Where the Hell is Matt? in Vancouver!

Matt from WhereTheHellisMatt will be in Vancouver on September 5th!

I’m deliciously excited. As far as I’m concerned, he’s Living The Dream.

Hi folks

If you’re getting this email, you’ve either signed-up on my site to be notified or you’ve written to me and mentioned where you live. I’m finally coming to Canada to shoot clips for my new dancing video. This is an invitation to come out and join me.

The last video was about places. This one is about people. LOTS of people. So I’m not too concerned about the background; I just want a place where we can gather peaceably and dance badly without getting arrested.

No country in the world has sent as many emails about being included in the next video. I usually just go to one major city, but for Canada I’ll be visiting three. Here are the details:

Vancouver, BC – Wednesday, September 5th, dancing at 6pm at the Inukshuk
Sculpture near English Bay Park
Map: http://tinyurl.com/2l3skc

Toronto, ON – Sunday, September 9th, dancing at 3pm at HTO Park on the water
near the CN Tower
Map: http://tinyurl.com/2rregx

Montreal, QC – Tuesday, September 11th, dancing at 6pm at Place des Arts
Map: http://tinyurl.com/36p6c2

The images attached to this email show where to meet at each location.

I know a lot of you are nowhere near any of those places, but based on where most people are signing up from, those three make the most sense. Your country is enormous.

For folks willing to travel long distances, Craigslist.com has a ride share page for all three cities. Those offering rides and those in need of rides can go there. We recommend including “Where the Hell is Matt” in the title of your post so people can search more easily. Here are the ride share

Vancouver: http://vancouver.craigslist.org/rid/
Toronto: http://toronto.craigslist.org/rid/
Montreal: http://montreal.craigslist.org/rid/

Please reply to this email if you plan to attend and let us know how many people you think you’ll be bringing. It’ll help to give us an idea of how many to expect.

If you can’t make any of these locations, but you can reach US locations like Chicago, Boston, or New York, let us know and we’ll send you the appropriate invite.

Boring details below. Read no further if you can’t make it: if you can make it, here are your instructions

loves come from unexpected places

Astronomers find a gaping hole in the universe.

The Beazer family is having it rough. Their boys have a nasty habit of falling. Last summer Gord, the elder son, took a dive head first off the Courthouse roof as a deal went a little shady. Instant coma, they had to very delicately scrape his shattered head off the ground. The doctors were certain, after removing shards of his skull from his brain, that he would never wake up. Three days later, he did. A miracle, they said. He’s not as good at remembering numbers as he was, and sometimes his directions are wrong, but all he really has to show for the accident is an intensely amazing scar spider-webbing pale out of his left temple. Barely noticeable if he wears a cap.

This time, though, it’s the younger, John. This time, it was three stories. He tumbled off scaffolding, landing hard on his feet into a pile of gravel. The other way, it would have been raw cement. Another miracle. Brothers cursed and blessed all at once. The proverbial protection of drunks and fools. He’s been in surgery the past two days as they try to screw his spine back together. The doctors don’t know if he’ll ever walk again.

In a lot of ways, this news surprised me not at all. I’ve known them since I was approximately three. They have always been growing up poor, chewing-gum social, fighting, beating me at races, boosting me up into trees, but mostly being clichĂ©, rough-and-tumble, stupid boys. They’ve both been hit by cars multiple times, and once Gord was shot-gunned with rock-salt at five paces. (And possibly deserved it, neither one has ever been good at sticking to licit employment). But past all that, Gord bought me my first real slingshot, and John I found when he was missing when no one else could. We dealt with Brenda’s death together and always make sure to see each other at least once a year. We’ve made the shift from friends to family. These boys will never be heroes, never change the world, but I need them to be alive and as well as can be.

Here’s hoping.

the descriptions are terrifying

Oh hell, Lung went to Greece to shoot Angel‘s dream wedding, just in time for it to all catch fire. Half of it’s burned. At least 62 people are dead, whole villages have been consumed, and there’s a chance that the original site of the Olympics and a World Heritage site will go up in flames. Even worse, if reports are to be believed, it was started by an act of Arson.

A 65 year old man has been charged with arson and homicide in Greece while two youths are also being questioned. Eleven countries are sending planes …

Uncontrollable fires burned across Greece for a second night yesterday, with villages cut off from help by towering walls of flames …

I don’t know how well I’ll be sleeping tonight. All my best wishes to those affected.

edit: They’re fine. “Different part of Greece…I am on an island paradise (caldera of a volcano). Having a great time eating grilled sardines and roasted lamb with lemon sauce. Wish you were here.”

just another reason to miss l.a.

From Hauser, Robert M. 2002. “Meritocracy, cognitive ability, and the
sources of occupational success.”
CDE Working Paper 98-07 (rev).

