five deadly everythings...

Today at the Bus Station

I was at the bus terminal earlier today when a woman approached me and handed me a cue card. Written on it was something to the effect of:

I have two children and have no way of providing for them. Please help us.

"What is it you need?" I asked, unsure of whether she was asking for money, clothing, food, or even just bus fare.

"Money, if you have some, please," she said.

I was caught off guard because, given that she handed me a written note rather than talking to me, I had assumed she would have trouble speaking English. I dug out my wallet and fished out a toonie for her.

"You don't have any more?" she asked.

"I need some for bus fare, I'm sorry", I answered, feeling a little weird that I had to justify myself.

"Don't you have bus tickets?" she asked.

"Hey, I'm giving you a toonie..." I said, my voice trailing off.

She lowered her eyes and thanked me.

From the beginning of this exchange I felt weird. I didn't like that she handed me a note instead of talking to me. I didn't like that she didn't thank me for my toonie outright and actually tried to guilt me into giving more.

And yet, if I were in her position I know I too would have difficulty approaching people and telling my story every thirty seconds. And I also know that she needs much more than a friggin' toonie. I wonder how many other people actually gave her money. This is Mississauga, and people here aren't used to having strangers approach them and ask for money. It isn't a part of the social landscape like it is downtown--I too was caught off guard because of this.

And while I was upset that she asked for more money, I can't shake the look in her eyes. She was pleading with me, and I have the suspicion I was one of many few who actually gave her the time of day, let alone some actual cash. I could have given more, and she knew that. It sucks that she actually called me on it, but it's true.

I saw that she immediately felt my hostility and regretted her words, her eyes lowering and giving me the most sincere "thank you" I've heard in a long time. A "thank you" that made me feel so shitty about myself for hours.

I think we both walked away from that situation a little ashamed. For all intents and purposes we both should have been satisfied: me patting myself on my back for a job well done, her coveting a shiny new toonie.

But it doesn't work that way, does it? We both ended up feeling shitty, walking away from each other two ends of a string, pulling tighter on the knot that ties all of us in into this bullshit mess of a society. This fucking mess that none of us knows how to clean up.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:19:00 p.m. | Permalink

Keepin It Reel Asian

First year hitting the Reel Asian Festival. Thanks to Kev for the hookups.

Saw three films:

1) Iron Pussy: A musical/action/comedy from Thailand about a transvestite superhero. As weird as it sounds. But involved the greatest moment ever in film involving someone throwing a rock.

2) Chinese Restaurants: Just one in a 13-part installment of a director making his way across the globe and visiting various permutations of "The Chinese Restaurant". Drama, family history, exploring the chinese diaspora from numerous different vantage points, and food food food. Good stuff, really fascinating. The Cuba section itself was fascinating enough to carry the film.

3) The Two Sisters: Korean horror movie involving two sisters, a strange stepmom, and a big ominous house full of memories and mayhem. (I should really get paid for these taglines.) Cheesy in some parts, genuinely frightening in others. The dude sitting beside us was having heart attacks. Hilarious. In the end though, too many plot twists that I got lost in.

The pics:


The Director and the Girlfriend


The Festival Program and the Main Attraction


Ben Affleck and Matt Damon


Faces like this remind me why I date her


You gotta watch these girls closely...there are ninjas everywhere!

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:42:00 a.m. | Permalink

Alexander, be reasonable!!

...'Twas the phrase of the day. Christianne and I skipped our respective responsibilites of school and novel writing, dropped some money that really should have been saved instead, and watched Oliver Stone's Alexander.

I should have known from the opening titles that the movie would be horrible - what with the Discovery Channel title cards and all - but as we all know, I'm horribly naive and optimistic. By the time Baby Alexander (who freakishly resembled both Colin Ferrel and Aaron Carter) started talking to his horse and telling it to ride like the wind, however, I faced facts like cheesy white people "face the music".

The movie sucked balls. Big Roman balls. Sucked balls like Romans.

And sure, Angelina makes for a pretty sexy 50 year-old. And sure, watching Alexander trying to mack his sexy mom makes for interesting cinema. And yes yes yes, Rosario Dawson's big ol' bitties are a wonderous visual feast. But really, does anyone want to watch Jolie with her Dracula-accent, and Val Kilmer with his Dollar Store Halloween-Cyclops makeup, smack around their pussy son like crazy soccer parents for an hour? Does anyone want to watch Alexander make sleepy eyes at Jared Leto for two hours, complete with sexy mascara and impish grins? Oh, and that Man Slut. What a great character. He dances, he flexes, he stands there, he turns on lights, he serves drinks, he steals glimpses of Colin Ferrel's scrotum.

