thanks"

DIAGNOSTIC: This guy mistook me for a pushover, but I shouldn't take it personal. He takes the whole world for a self-service magical unicorn castle where he can do whatever he wants. He'll have to do more sales and become a manager if he wants his DVD player.



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