Monthly Archives: January 2009

Katamari – The Movie!

Celebs and Media

kingcosmosThat’s right! I’m penning the script for the live action version of this runaway hit! Here’s the synopsis:

The movie opens with dawn over LA. A typical LA family are rising and having breakfast when suddenly, on the TV behind them, a news flash. A prominent scientist (played by Daniel Craig) has irrefutable proof that the big earthquake is going to finally come to California. He has graphs. The reason for this impending disaster?

The TV screen goes fuzzy and suddenly (with some great cinéma vérité hand-held video effects) we see a human over 110 stories tall, walking carelessly across Hollywood and Vine. He’s clad in tights, cape and has his head stuck in a brightly coloured tube, lengthwise, so his face sticks out the side. He is, the scientist tells us, The King Of Cosmos (played by Christopher Walken). Behind him, equally large, is his queen, in a light blue gown and similar head gear (Gwenneth Paltrow). They’re making a mess of things. Crap everywhere. Buildings are coming down and as they do, people’s everyday items fall to earth like rain (great anti-consumerism visuals here, in keeping with Disney’s Wall•E/BuyNLarge meme). The King of Cosmos isn’t too concerned with the damage he’s reaping, but he certainly is enamoured.

Sample Dialogue:

King of Cosmos: These. Things. They’re all. Over this. Place.
Queen: Oh do be careful!
KoC: I’m trying honey! This world certainly is. Full. Of things.

LA, San Francisco and Seattle are devastated. The King of Cosmos shows little remorse as he sits on the Rockies to rest from his careless rampage. Long shot of a single white crane flying high, higher, highest up to the face of the King. He sees the beauty of this bird and decides to put things right. Off into space he flies and on a distant world, commands his son, The Prince (played by Christopher Mintz-Plasse) to roll up the damage on earth, but doesn’t reveal he’s the culprit for such destruction. He entrusts The Prince with The Katamari Damancy, a powerful ball of cosmos dust that can set right anything it touches (I figure at this point the whole “pick things up as you roll” angle is pretty stupid for a movie and should be cut).

That’s as far as I got. I know there’s potential for character development (he befriends a slovenly slacker played by Tobey McGuire), blazingly amazingly great CGI and some great comedy bits too! Oh and a montage.

Sample Dialogue:

The Prince: My god! What whackjob did this?
Random Person (Played by George Lopez): (over EMT vehicles and general carnage sounds) Your dad!
The Prince: Yes. That’s right. I AM “rad”! Thank you!
Random Person: No you dick! YOUR DAD!
The Prince: My Dad is rad!

So Hollywood. Let’s do lunch!

Going Mad on the TTC

Toronto

The longest stretch of tunnel on the Yonge line is between Eglinton and Lawrence stations. That’s a fact.

If you stand right at the front of the car, right by the driver’s cabin, you are rarely pushed or shoved. I’ve been standing there for 4 years now when I go to work because it allows me to jigger with my iPhone in peace. That’s a fact.

It’s breezy there, so you can’t smell your fellow passengers. That’s a fact.

Three times in the past month, I’ve smelled smoke as soon as we’ve left Eglinton station. And it’s sustained until Lawrence station, where I get off. And not because someone new has moved near me and I can smell residual smoke, either. After Eglinton, the subway car usually empties out. I’ve been an avid non-smoker all my life and I notice even a small waft of smoke. It grosses me out. That’s a fact!

So with these facts, I am convinced that the driver is having a smoke break as he drives.

Sex Ed From A Book

Personal Bits, Queer stuff

So I mentioned before that my Dad tried to have The Talk with me once, during a road trip to Toronto. Lets step back a bit and see exactly where I got the fruit of knowledge.