And if that last paragraph hints at some sort of dangerous homophobia, fear not! For one of my problems with the film was that it just wasn't gay enough. I mean, for all the flirting, the makeup, the innuendo, the swooning declarations of mann-ish love atop a balcony romantically lit by sunset...the ball sacs...nothing ever happens.

There should have been a love scene between Leto and Ferrel. The two actors are obviously game for it (Ferrel himself kissing another male character), so why not just do it? Hinting at homosexuality is not progressive. In fact, it only makes homosexuality seem more deviant. In this pre-common-era Greece, before Bible thumpers had Bibles to thump on, there was nothing weird about male/male sexuality. So if you're going to include it in the movie...than sheesh, include it in the Gods-damned-movie.

In a nutshell (ha!), this is what was wrong with the movie. Not the gayness or lack-thereof, but the filmakkers' inability to choose a line of thought and stick to it. I know Alexander is a complex character, and fundamentally so because that is what renders him such an enigmating historical figure, but the film goes many lengths to portray every possible representation: The Great, The Tyrant, The Pervert, The Romantic, The Unifier, The Imperialist, The Humanist, The God-Complex, The Visionary, The Delusional...and so on and so on.

And so on.

Until many lengthy speeches, many songs ripped from Xena: Warrior Princess, and a washroom break later, you're left off where you began -- Alexander is dead, Angelina Jolie is yelling about something and rolling her R's (Alexandurrr!), and you still don't get what the film is doing with it all.

Given that the writer/director is none other than Oliver Stone, I was expecting some sort of politcal allegory to be driven home, some allusion made to the current state of world politics and "peace" rhetoric. But Stone obviously loves Alexander too much to compare him Bush. And at the same time, his political conscience prevents him from painting Alexander as a Great Man. The film can't commit to its politics, can't condone its own gayness, and can't hold an accent if the fate of the world depended on it (my gf swore that Rosario Dawon was Filipino).

The only thing that Stone does commit to is the film's visual style, which sadly, is overbearing and obvious. Witness the snakes dancing on Jolie's body and decorating her dress, notice the eagle that perpetually flies over Ferrel's head and guides us through the combat zone, notice the black panthers than roars as Dawson dances her seductive dance. And in an effort to draw parallels between Alexander and his father, the film exercises such obviousness to the point of repeating the same movie twice.

But damn, that kid *did* look like Colin Ferrel.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:44:00 a.m. | Permalink

Travelogue

I.
we are runaways

faded faces on milkcartons
like curdled memories
with calicum deficient spines
forming question marked queries
asking for direction

II.
we hide in piles of leaves
consisting of the ones left behind
the ones who fell down
warmed by their husks
hidden by their musks

III.
we swim in lakes of middle class guilt
white like milk
and thick like felt

IV.
i'm cutting my wrists with cliches
i'm cutting my risks with pension plans

V.
soldiers are dying and their blue blood
is pouring from purple hearts
like paint
they are swathed in canvas
and we admire the art of war

VI.
the protestors are making a killing this year
their placards stakes in the hearts of vampires

VII.
we are killing time and fantasies
our dogs see unicorns and chase their dreams
and we call them runaways

VIII.
we are lost
bastard children with linear lineages
leading up family trees long rotten and forgotten
clear-cut truth forests leaving fields of black and white

nowhere left to hide
no oxygen left to sigh

no stone unturned for us

no lessons to be learned from us.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:49:00 a.m. | Permalink

The Salem Witch Hunts

Well, the dog came back. The very next day.

Last night I was all ready to write the saddest blog, a euology for my dog M.I.A, most probably R.I.P. I got so worried, thought the worst things possible about cars, racoons, rain, cold temperatures, skunks, ravines, seizures, and walking so far and not knowing how to get back.

This dog has a history of running away or getting lost. The whole reason we bought her in the first place was because she was at the pound a day away from being put to to sleep, having run away from her previous owners in Montreal. That's right, Montreal.

