I admit it. I haven’t been active here lately. Even my filler seems forced. Though it shouldn’t be an excuse, my professional life has evoked the warrior within, and it has consumed my soul. A frakked up current work situation coupled with jumping through hoops for a new day job, along with slowly researching how to make an artistic passion a viable economic resource has in essence tapped me out. All that feels to be left right now is the hardened exterior. Not that this is a change for what most see in me, but for those who don’t know, there’s still a hint of humanity left in me.

It just hasn’t come up for air.

In a good while.

Case in point, the nearly complete misuse of this weekend. Only nearly in the absolute sense that I can’t talk ICBC out of the completely fucked notion that I have to take a 20 hour, 2 day, $200 course to ensure I’ve read about 30 pages of the commercial vehicle manual, regarding air brakes. Frak me gently with a chainsaw. Let’s just put it this way. There was a physical mock set up of a air brake system at the front of the class fully set up, and before the instructor arrived, I had already figured out 90% of the operational functions. Bah. We should rename ICBC to ‘Insurance Crooks of British Columbia’.

Still, the teacher does have some merit. He does break down the systems simply and accurately, so all can follow. And he did afford us one wake up call today, as also found in this CBC story:

Kamloops Oct 27, 1989: a runaway truck carrying steel beams takes a wrong turn off the highway and ends up on a steep grade with no brakes.

The truck hit 12 cars. The driver burned to death. Four other people were also killed. One was 4-year-old Corey James who was with a neighbour.

Corey’s father is Don James. Don feels the accident could have been prevented. He says the truck was unsafe, the driver —Travis Penner— was inexperienced. This was only his second trip through the mountains of British Columbia. His brakes were in such poor condition, they were practically useless. The brakes on the tractor part were improperly adjusted.

What was more shocking was that our instructor was privy to a first hand account by the first officers to arrive on the scene. They found the driver still alive, with the truck on fire. The driver was begging the officer to shoot him before he burned to death. The officer couldn’t do it, and witnessed the horrific death. It makes me wonder where the humane choice truly lies.

With that as an impetus, I can see why ICBC wants to push proper training. However, I do still digress. First, I really don’t think a weekend course can circumvent carelessness. Second, with all the motor vehicle accidents and increasingly rising insurance premiums therein due to carelessness in commuter vehicles as well as commercial, why is the air brake course the only one mandatory for licensing in this province?

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Just some twisted filler from Paul:

Celebrating the inner geek:

I’d like to re-write this for dragons (though I’m sure Dawn would use it for ammo when we fight :P)

9 Reasons Not To Date A T-Rex.

Real content to resume shortly.

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Not that this statement represents anything that we would consider news. Still, I found the Baltar Cylon Detector, to which this result was given:

SCAR

You are SCAR.

You’re not just a Cylon, you’re a Cylon spaceship! And you’re also their very best fighter, with more human kills than any other raider in the Cylon armada. You’re a crafty (and rather mean) devil, and every fighter pilot in the human fleet has it in for you. No worries, though: floating around space waiting for hapless vipers to fall into your trap means you get to skip all those annoying Cylon staff meetings.

Battlestar Galactica Wiki

I still don’t buy it. I’m NOT A FRAKKING TOASTER!

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

One thing came up in the twisted filler.

From Paul. Big shock there. Good ol’ Pastehead keeps finding these rarities. As such…

The Nietzsche Family Circus.

Feel free to email any humourous oddities to me at neolithicfilms@gmail.com.

I’m going to need a lot of them these days as our dear Vancouver Canucks are flirting with cellar dwelling this season in the Western Conference. Out are Naslund and Morrison. In come Steve Bernier, Ryan Johnson, Darcy Hordichuk, and Kyle Wellwood. And in all honesty, I do think the Canucks need to go to the drawing board, and definitely start from scratch. If the ‘Nucks do make a consistent commitment to the draft and developing young talent, they can be a force to reckon with in several years time. In the meantime, it makes for very boring hockey. However, there is a wild card. Is Luongo, our star goalie, willing to put up with a carbon copy of the dogma fed to him in Florida, a team that sucks so much balls? Though the direction is in the future, towards the youth, maybe getting a good name player to stand tall with the Sedin twins might give ol’ Bobby Lu enough motivation to stick around until the Canucks rise as a potent force once again.

I’ve been mulling it over, and there is one player I do have in mind. Not a free agent though, so it would have to be a trade…

So how about…

Kevin Bieksa to Philadelphia for Daniel Briere?

Briere’s probably not available, and the Flyers might not jump at this idea, but I do love the way Briere plays. Even if he beat the beloved Habs in the spring playoff dance (fucker).