I learned about the mechanics of sex from a series of books so cleverly left out in the upper hallway bookshelf for all to see. It was similar to a collection of encyclopedias (really thin encyclopedias) that if my siblings caught me looking at, I would endure days of ribbing and head-knookies. Each tome touching on certain physicality of sexuality such as “Your Body”, “Romance & Love” and “The Act of Creating a Baby” or some such titles. The 5 or 6 books in total were called “Your Health Yourself” or something. The title evades me, but I vividly remember the pink/blue colour scheme and trippy, almost “Joy of Sex” style illustrations. As I type this, I just now realize that maybe my parents left them there for us to leaf through without hiding them or without comment to avoid talking about sex with us. Which is cool, by my standards, because they did try.

These books were where I started to suspect something was up with me. While there was no mention of homosexuality anywhere in the books, I can remember going through a mental checklist of all the things that were happening to me as an adolescent …and coming up short on a couple points.

The book mentioned the arrival of “Pubic hair” …Can’t wait!

The book foretold “Zits” …Gross, but oddly excited about it!

And then the book dropped the prophetical “the desire for female companionship and dating”. …Uh?

One particular passage insisted that I would start to invest more interest in girls and would want to spend more time with them. I remember sitting, staring at that particular part and delving deep into myself and coming up empty every time. Nope. No feelings there. Then I would scoot over to the line drawings of penises. Penii?

joysexI would hunt out other books too, like a particularly odd passage in Peter Benchley’s Jaws, where the lead character takes what his wife thinks is an abnormally long piss, bathroom door open while holding a conversation. Now, I don’t have a yellow hankie fetish but at the time I was fascinated by that part and would re-read it often. Partially because of the thought of a man airing his beans and sausage and because of the total lack of privacy the character seemed not to need while peeing. In a house of 5 kids brought up Catholic, to urinate without being shy was beyond imagination. I also recall a book that lived in our TV room for the longest time I think called “The Grizzly” or “The Bear” (an obvious pulpy Jaws rip off from the 70s) where in one chapter, the author describes a woman attempting to make love to a near-tamed bear with disastrous results. But the greatest, most obvious book that formed my emerging sexuality was discovered while wandering downtown Toronto on one of my father’s business trips. I discovered the Sexuality section of the World’s Biggest Bookstore and their copy of “The Joys of Gay Sex”. My mind was blown. I couldn’t afford it and if I could, I doubt I would have had the charcoal-drawn cahones to even attempt the transaction. So I spent many an hour reading it while keeping a sharp eye out for meddling shop clerks.

I would later on encounter “The Joy of Gay Sex” tome when my father left it on the kitchen counter for me. Suggested reading when he learned that I was going to a gay club in a near by city… “Just to dance!” I would explain.

Testosterone, in rest and in motion

Distractions, Tech, Toronto

We’re having the February blahs two weeks early, folks. Both the weather, the job stress from December and the fact that Disney is 135 days away (That’s almost half a year to an overly dramatic teen ager or an infantile adult), has got me curmudgeonly. SharkBoy to the rescue! He produces two tickets to…

Monster Jam 2009, Toronto, Rogers Centre.

eradicator-mid-flightThe closest I’ve ever come to one of these displays of manlymanness was a tractor pull in Tillsonburg back when we were campers. Note the head of the bald daddy that wanders past in the video above-that was basically the flavour of the evening, including the hairy butt crack we could glimpse at every “jump up and shout” moment. Those moments made me feel like I was returning to church after years being away: it was the same awkwardness when everyone rose to their feet and pumped the air with their fists when a monster truck… did something… Oh? Am I to genuflect now? Yes it was “redneck”, if there is such a thing in Canada, yes they had a shameless display of post-911 patriotism, yes a car caught fire. The whole thing reminded me of where the Fleshfair scene from Spielberg’s A.I. was borne. The crowd was cheering for blood (motor oil?) at the mere rev of an engine. At one point the woman behind me was ready to run down to the field and rip the heart out of one of the drivers for doing so poorly. Poorly? For driving in circles and doing the odd jump? I use to do that when I borrowed Dad’s car as a teen.