Since then she's made a break for it numerous times, but we've always been able to catch her or find her.

Last night however it seemed hopeless. It was dark outside and she, a natural ninja, was invisible to the naked eye. I doubt we would have found her if we spent the whole night looking. I'm even sure we passed her a couple of times without knowing it while we were searching.

This was the longest she had run away for. Past the two hour mark (her previous record) my hopes sank into despair. I was already accepting her death, her absence from our lives.

The next day, however, she came back. I was looking out the window at 11:30 am this morning when she jumped into my field of vision. Her appearance was so random and coincidentally timed that at first I wasn't sure. I'd have thought it were a skunk or a giant rat before I would accept that Salem would reappear at the exact moment I looked outside.

But no, it was her, disshelved and confused, but it was her. I called her name and she looked at me for a second, perhaps herself unable to believe she had made it back home. She came inside and wandered around, totally ignoring me, as if she hadn't seen me in years and didn't recognize me. She drank two bowls of water, devoured some food, and continued wandering around the house. She smelled of fish and garbage.

I noticed she had trouble walking up and down stairs, and I feared that her leg was hurt. I placed my hands on it to see if she yelped in pain, but no, nothing. So I'm assuming that her muscles are just sore from walking all night.

It seemed like she was scared to sleep, even though she was obviously more fatigued than the US Army. So I had to sleep beside her, petting her until she passed out.

A state she's currently in as I type this. Glad to have her back, but still worried sick about her condition.

The last time she was running away she was sick. So I'm assuming the same about this time.



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:57:00 p.m. | Permalink

Enlightenement Shopping

I've been searching the net for a decent Zen temple. There's more than a couple of options, but everything seems so shady. I mean, the good ones seem good, but they're so damned expensive. The okay ones seem okay, but their locations are totally inaccessible to one who doesn't live in the area. The bad ones look hokey, have no lineages, and use phrases like "PURE LOVE" too many times (capitals, theirs.)

The one I'm leaning towards seems pretty decent, except for two reservations:

1) It's Korean Zen. All my experience has been with Japanese Soto and Chinese Ch'an and Tao. Not that this makes a huge difference to me.

2) The website paints them as extremely, dogmatically, anti-technology. As a guy who is currently typing on a laptop while listening to music with the TV on in the background...I'm feeling like I'm not gonna go over well. (Of course, this is coming from a temple that has a friggin website, lol.)

The Toronto Zen Centre, on the other hand, sounds absolutely perfect. Except for the fact, of course, that they charge $75 just for an introductory seminar. I'm wondering what they charge for regular membership, lol (surprise, surprise, it ain't listed on their website). I mean, I know monks gotta eat and shit. But that's crazy.

I really wish I could study with Brad Warner. But dude's all the way in Japan. Him, or Alan Watts. But Alan Watts is dead. They're the only two I've read who seem to both really get Buddhism, but also really not take it that earnestly. They see straight to the truth and treat the rest of the bullshit exactly as it is: bullshit. The robes and stuff, it serves its purpose; I understand and respect it, as did Watts and as does Warner. But on the other hand, also like Watts and Warner, you also have to realize its worthlessness.

*sigh*

er, I mean..

*ohm*

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:04:00 a.m. | Permalink

NaNoWriMoBlog

I was at work yesterday and noticed a group of people congregating in the corner, dragging together a bunch of separate tables into a makeshift conference table, all of them on laptops. I assumed they were working on a school project. One of them came up to order some drinks and I overheard snippets of their conversation with one of the baristas:

"entered a contest.."
"..30 000 people..."
"...one month..."

At first, I figured Naw, can't be the same thing. But eventually the nagging in the back of mind took over both my body and my natural abhorrence to confronting strangers and asking them questions.

And yes, they were all participants in the National Novel Writing Month contest! I had found my kindred spirits, disparate and disarmingly different though they were - men, women, white, asian, hip, nerdy, all there in front of me with the same purpose, the same perplexed and stressed expression, the same tired joy and glee and literary drive.

Although I was dismayed by their dedication, organization, and (comparatively) corpulent word counts, it comforted me nontheless to meet them. Seeing their faces gave me the extra kick I needed.

No, I won't finish this novel on time. But yes, I will finish it.

Which will make this my first finished project in a long while. And my longest finished project, ever.

