"If you give someone not very creative a job running a creative department, what's the first thing he will do? Take out anything that's creative and unique. Not because he is responsible or a good business person, but because conservative people in charge fear talent and imagination.

To them we are witches that need to be bound up and squeezed just hard enough to let a tiny bit of magic ooze out...but not toooo much or all the screaming demons of fun and imagination and joy will come charging out to destroy them!" -- John Kricfalusi

Can I express my love for John K? I'm not sure the words can come out properly. I'd let him have a glimpse of my screaming demons of fun an imagination, though, if he were to be interested.

http://johnkstuff.blogspot.com


Also: On Sunday night a fire exploded at me! I forgot to mention it before because truthfully the memory does not register as completely real. I should say, however, that if in the future you are ever planning to build a fire on a slab of concrete, that you make very sure that said concrete is free of internal moisture. If you don't, the moisture might heat up and then build pressure, and subsequently explode fire at you while you're hazily drinking some rum and coke and looking at the stars. I'm actually quite surprised at my split-second reaction time. There's nothing like hot coals, flames and firewood flying at you to make a person jump up quickly. I am happy to say that no one was hurt, though it makes a great story! I'm not sorry it happened, this summer has been way too dull.

Why, hello there.

So this is the part where I explain again how I am "back". How I am going to try for another round at writing things which are interesting yet not embarassing really, clever enough but not self-absorbed hopefully. I'm tired of secrets but I don't want to tell any, so this is what you get.

I went to my parents' basement in hopes of unearthing my high school yearbooks. A dubious goal to be sure, seeing as how my possessions are bundled away in the midst of a great tower of boxes and items in one end of the basement. I was not successful, though I did find my junior high school yearbooks. The thrill was absent from this discovery because that was not the age bracket I was hoping for. Grade 9 picture write-ups appeared to me the most confusing bits of meaningless expression: CB + HL = TLA ; always remember pink doritos!! ; never change ; do you eat mittens? ; and the like. My most treasured portion of my grade 9 yearbook is the part on the inside back cover where Mr. B Wilson wrote: "Keep the weirdness, it looks good on you." I suppose you might have to know me a bit better than one post's worth to realise that it remains one of my most favoured compliments.

But anyway. The grade 9 yearbook remains in its carboard tomb, and the high school equivalent remains MIA. All I came away with was my old copy of Cohen's Beautiful Losers. Somehow that seems fitting, though in title only I guess. I haven't read the book in quite some time, I think I might do so again.

Also: On Saturday I unearthed my guitar. I hadn't played since arthritis forced me to stop 7 years ago. Typically I can't remember anything I used to know except for (inexplicably) the chords from Pearl Jam's "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town" and a bit of an old Jewel song. Instead of re-teaching myself "The Basics" as it were, I am just making sounds and considering them nameless. It's quite nice, actually. Making nameless sounds.