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At 2:53 PM on November 19th, Sara Stearnes shared an awkward kiss, heard Pete Duncan insult her boyfriend, felt him press his feet against hers as she lay on a moving baggage carousel in the Richardson International Airport, then she uttered a line and closed her eyes, effectively, unintentionally cinematically ending "Take Me Out Tonight," the debut novel by Jonathon Symons. Glory be.

Now comes the hard part, trying to sell this monstrosity.
I went to the dentist today for a cleaning. There is an extremely cute hygenist who works at this dentist. She cleaned my teeth. I need to go back in two weeks for a follow-up cleaning with her.

 I'm 33 pages through the average american male by chad kultgen and here is my assessment so far: fuck fuck shit fuck i wanna fuck this bitch i wanna fuck that bitch i hate my girlfriend but she sucks my cock cocksucking assfucking tittyfucking fuck fuck blowjob assfuck gayassfuck remember this girl who i assfucked assholes fuck fuck sleep video games assfucking done.

maybe i'm just  a romantic who feels that female character development does not mean the only development of their arc brings them from blowjobs to anal sex, but that's just me. I also no longer doubt my own literary skills because if this can be published, then anything can. 
 I meant to write a post about this initally on Sunday, then my mind cooled down and I forgot about it, but now my anger has been restored to its full fledged capacity, and the reason for this is the seeming disappearance of one of my favorite albums ever from the music establishment known as itunes, as likely supported by maplemusic. 

On Saturday, I picked up a Stylus, which I hadn't done for about two years, largely because the last time I wrote for Stylus, I took out nine cd's, wrote nine reviews in one night, and when I picked up the issue, found that only two of those nine made it in, thus rendering the other seven hours I spent on reviewing cd's, not to mention the twenty some hours listening to them, completly useless. Needless to say, I was a little peeved. so, anyways, i picked up a stylus, and thought, yeah, i like this, i could get back into it again. then i came across a review for the album "wooden bones" by pilot speed. i was like whaa? for those of you unaware, pilot speed used to be this incredibly gifted, passionate, mournful, lively, band known as Pilate. I once interviewed Pilate. If I hadn't begun the interview with "I always thought Pilate was misunderstood. He should get his due," the interview would've been legendary. Anyways, Pilate released an album called Caught By The Window, which was one of those albums that when I heard it for the first time, i felt like Johnny Depp listening to Dylan, like William Miller listening to "Sparks." This was life-changing stuff. the opening guitar riff for into your hideout made me ask for a guitar for christmas. i wanted to put fall down on mix cd's and hand them to pretty girls in the hallway because you don't know sorrow until you listened to fall down. then there was alright. oh, jesus christ, alright. yes, it was a two-bit rip-off of the scientist, but still. i can't tell you how many times i listened to that bad boy in the dark.
i saw them play twice, once with the dears, once in a sold out show at the west end, and goddamn if those weren't events. these guys could hold the audience on their every note.
then they released a lackluster follow-up devoid of the emotion and ballsy crescendos of their debut, and i wasn't impressed. something was off. then they changed their name to Pilot Speed, played a show at the west end that was barely half-full, and people stopped caring about whatever the fuck pilot speed had to say.
Now comes the review in Stylus, mention this new album as their second. what the fuck, i shouted drunkenly in the backseat of a Yaris outside a 7-11 while Jill tried to figure out the FastPay. This isn't Pilot Speed's second album. It's their third. It's their second shitty album, probably! I cooled down, until tonight when, curiousity peaked, i itunes stored pilot speed, and dude, found the same thing, the mention of wooden bones as pilot speed's fine second album. yo! motherfuckers! Pilot Speed once had one of the greatest band names of all time, under which they released an album called Caught By The Window! Listen to it! It is their first! It will kick you in the balls and then leap over a chainlink fence to peer at your reaction from afar! 