It's been a good week or so of this type of motivation. A couple of new people have seen FOUND and so far I have received very positive feedback. One was Cortez, whose opinion actually holds weight with me. I also gave a copy to his sister and her boyfriend with the hopes that they might be interested in checking out mine and Kev's screenplay once it's done.

I don't wanna jinx anything, but, despite the slow start, I think this will be a good, productive year.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:38:00 a.m. | Permalink

RIP ODB.



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:41:00 a.m. | Permalink

Rocafella and Fallujah

Opening yesterday was alright, even though Ron and I didn't say a word to each other for the first hour or so (reminds me of those oh-so-lovely opening shifts with Mark). Zeyna was third-in and she gave me Dave's sister's e-mail address. She's a script supervisor for CTV and Dave wants me to give her a copy of FOUND. Which is all good, except I'm not sure why. I'm more than grateful that people like my work and want to spread it around, he's treating this like a big job interview, like this is my big break. Which has me confused, because I'm still unsure what this chick is supposed to do for me, why I am submitting my movie to her. If it's just for feedback, than fine, cool. But why is Dave trynna make me all nervous and shit? ("*You* have to get in contact with *her*, because she ain't gonna respect it if you're just trynna hook it up through her brother.") Hook what up?

After work I caught a matinee screening of Fade To Black, the Jay-Z concert movie. Wooooo. Blew me away. Best concert I've ever been to, and I wasn't even there. Best of all were the behind-the-scenes shit, the footage of him making the album. I looooved watching Timbaland, Pharrel, Kanye, Jay, Young Guru, all them behind the scenes, away from the spotlights and the celebrity images. These guys are so frickin talented and driven and passionate it's scary. Timabaland in the span of 5 minutes played about 20 of the sickest beats I have ever heard in my life (I'm still puzzled as to why Jay eventually went with the Brush Ya Shoulders Off beat, which has always sounded like lacklustre Timbo production to me...) Dude was drinking milk out of a jug and eating bananas and jumping up and down screaming.

Kanye as well. Holy shit, he played this one beat that blew my scalp back. I had to wheeze out in appreciation and awe. I'm surprised it didn't land Jay's or Kanye's album. There's so much more to these guys than what you hear on the radio.

Two amazing creative processes witnessed:

1) Pharrel making the beat to "Allure", just sitting there in the studio, quiet, pressing this key and that key, and then getting all ferverish and running his mouth off about "the end of Carlito's Way!!", phoning Jay on his cell and getting all excited.

2) Jay and Rick Rubin coming up with "99 Problems". Holy shit. Two geniuses at work. I wonder what happened to that first track they recorded though...that shit was hot.

The concert itself was breathtaking. Yonce reminded me why she's not a guilty pleasure. She plain kicks big fat ass. The Foxy brown set brought me waaay back. Mary J. on "song cry" was life changing. Questlove switching up the beat. Jay's freestyle over the LL song....."So cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it." Wooo.

That scene with Jay debating the politics of his music was priceless too.

Anways. I'll stop dickriding now.

In the evening I met up with Christianne downtown for the Tuesday Peace Week Lecture from Naomi Klein (of No Logo fame). I'm so glad I went to this. I was impressed that Klein kept it so recent and relevant, since the beginning of her talk sounded like it was going to be the same one I saw on TVO's Ideas a couple of weeks ago. But no, even though it was along the same lines, the majority of her lecture had to do with what was currently happening in Fallujah, as we speak.

I read the newspaper today and noticed some of what she was saying -- the slant, the dry fact-reporting without any commentary. "*blank* civilians dead." Civilians!

Eye-opening, fist raising, intelligent. I like how she kept it journalistic, professional, and let the facts speak for themselves. She didn't get passionate or personal or even ideological until the Q&A period at the end, and then only because she was being asked about her personal opinions. I forgot my copy of No Logo at home and couldn't get it signed.

Anyways: Jay-Z and Naomi Klein. He's a big reason why I got into hip-hop in the first place (Reasonable Doubt remains one of my favourite albums of all time), and she's a big reason why my politics are what they are today. It's cliche now to idolize either of them. But I do. So bite me.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 10:40:00 a.m. | Permalink

Absences.