casio-exilim-ex-s10-digital-camera-black-3I also got a new camera. We ditched the Canon A640 for something less powerful and more compact: the Casio Eilixim. SharkBoy’s new compact Canon made me envious of his portability and after some research I found a deal over on Kijiji for one, which is a whole other blog post about crap falling off a truck, but I digress. Anywhoo, this is a sweet little, thin camera, nearly half the width of SharkBoy’s Canon. I tried many pre-sets last night, including the “YouTube Opitimized video” setting. At a distance, the focus ain’t the greatest, you lose it when you zoom in or out. In fact, the digital zoom is quite grainy. But what I gave up in power, I certainly gained in compressed bulk and ease of use. I think I’ll get the hang of it fast.

So Many Ways To Sleep Badly

Celebs and Media, Distractions

So Many Ways To Sleep Badly

by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore
Author’s Blog
City Lights Books

A MiniBook Expo review (go get yours today!)

sleep_badly_coverDo you like your books to be complete, tidy, well laid out journeys? Do you like your story to unfold like releasing a master class origami swan with a hidden message tucked neatly inside the folds of paper? Do you like a dramatic or comedic build and then have all the pieces fall neatly into place 5 pages before the end?

Fuck off. Go get a Grisham.

So Many Ways To Sleep Badly is a memoir (Autobio? Loveletter? Suicide note?) to the sub-gay scene in San Francisco over a period of three years from 2001, when America went on the “offensive”. When I say “sub-gay” I’m lumping in several non-Will And Grace style homo categories, such as subversive queer punks that protest the homogeneity of Gay Pride Parades, stinky closeted Craigslist trolls, gender flipping transsexuals and sex trade workers with fibromyalgia.

Our hero(ine), our star, our beauty queen, the gender/race-fucking Mattilda, weaves a typical year in her(his) life through a barrage of stream of consciousness style writing that is so resonate, so vivid and yet at moments very ethereal, that there is no question that the cock (s)he is sucking does smell like disappointment and unfulfillable desire. SMWtSB is written with a delicate hand that within a sentence, will backhand you into a miserable sex hookup. So those with a weak constitution/morals system should be prepared to be appalled at her/his behaviour. Those who are more freer with their sensibilities will find a good laugh per page (and may identify with some situations). Mattilda will jump from describing a delicious dish (s)he rises in the middle of the night to eat, to a sexual exploit that had me spitting Dr Pepper through my nose:

I decide to come on my food – Jeremy never did it for me. It’s 3 a.m. pasta, and I’m on the phone sex line, whoops, I got disconnected. Over to the other one, and this guy can’t do it right, but I’m playing anyway. I shoot right into the pasta while it’s sitting demurely in the sink: scallions, string beans, bean sprouts, cilantro, lemon, tamari, rice vinegar – and come. I can’t really taste it.

Behind the outrageousness, there is tidbits of a darker Mattilda that peeks through, but, in my opinion, not enough for my liking. With fragmented memories and dreams dropped between yoga class descriptions, we get glimpses of child abuse and a romance that approaches respectable, making her the self made superstar she is in the book (I’m sticking with the feminine from here on in). But with no resolution, no closure to her “worn on her sleeve” pain, I’m left kind of empty – like cruising Craigslist at 4 a.m. I guess if she had supplied closure that would be conforming to a comfortable idea of a “novel”, something SMWtSP isn’t. SMWtSB reads more like a blog entries written without accepting the idea of the “last post” (and where art imitates life, her blog continues in the same vein but with more cohesive posts).

SMWtSB isn’t for the feint of heart. It’s explicit and hard to follow and makes as much sense as that guy wearing plastic bags on the subway you sat beside this morning. But if you don’t read it, you will miss out on some beautiful imagery, some hilarious social commentary and the possibility your horizons won’t be expanded.