Though in all sincerity, this isn’t the worst deal I’ve seen in the last 24 hours. Telus and Bell will start charging for incoming text messages starting in August. Revamping costs, or making a quick buck on the spam text message market that’s becoming as obnoxious as it has on the email front.

Thank fuck I’m with Rogers.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

And it’s been Dawn and my procrastination to get Adina’s spaying done (and it’s been paid for already) that this inevitable fact has come to light. Ipso facto, little Adina, aka Shitbrick, has been running around the apartment all week in heat. Her meows more resemble growls and passionate moans. When you pat her, she flat out presents itself. No Shitbrick, Daddy ain’t gonna pleasure you (or masturbate you with a Q-Tip).

Enter Tara. I can never understand why animals like to sniff others butts (or my armpits or feet after work for that matter), but it seems when little shitbrick is in heat, Tara has some maternal instinct or further attraction Shitbrick’s privates. But, though the naked eye would indicate just a sniff, the near orgasmic kitten bliss with near eyeballs rolling up into the back of the head indicate something more dire…

Our cats are lesbians.

This must be a sign. All creatures, great and small, do recognize the pleasure element in getting a piece of the cookie. Tara, being a mother herself (she was rescued at 4 months with a litter of her own, abandoned) knows the pleasure of the touch, and knows just how to turn Shitbrick on. And boy oh boy, she does such a good job.

On a functional perspective, the whole sexual dance has one end… the propagation of a species. Reproduction. And maybe this is a key point in Ben Stein’s documentary supporting intelligent design over evolution. It couldn’t have been by accident that reproduction is fun. It had to be programmed in there. Or at least that would be Ben Stein’s argument, as I’ve come to one conclusion as to why he supports the notion of fiction over science. He finally had that religious, earth shattering orgasm, to which like Shitbrick, was found muttering:

OH GOD! YES!

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Just a couple for today… Gods how I do like the feel of Black and White…

Dawn likes the colour shot I took of this better, though I do find the desaturated imaging shows better detail not only on the fruit but as well highlights the spider web.

Meh.

I should shoot Dawn more in black and white. She normally hates photos of herself, but somehow liked the shots I took of her the other day. Strange.

Maybe a few more pictures tomorrow.

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Three guesses who…

Anyhow…

Accent: I have none. I really don’t. Somehow I’m on the losing end of this argument. Dawn (and the whole daft lot from the other side of the pond from the female persuation… at least those I know) seem to think I have a ’sexy’ Canadian accent. I hate the sound of my voice. Bah. Still, ironically, the lot at work notice a UK twang. Bizarre. Must be Dawn’s influence to get me to say aluminum aluminium. Luckily I’m not speaking in that Gods awful Yorkshire dialect.

Breakfast or No Breakfast: Coffee. Seven cups to get up, and four more for breakfast. Nothing solid. Reader’s discretion as to whether or not that constitutes breakfast.

Chore I don’t care for: All of them? Cat litter changing is on the top of my list.

Dog or Cat: Well, we have a slut and a demon posing as two felines. Other cats I have had include a dedicated hunter, an instrument of war, and a ball of neurosis. Only had one dog (at three… for one day). Cats definitely, they have way more personality.

Essential Electronics: Macintosh, iPod, mobile phone, Canon Digital Rebel XT, Sony Playstation 2.

Favorite Cologne: AXE Effect Essence (it really DOES work… BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)

Gold or Silver: Gold is worth more, so Aurum.

Handbag I carry most often: My lunch bag. I’m a guy. I’m not meterosexual. Hence, no fashionable handbag.

Insomnia: Not lately. Work takes enough of the mickey outta me to keep me that wired.

Job Title: Officially… courier. Unofficially… peon/slave/fuel. Soon to be back to Electrician/Film Geek Extrodinaire.

Kids: Two piles of fluff that pass themselves off as cats named Tara and Adina. Nothing human though.

Living Arrangements: Barely. Low cost 1-bedroom apartment with Dawn, living 2 bridges away from work. Blech.

Most Admirable Trait: My intellect. I can think my way through (or out of) virtually anything.

Naughtiest Childhood Behavior: Too many to think of just one. Pompous winner, sore loser, dirty hockey player, violent golfing temper, arrogance, obsessing about superiority, and so on.

Overnight hospital stays: Last one when I had my appendix removed (at age 11). 23 years ago. Even when I had my knee worked on it was same day. I’m hoping to avoid these for a long time.

Phobias: Falling from height, my own mortality, being normal, being average.