Me and Chris went to watch Birth at the AMC, but we were an hour early for show time (the doors weren't even open yet). The plan was to go to the neighbouring Demetre's to pass the time, but we spotted Sifu Joey and Linda in the corner reading books (he reads like he fights, all squinty-eyed with his jaw clenched). I panicked and we bounced.

Why would the sight of my martial arts instructor send me fleeing into the wind? I'm not sure, but I have this feeling that I've disappointed him and that he hates me. For the botched up film project, for my never-showing-up-at-class, and for the over arching reason of me never becoming the fighter that everyone back at MAFA hoped I would choose to be.

He's now just another one of the teachers in life who I am now scared of due to my failing them. The least scared of sure...but he is nonetheless now on the list.

The other two (the Big Two) are (of course) Suzie Young and Ted Goosen. Both are two of my favorite instructors of all time, both I connected with outside of the classroom, both helped me out with some life issues, and both I hopelessly failed and ran away from, disappearing from their classes.

I had a similar incident earlier this year at U of T where I was 90% positive I found myself sitting next to Goosen in a cafeteria. Of course, I didn't have my glasses on, and there's the fact that Goosen teaches at York and not U of T...but naw, I'm still sure it was him. He was wearing Goosen's trademark hat, had the glasses, same height, and he talked like him. I can't forget that voice. Even the way he was sitting, the posture. Needless to say, I gathered my book, muttered some incoherent ramblings to Christianne, and then ran and hid under a staircase until my girlfriend came to rescue me.

Well, for one, I want to really make sure that Sifu Joey doesn't become one of these instructors. I ducked from him today and that's something I never want to do again. I've known Sifu since I was fourteen and his instruction has had a huge impact on the person I've become today. I will not do this again, not with him.

Also, as I sit here on a break from writing my novel, I look forward to the day when I've made my mark, whether it's a movie, a book, whatever...and I can drop it in front of Goosen and Young, and every teacher who's ever had an impact (Vukosa, Power), and say "There. I made it. You did it. Thank you. Sorry for everything. It was worth it. Thank you."

And then maybe I can walk through the city without shifty-eyeing every person who kinda looks like one of my ex-professors, head held high instead of hidden by a sweatshirt hoodie.

(Alliteration totally unintentional.)

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 9:53:00 p.m. | Permalink

Film Geek Speak

Saw The Incredibles last night and it surpassed all of my expectations. This was strong filmmaking on all fronts, cartoon or not. This was the first Pixar flick unhampered by Disney's big mouse paw influences and it shows. There was a noticeable absense of the "cuteness" that (for me) marred all of Pixar's previous efforts. There were some explicitly sexual jokes, and some decidely un-slapstick violence.

But what made this movie great was it's all around precision. I haven't seen classic screewriting this tight in so long. Payoffs, beats, character development, theme leaking out of every scene...my screenwriting instructor would wet her panties watching this.

The animation was also more than impressive. Pixar went after humans this time, and they more than pulled it off. Check the movements of the mouth, the characters' hair when wet -- awesome.

And for the geek in me, I loved all the comic book and comic movie references they used, without making the movie too post-modernly referential. The Fantasic Four homages, Sydrome's computer looking like cerebro from X2, the Spiderman 2 railroad scene, Syndrome's lair looking like Ozymandias's from Alan Moore's The Watchmen, Frozone's Iceman-like ice slides. Not to mention the homages to the chase scene in Return of the Jedi and the base-infiltration from the James Bond Moonraker.

One of the best movies I've seen in awhile, animated or not. Writer/director Brad Bird has my respect, and I'm looking forward now to checking out his Iron Giant, which I've heard is amazing (even thought it flopped in theatres).

Another director who I'm really excited about lately is David O' Russel. I group him together with Wes Anderson and Alexander Payne, in that they do these heart-wrenching small dramas about pain, but present them in such idiosyncratic, humorous ways. (Zach Braff tried to jock this with Garden State. In my opinion, he failed.)

Anywas, I liked I (Heart) Huckabees, but even more than that, I loved the interview I read in this month's Film Comment. I think David O' Russel is to me what Sophia Coppola is to my girlfriend -- that filmmaker who seems to be speaking from within me, asking all the right questions, exploring all the right themes. Whether his movies are amazing or not (I wouldn't say amazing, but they're consistently solid...he just hasn't made a masterpiece yet), they connect. I'll be looking forward to more from him as well.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:00:00 a.m. | Permalink

Shock and Awe

First off, this will not be an intelligent political commentary. I can't play pundit today, I can barely think straight. Please forgive me if I don't make sense, if my arguments are weak, if I'm overly emotional. Fuck you.