Best Of Clist: Creepy Edition

General

Too many episodes of Dexter:

Glory hole can be exciting. Total amaze.

you comes by and walks in the door. Door is open. you steps up the the blanket hanging from the ceiling to the floor. It gots a hole in the blanket what you sticks your cock through. You stepps up to the blanket and puts your cock through it and hope my mouth is on the other side. I know some horror flicks have a sharp instrument on the other side and one slice and its gone but all I gonna do is suck it tender like. No bites or slices. So you come over and be on the edge of fun with my gloryhole magic.

Prince may not favour gay marriages, but that doesn’t mean he’s not looking 4 luv:

Should I just Give Up??

So i told my self that one day ill meet some one just out of the blue…but latley it seems as if everyone has found someone….i mean i work full time and i barely get to hang out with friends and when i do its like our plans flop. Ive tried this a couple of times and have meet some pretty cool guys…nothing serious just had a lil bit of fun. But now i think im looking for more…..fun, hang out and see where it goes from there. I dont even know why im using this lol…my friend told me to give it a shot but i rarley get responses lol. Now i dunt know whether its just a sign or something but honeslty im just looking for a cool avg guy between my age (19) to about 25. Im brown, and i know that might not be the first type of ‘gay guy’ u would wanna meet but thats ur decesion to make..im no flammer, im very str acting that sometimes ppl second guess themselves when i tell them im gay, i cant really host but im willing to travel if its a reasonable distant and only if were goin to have a good time(like hang out, play some vid games or w/e and then get into some fun stuff!)…anyways give me a shout if u wanna know more.

Wrestling With My Sister

Celebs and Media

rourke_hairYou all have heard by now that Mickey Rourke is cool again with his amazing performance in The Wrestler. It’s nice to see him back, even though he looks like he’s been dragged 1000 kilometres over gravel and straight through a hair dresser’s apprentice convention.

Back in the 90s my sister had moved and based herself out in Calgary and her visits back to Ontario were sporadic but when she did return, the visits were packed with dense conversation. Until one visit. We were talking about secret shames and she revealed that she loved professional wrestling.

Like the Olympics?

No. The WWF.

Pause. Blink. Pause.

Here’s a woman who is university educated, highly intelligent and articulate who admits to enjoying watching men manhandle each other in clumsy, yet painful choreography. Okay I get the (homo/hetero) erotic aspect of it: oiled musclemen in shorts, the coiffed hair, the buxom wives cheering from the side. I admit that as I write this I have a Stone Cold Steve Austin and Bill Goldberg action figures sitting over my computer but I couldn’t make the connection between my sister’s obvious upwardly mobile class and this “sport’s” base common denominator appeal.

Then I started to pay attention a little more closely. Behind the moves, behind the sweat and “folded chair to the head” bloodbaths, there was a drama being played out. The backstage drama was just as important as the physicality in the ring. And that action in the dressing rooms was utterly camp: adultery, career machinations, homoerotic longing, smack talk… Perfect for the gay world. I’m actually baffled as to why more gay men don’t enjoy wrestling. Well maybe they do and don’t admit it.

I’m kind of jazzed to see this movie. A few years back while camping in Southern Ontario, SharkBoy and a few friends went off to Ingersol for their annual summer fair. We discovered that the midway had a wrestling ring and bleachers set up and we stayed to watch a few rounds. We were entertained by some real “grass roots” wrestlers: a feisty woman who knocked the crap out of some skinny kid by actually throwing him off the top of the bleachers, an “evil” manager in a cheap suit and luchador mask and the crowd-pleasing hunk with the standard long shoulder length hair. It was entertaining, to say the least, especially to see SharkBoy start screaming when the wrestlers broke the “fourth wall” and jumped into the stands to tear each other apart. I get a sense that the “comeback” Rourke achieves lifts him from similar rings and into a shot at the big time.

I certainly hope so. The stain of those awful slew of movies during the 90s need to be washed from his hair.