Quote: Since you tagged me babe, you frakking asked for this:

“The Cylon War is long over, yet we must not forget the reasons why so many sacrificed so much in the cause of freedom. The cost of wearing the uniform can be high, but…
[very long pause]… sometimes it’s too high. You know, when we fought the Cylons, we did it to save ourselves from extinction. But we never answered the question “Why?” Why are we as a people worth saving? We still commit murder because of greed and spite, jealousy, and we still visit all of our sins upon our children. We refuse to accept the responsibility for anything that we’ve done, like we did with the Cylons. We decided to play God, create life. And when that life turned against us, we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it really wasn’t our fault, not really. You cannot play God then wash your hands of the things that you’ve created. Sooner or later, the day comes when you can’t hide from the things that you’ve done anymore.”

Commander William Adama

Reason to smile: Dawn, film calls, Leaf losses, Man U. losses.

Siblings: None biologically, though a bro and a sis out there (you know who you are).

Time I wake up: 5:00 AM, right at the crack of stupid. Though I’ve been getting up at 4:00 AM lately, and can’t settle after.

Unusual Talent or Skill: Again too many to mention just one. Complex mental arithmetic. Three dimensional visualization. Ear wiggling. Ability to make my cats come to me when they are called. Deep and comprehensive trivial and factual memory.

Vegetable I Refuse to Eat: Broccoli, brussel sprouts, cauliflower, mushy peas.

Worst Habit: Cracking every bone in my body in front of Dawn.

X-rays: Too many. Last set was my chest to examine the effects of smoking (I was a smoker… three and a half years smoke free now) on my lungs. I wonder which causes more cancer… the smoke or the X-Ray?

Yummy Stuff: Oreo Blizzards, fresh Italian Pasta, an unburnt risotto.

Zoo Animal I Like Most: Kimodo Dragon.

As for tags, well, I just don’t do tags. I tend to tag the wrong people. If you do it, comment back to let me know you have.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Even though in some parts of the Lower Mainland petrol hit just over $1.50 (thanks to the biggest asshole in British Columbia wonderful man in BC, Gordon Campbell). Ahh, the completely redundant Carbon Tax which the funds will be used only for the MLA’s beer and pretzels. Joy. With honest, hardworking people taking the proverbial dildo in the ass for said beer and pretzels.

Joy.

Well, as prices increase, I further become joyous that I’ve taken the daily commute to transit. With the current costs I’m saving close to $80 per month (while still insuring the car). And on a random, in the middle of the week one day holiday, it’s nice to get out, even for a short while.

Dawn and I hit Pacific Spirit Park this afternoon, and I took it upon myself to practice getting better at Black and White photography. Amazing how much technology is put into digital cameras to create more realistic colour, and I just simply go backwards a step. Still, I like the edgier, old feel (especially when shooting with a higher ISO value to give the grain feel as well).

Picture lot #1:

More photos from today to post tomorrow.

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It is funny what kind of thoughts creep into the mind the day after the day after. After a bender on Friday (I really have not much to do on Fridays as we have to wait to 2009 to find out who the twelfth toaster is), and severe hangover recovery on Saturday, today my brain almost reached solid state once again. And our neighbours in our building took us to the ‘Wack to go to a water park. And with temperatures up in the thirties, it was a good idea. Though in saying, the heat did not help much with the intellectual recuperation for day 2.

Now before I babble onward, I do have to say our neighbours also have recently purchased an RV and decided to take us down in it. And the AC was far from effective on this hot day. So, needless to say, the induced ADD was at a high. And when we filled up, the word just rang in my mind. Recreation (which was on the sign indicating recreational vehicles should be only at the outermost pumps). Recreation. Re-Creation. Re-Create. I started two mental tangents on the roots of the word. It’s root is in latin, recreare, to create again, to renew.

Renewal makes some sense for the use of the word. Going out and partaking in activity of a totally personal and enjoyable nature, getting away from the grind does renew the spirit of the individual, renews the vim and vigor for the daily battle that always ensues. To create again, however, seems to be lacking upon plain observation for me whilst hurtling oneself down a water slide.

Re-Creation. Hmmm. My first tangent had the ongoing and utterly retarded argument of Darwinism vs. Creationism rolling around in my brain. Can’t the Christians accept that maybe the work of fiction isn’t entirely accurate? It is quite possible that God, or the Gods planted the seeds of life and what we know now of life is evolved from said seeds. If Chaos Theory and Fractal analysis has taught us something, patterns in nature continue to repeat itself throughout the melodies and harmonies that exist in our worlds. We make meals from ’scratch’, that is a dish evolves from the correct cooking of it’s core ingredients. A team is stronger than the sum of it’s individual parts. Building materials are developed from core minerals and resources and utilized to be stronger. We very well could all have evolved from single celled organisms planted here millions of years ago.