This is a sad day for me. On the plus side, my recently dormant political consciousness has once again been reawakened. What my girlfriend said is true, I guess. I am naive. I am idealistic. It was idealistic of me to believe that he could win another election. After the speeches, the foibles, the backtracking, the revisionism, the illegal war, the lying, the Iraq disaster, the public relations and human rights nightmare named Abu Graib, the fahrenheit movie, the outrage, the deaths, the pretzel, the still free bomber man, the unilateralism, the creationism, the ignorance, the God fearing, the God complex, the smirking, the smugness, the marches, the comedy sketches, the patriot act, the debates lost, the lives lost, the money spent, the global disapproval...

All it took was the passing of Reagan, a couple of boatmen, and a last act appearance by Osama to make all the people forget the truth and bite willingly into the bullshit.

These people are scared, Shook Ones part II. They're both scared and comfortable.

And I have nothing to say because they won fairly. There was no stolen election, no loss of the popular vote. No help from daddy. Just a campaign fought harder, dirtier, smarter.

I wonder if things would have been different under Dean. I look back to those days with Dean on the Rollingstone cover, how it all seemed pre-determined. How did it all fall apart so fast?

Kerry was a weak candidate. The Democrats are a weak party. 2008...Hilary Clinton and possibly Barack Obama. A couple of months ago the names excited me. Now, I'm not so sure. This is not a country that is looking for change...I naively thought it was. A woman president? A black vice president? No. No. They don't want that at all. They want security. In whatever form that comes. They want their daddy, his fat pockets full of money, his biceps full of comfort...no matter how drunk he is, how abusive, no matter how much the neighborhood hates him.

Voter turn out was strong, and I have to face this ugly truth that I don't want to: young people ain't shit. At least not in terms of voting. "Vote or Die". Thanks, Puff. But I look at the map and see the whole mid-section painting blood red. The midwest, the south. This is not the hiphop generation. No, "we" (the left leaning, progressive thinking raised on KRS-1 and Kurt Cobain) are much smaller than I thought. These, these are the Reagan kids. The sons of Reagan men. The JFK kids have come and gone. Some of them turned Republican after 911 I assume. We need a new JFK. Hell, even a new Clinton. One who won't be shot by bullets, torn down by sexual scandal.

We don't even need a revolution. We need a democrat who's not afraid to be a democrat. Who speaks to the working man, who speaks both to and of America the country, not America the ideology. Who talks like a visionary human instead of a bourgie business man. Who talks like an underdog, speaks to the underdog, makes everyone feel like an underdog spoken for, full of passion, hunger, sex, intelligence.

But enough about the past, enough about the future. What now? Since he doesn't have to worry about reelection, and since he now has the feeling of approval, or divine or democratic right, he has the motivation to do what ever he wants. I believe that in the next few years he will become even more radical than before. So what do we do? What do I do? I've never not been idealistic before. I feel somewhat lost.

For now, at least, I get the sleep that I didn't get last night.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:35:00 a.m. | Permalink

From Hell.

Halloween was a blast. I haven't gone full out like this since I was a lil' youngin. First, on the Friday, was Spookfest with my friends:


The Costume: Hellboy, standing in his b-boy stance, Hellboy, standing in his b-boy stance.



I don't know a sexier ninja. And I know Psylocke.



The crew: Table 4 representin.



I luhhhhh my costume.



Priscilla as the girl from the Ring, Leeovee as Storm. This picture fucks me up. I don't know what's creepier, this, or this:



*shiver* Mike as Rambo (2nd place for sexiest costume, lol), complete with stenciled on muscles, and Ian as Aileen Wuornous, complete with trailer trash dental work. Stuff of nightmares, both of them.


And then on Saturday, went to Magic Hill with Christianne's friends (otherwise known as "The Haunted Hay Ride".) This place was down 9th line in the middle of nowhere. Farms, cows, white people, and chainsaws:


Hey looks pa! Coloreds people!



Trick or Treat.

Didn't end up wearing the costume at work, though. Just wasn't in the mood. Lots of candy leftovers. Yum.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 9:54:00 p.m. | Permalink