Turd Burglars and Stall Neighbours

When I was in junior high, I remember reading a jokey email about games you can play in public bathrooms. Games that don't involve a slip of the foot into another person's stall for bathroom hanky panky. (Why anyone would initiate such activity after both parties rode the porcelain pony is an exasperated rant for another day.)

But back to my point.

One of the games was called "Turd Burglar." Here's how you play.

I did not see "The Sign" at Capital Ex

So last weekend was rather ho-hum. We found out the possession date for our house, so any thrills of spending adventures were quashed by the impending mortgage.

Instead I cleaned up, organized, washed the bathroom, and sorted recycling and donations. Now this week I hoped to break down and go through the childhood toys and take those to Goodwill on Friday. I was originally going to have a yardsale, but it feels better to give this stuff away. I had a leg up in life -- why shouldn't someone else get one too?

I know I'll need money but karmically, giving is better in the long run.

The weekend before we explored Capital Ex -- Edmonton's "hip" solution to the "outdated" Klondike Days. I hadn't been in a few years because it kinda sucks, costs too much for greasy fun, and is rather dull without the old klondike theme.

Last reminant of the klondike theme

 
I only went this year because my boyfriend and friend wanted to see Ace of Base.

Movie magic

I thought this week I would push you over to the YouTube to watch a video I shot and edited (for the first time ever!) for work. Check it out.

I'm no Spielberg, but it was hella fun and I hope to do more in the future.

The summer of George... er, me!

As part of my crusade to NOT be a shut-in this summer, I've been trying to get out into the community and see some new things. Two weekends ago, we hit up the Jurassic Forest. I'm not 10 years old but I appreciate science and paleontology and unusual attractions in the middle of nowhere, so how could I resist?

Dear George Lucas: Thank you for ruining Star Wars for me

I was pondering nerdy things today and feeling superior to "Potterheads," when I flashed back to my teenage years as a Star Wars geek.

At least until I dragged my parents to see Phantom Menace. (Sorry, Mom and Dad. I am truly sorry you had to see that.)

It's been over 10 years since I saw that piece of crap, but it still pisses me off and makes me resent the rest of the series. Don't argue with me, because here is the list of why these newer movies are such a shitfest (and thus why I can't go back to the Star Wars universe):

5.Yoda kicking ass
For real? The 900-year-old green mentor who can barely hobble to and from his Dagobah cave can, only 20 years prior, kick ass like Jet Lee on wires? Really? Did Lucas forget about how decrepit this old Jedi was? Just because he's transformed from lovable muppet to CGI doesn't mean you can take liberties with his abilities. He's still an old man/thing/muppet.

4. No muppets
I'll give you Ewoks. People seem to hate those little guys. But Yoda was once a muppet and it was cool, and in no way affected the storyline.

3. Natalie Portman giving the blandest performance of her life
And that's not the only problem. The older movies were successful because of the comraderie and chemistry between the characters. I don't see the love between Anakin and Padme; in fact, I think she got pregnant after shaking his hand.

2. Hayden Christenson turning Darth Vader into a little bitch
Vader was bad ass. Hayden Christenson is a little boy-band bitch. There are so many better young actors who could have run with that role and balanced the "troubled young Jedi" with "dark overlord of the Empire.

1. Where are all the Wookiees?
I don't want to live in an imaginery Star Wars world were Wookiees are only minor characters. I just can't abide it. Give me Chewie, or give me nothing.

Le sigh

I don't know what it is, but I can't talk about music anymore. Just blah about the whole thing right now, especially with my loved ones wholeheartedly embracing the free downloading. It's depressing.

And I've explored a variety of music genres: 50s rock, 80s new wave, metal, classical and more, and now I'm just tired. So I'm going to change things up a bit here, maybe talk about myself a bit and bore you with my local adventures and current projects. Stay tuned.

Walking in Memphis

Paying my respects to the King

In his short 42-year life, Elvis Presley made over 30 movies. In the 10-year period he did these movies (part of a contract super-manager Colonel Tom Parker hooked him up with) Presley was making about three movies a year.

I strongly believe this is why his '60s music suffered (too soundtracky -- every song has a shitty movie attached to it) and why anything after that was almost irrelevant. Yes, yes, he did have some gooders after 1968, but at this point he was wearing jumpsuits and doing karate moves on stage.

I recently went to Memphis on a whim to attend a concert (review to appear later...hopefully) and had to drop into Graceland to pay my respects. It's something all music lovers need to do. There is not an artist on this earth that hasn't been directly or indirectly influenced by Presley. Name any, and I will track their influences back to Presley.

Graceland is definitely an experience. Every exhibit leads back to a gift shop, so you're guaranteed to get more than your fill of merchandise. (I spent $130 in about 30 minutes.) And everything you see in the mansion itself just builds up the personality and presence of this handsome pioneer who loved his mama, doted on his daughter, proudly served his country and acted his heart out, that you feel like you knew him personally.

And then the tour takes you past his and his family's plots in the back garden. I wanted to cry. This man did so many subtle things to revolutionize music and, perhaps to change the world, that we take it for granted every day. I wanted to cry, but what for? It wouldn't do any good. He's been gone a long time and he'd only be a stranger to me if I bumped into him at a roadside Burger King.

One little inconsistency with Graceland though (that shouldn't deter you from visiting it or Memphis) -- there's no mention of the drug-addled "fat Elvis" anywhere. It is a part of his life, albeit a sad and disturbing part. But if you look closely at the displays of his jumpsuits, you can see the material pulled and clipped back. That way we don't have to remember him as a fat bastard and cruel joke of rock and rock excess.

We remember him as the King of Rock n'Roll. Long live the King!