But still, back to the application to recreational activity. Maybe what omnipotent beings may have done to start the dance of life, one truth remains. We die, and we also reproduce (though not necessarily in that order). Maybe an old inference of recreation was directly attributed to having children. And to further extrapolate, perhaps that the term of renewal is not only in reproducing new life to replace the old, but the renewal of the youthful spirit in the adults by the way they are touched by their children. Maybe. Though I don’t have children, so I really don’t know yet. Time will tell for me on that one.

The latter, re-create, has me thinking of this one Adama-esque line. “You cannot play God then wash your hands of the things that you’ve created. Sooner or later, the day comes when you can’t hide from the things that you’ve done anymore.” Now aside from the obvious flaw that a man from a polytheistic culture is referring to omnipotence as a unified being, maybe the term is a satirical remark to man’s desire to be God-like and immortal. As much as it’s denied, it seems to be an unconsciously practiced behaviour in the western world. Tragic fiction is strife with anti-heroes who flirt with deification, only to fall in the end. Maybe bringing the family to a ‘recreation spot’ is a form of recreating a short-term Eden in which the Alpha Male can fantasize about being the almighty, just one day before returning to the grind and responding ‘how high’ all week.

Still, I’m just trying to get my head around this. Why the fuck couldn’t Canada Day land on Monday this year so I don’t have to go back to frakking work for one day? Bah!

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.

Setting the way back machine for, oh, say four years ago in film school, I seem to remember the purpose of our Canadian film history course. We were told the main scope was to piss us off, depress us, or simply put, really hit home how shit domestic funded production is here. The discussion continued on to really rifle in a point. We as Canadians define ourselves in the negative, that is, what we are NOT. We are NOT American.

Thank the Gods for that simple mercy.

In a completely related subject, Ipsos Reid did a survey as to what Canadians think defines Canada. I wonder if anyone who commissioned the study actually watched The Greatest Canadian?

Some of the results seemed a little slanted. The first category on the hopper was most defining Canadian, with the following results:

1. Pierre Trudeau
2. Wayne Gretzky
3. Terry Fox
4. Céline Dion
5. John A. Macdonald
6. David Suzuki
7. Tommy Douglas
8. Stephen Harper
9. Lester Pearson
10. Maurice Richard

Most names fit for me, but what the fuck? Céline Dion? I mean, fuck me, there are dozens of musicians that fit the bill a whole lot better than that annoying diva. Shania Twain. Geddy Lee. Burton Cummings. Gordon Downie. Even Bryan Adams. But NOT Céline, please fuck Gods no!

Monsieur Harper also irritates the fuck outta me. Fair enough, he’s our PM at the moment, and as such sits in Canadian’s minds, but as he personification of Canada? He’s got a face like a smacked ass, and a personality that can be rivaled by river rock or pond scum. Can’t we as Canadians come up with something with zip? No actors hit the list. What about Mike Myers, Jim Carey, Dan Aykroyd, John Candy, Catherine O’Hara, Rick Mercer, Gordon Pinsent, Lorne Greene, Mary Walsh (or even better Marg Delahuntey), Gabrielle Miller, Brent Butt, Leslie Neilson, Raymond Burr, Mary Pickford, and so on, and so on… come on, anyone but Harper. Cripes, he wants to alter Canadian Parliament as so it is a carbon copy of the American system. Twat.

Defining place in Canada was also covered. Click the above link to get the list. My two cents are simple. How the fuck is Toronto more Canadian than Vancouver or Montreal?

The last I have any kind of contrast with is the defining Canadian accomplishment. The following definitely have merit:

1. Canadarm
2. Peacekeeping
3. Universal health care
4. Fredrick Banting - Insulin
5. Alexander Graham Bell - Telephone
6. Diversity, Multiculturalism
7. Canadian Constitution, Charter of Rights and Freedoms
8. Canadian national railway/railroad
9. Freedom
10. Avro Arrow project

Definitely all good accomplishments. I would like to submit a few others, simply for consideration (my beef is more about the limiting of the top ten items in the news story).

1972 Summit Series win over the USSR.
The Atlanta Flames moving to Calgary (the only professional team to leave a big money US market to come to Canada).
The first Canadian to learn to curve their stick using a blowtorch.
Warm Labatt 50.
Even though it’s in Toronto, the giant phallic erection next to the Rogers Centre.
Newfoundland Screech.
Americanized rugby with one less down.
The game of basketball.

And if all else fails, remember the following to bring pride to Canadian-hood:

The reason American beer is like sex in a canoe? It’s fucking close to water.

Interdum vos ut volvo ferrus six.