Peace out.
 I was perusing the internet on my lunch break, as I always do, and thought i would see what the future Mrs. Jon Symons was up to. What I found was this:


and photos of her and Drew Barrymore smooching. Oh Ellen, how do I love thee? let me count the ways. Oh and this was all on the same website with GQUK's photos of Lily Allen as woman of the year. This might be the greatest day ever.
 1. When I was eleven, I became an insane hypochondriac, the type, at eleven, who if I wasn't dying of cancer, was dying of AIDS. I even, don't tell anyone, had to go see the school psychologist twice a week for three months. Jon Symons was one weird little kid. For a brief few months recently, this eleven year old version of me returned, (Oh my God, my arm feels tired. ALS!) It was from sleeping on it uncomfortably.  (My head hurts and I have a rash! It's meningitis!) It was a swollen wisdom tooth and molar that caused the headache and new laundry soap that caused the rash. This seems to be under control, with my vow never too look up serious illnesses on wikipedia. although today, I had to get a tetanus shot, then read that too much anti-bodies in the blood can result in necrotic tissue of the arm. Thus, I spent most of today wondering if I forgot about a tetanus shot in the previous ten years and staring at my arm. Nothing happened and now I'm cured of that disorder.

2. Reason for said tetanus shot is that I am travelling to Israel with my dad in June and needed vaccine boosters.  I was planning on a trip to Scotland at this time anyways, so when the oppurtunity arose I was like Israel? Why the fuck not? The cool thing is that the plan of taking a trip was to FINISH WRITING MY NOVEL, and the Israel trip, though it's with my dad and is friends, may actually be a wicked productive time, as his friends are both profs at the U of M, and when I told them I was a writer then were like "well, finish the book why don't you? then we can read it. such a smart boy." It's gonna be awesome. I'm actually looking forward to the Stations of the Cross, Herod's Tomb and the Mount of Olives. Go Jesus!

3. I am, after this entry, writing an e-mail to Catherine Hunter to enquire about Advanced CW for next year. My grad school rejection stung a tad, but I'm hoping, fingers crossed, that if I can study under Dr. Hunter, I can go back to kicking some writerly ass. If the Advanced course is unavailable, then dudes, there's a mystery writing workshop. I can finally explore my dream idea: A Victorian-era detective novel written not in Victorian but in Chandler-era pulp noir style and set amongst the beggars and thieves of Mayhew era London wherein the detective is an Irish-Catholic priest who lives above a brothel and earns a living performing exorcisms with the assistance of a lovable Cockney chimney sweep and his sometime ally, a sadistic rat-catcher who can be turned to either side of the good vs. evil spectrum with the right offer. When the barmaid from downstairs arrives at his door to ask him to find her parapelegic sister, missing after an evening with the dandy son of a Duke, shit gets Victorianasty. Kick ass. Wait. I think I read this before. It was called Dickens and Constantine and From Hell had a hot sexy mutant baby.
 1) I received the Red Ring of Death this afternoon. My XBOX is no-more. It wouldn't have bothered me so much if I hadn't just finished mounting a ninth-inning 10-run comeback that will never happen again.

2) I could've won a prize on the British Radio by somehow knowing that Peter Garrett was the lead singer of MIdnight Oil and he's know the Minister of the Environment for the Australian Labour Party. It depresses me that my brain manages to retain the information that Peter Garrett is the lead singer of Midnight Oil and it couldn't tell you when to turn right on a red or the things that girls like.
1- Generally, I'm not a fan of horror films, particularly remakes of seventies classics, but the new Last House On The Left looks quite so bad it's good for the following reasons- a) Garrett Dillahunt, who should appear in every movie ever made. Not just every modern western as he does now. (Deadwood, No Country For Old Men, The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford, The Road) He doesn't even have to be the villian, either, aforementioned films as proof, though that would be preffered. He could just hang around in the background and have like, one line. b) The trailer has a wicked sweet cover of one of my least favorite songs of all time. c) Vigilante justice. Aww yiaaah.

2- English gals that make music are the best gals in the world. I am madly in love with Laura Marling at the moment, I don't even like folk, that's how in love with her I am, and am strangely intrigued by La Roux. It's like Annie Lennox and Robert Smith had a beautiful baby girl. It also saddens me that I went looking for English indie rock albums today and a I'm out of the loop on who the Brit press likes these days, and b)the only place I can get them is from England.

3- I'm too lazy to post youtubes and myspaces of these things I mentioned, so look them up. It's not like anyone reads this anyways.

4- I just re-read that and I'm pretty sure I'm the only person alive who loved TAOJJBTCRF. Everyone I know says it's too long. It's too boring. Nothing happens. Zooey's only in it for five seconds. I can't understand Casey Affleck. Give it some time, friends. Give it some time. Visually, it's one of the most beautiful films I've ever seen, and the script is masterful. Yes, masterful. Listen to the narration and watch Sam Rockwell work and you'll get it.
I just read my last couple of posts and realized that I should think about things before posting them in a rage.

Anyways, today I began the arduous and frightening process of assembling grad school applications to Concordia and Guelph for a Creative Writing MFA by soliciting recommendations from three of my profs. I may need to send another out, since one was a two for one deal (it was a course taught by two profs,) but we'll cross that bridge when the time comes. It actually freaked out like an hour later while I was at work and realized that if accepted into one of these programs, I will not be here next year, instead I'll be alone in the big city. My mom tried to guilt me into staying too, whining about how if i leave, who'll tell her when there's sports on and who will she talk to about her day, she's gonna sit on the couch and do nothing for two years wondering why I never call, but, at the same time, I realized it's something I want to do, something I'm ready to do. I'm hoping I really get into Concordia, as I would rather live in Montreal, a) because I fucking loved it when I was there last year, though it may have been partly because of the company I kept, and b) thinking, in some subconsious way, that if I walk the same streets once trod by Cohen and Richler it might make me some kind of literary genius. Really I think it's because I'd be a lot more independent. Toronto, I have nothing against, if I get in there, I get in, but there's already a loosely assembled plan that I live in my aunt and uncle's basement which I'm kind of hesitant to do, for the sole reason that I have some kind of weird complex where I always feel like I'm intruding on someone wherever I go and I'd spend two years thinking "well, what if they want to do this but can't because some weird nephew lives in the basement." Also, the Montreal campus is in the city, I can walk to the Harbourfront or to the Oratory every day if I wanted to, while the Toronto campus is in Etobicoke, the suburbs, so it wouldn't really be the same as living in Toronto.

I also totally developed a crush on Tegan and Sara, Tegan moreso. I concluded a few months ago that I have some weird attraction only for androgynous gals with piercings and tattoos who have choppy, angular haircuts, wear jeans, vintage jackets and band t-shirts and rock out on the bass guitar. Or the electric guitar. Or the keyboards. Oh and usually they end up being like "dudes? yeah. I've never been attracted to dudes."
So, I'll start by saying that I'm pretty psyched about a certain film starring a certain nocturnal mammal pretending gentleman that comes out this weekend. Probably see it either Friday or Sunday, 'cuz i don't really care if I'm first in line for things, I just like checking them out. I'm more jacked about the Watchmen trailer before it though. I watched it on Apple but it wasn't the same. That is, by the way, why I'm against seeing it on IMAX for a first viewing. Trailers are the most necessary part of the theatre experience, and IMAX bypasses.

I also rented a bunch of movies this weekend and watched most of them either at one in the morning, when I generally do most of my movie watching, or on my day off on Monday. Here's the rundown.

The Ruins
Oh us? Oh, we're vine, thanks.Collapse )

I won't tell my Dad how it ends.Collapse )

The Tracey Fragments

We were good as married in my mind, but married in my mind's no good.Collapse )