Two homeless men walk past, communicating in sign-language. The unexpected precision of their motion almost disqualifies how slum dirty they are, the grime embedded in their skin and under their milky fingernails, but not quite. Instead they resonates like a picture captured by Rodney Smith. “Summer is meant to be beautiful,” a woman says, glancing at them like gathering clouds. She is a flower exhaling, expensive hair, an overly embroidered skirt, antique shoes found cheap at the flea market. Standing next to her are t-shirts, endless t-shirts, in a marching line with distressed jeans, hand held out beside her, clever slogans faded by repetition into a koan against design, painted blue on green and white. The past history of her seasonal relationships, embodied in one exquisitely average boy.

In 1908 a comet made up of loose dust and ice crashed into an ancient Siberian forest and flattened 2,150 kilometers of trees with a blast equal to 10-15 megatons, or 770-1155 Hiroshimas. It left no crater.

On her first night here, as I was curled in bed on the edge of sleep, my new flatmate burst into my room swinging two black dildoes the length and girth of her forearms. “See! They’re wiggly!” she exclaimed, waving them at me like porntastic ninja weapons from an exploitation flick. They did, in fact, wiggle. Alarmingly. I fumbled for my glasses, not entirely certain what I was looking at, dread curiosity goading me, and asked if she could swing them like pasties. She gladly obliged, holding their toy-sword handles in front of her nipples and jumping that particular burlesque hop guaranteed to send them whizzing in dangerous black-cock circles. My two cats, already traumatized by their recent move into my apartment, were terrified.

Warren interviews William Gibson regarding Spook Country.

After coming within breathing distance of a recurring romantic interest role on Bionic Woman, I spent a full day at the Art’s Centre pretending to be front row centre at the MTV Music Awards with one hundred and fourteen other starfucker pretty extras. Sitting in gossiping rows at cafeteria tables up on the mezzanine floor, bored eye-shadow and disco-ball boots, we looked like a misplaced mini-dress scene from Massive Attack’s Karmacoma, glamorously capable of sudden surrealism. When it finally came time to shake ourselves out of our hours spent in the cruel, overly air-conditioned hall, we then stood at the foot of a light-lined stage for hours instead, with nothing to do but traffic in speculation about the shiny people above us who came close enough to casually inspect.

One of the fledgling celebrities, recognized solely from a music video my last boyfriend worked on, was Avril Lavinge’s bass player. Blonde, unassuming, but monied, he looked younger than me. After a short discussion on the varying merits of different Les Paul’s, we settled into a conversation about the Avril manga recently produced by House of Parlance, the local publishing house that prints Shane’s poetry. He was enthusiastic, having just seen them in Hong Kong, prodding me to wonder at how far products travel and how lovely his life must be. I couldn’t imagine the scope of it, I said, and I meant it. I thought of L.A., the way the city looked from the plane, flying in. All those Spanish names strung together – Ana, Santa, Las, Los – dissolving. The groundbreaking scope of it. What that must be like every day for a solid week, but globally. Lights forever in every direction, always. When he was gone, I gave a short lecture on post-humanist body-modification, unexpected piercings, and RFID chips. “They take little shiny pieces of metal, implant them in your eye.” “Why?” “Because they can.”

The term “futureshock” refers to a psychological state having to do with informational overload most easily defined as too much change in too little time. It is invariably tied to technological paradigm shifts and can be applied to individuals as well as societies.



Bad news:

My camera is dead.

My friend’s mother knocked it off a chair onto some stone tiles and, though made it through the night, it wouldn’t turn on the next morning. The force of the blow might have shaken the hardware from its casing, but I really don’t know. I feel helpless, like a parent whose child’s in a coma or a recent amputee. I keep reaching for it, panicked, certain it’s been left behind, stolen, gone, before remembering that it’s at home, auseless, expensive lump of ergonomic silver plastic. I’m broken hearted, suffering from phantom-camera syndrome, cursing each missed soliloquy opportunity to point my lens and scratch that irrepressible shutter-bug itch.

Help finance a trip to the repair shop?

edit: Whoo! My friend’s mum’s going to help out, so no worries, but thank you!

don’t forget to look .up.

Tonight and early Monday morning are expected to be fabulous for meteor showers.

August Meteor Shower Will Be ‘A Great Show’

The annual Perseid meteor shower is expected to put on a great show this year, peaking in mid-August with a display of dozens of shooting stars each hour.

The Moon will be out of the way, leaving dark skies for good viewing as Earth plunges through an ancient stream of comet debris. Little bits, most no larger than sand grains, will vaporize in Earth’s atmosphere, creating sometimes-dramatic “shooting stars.”

“It’s going to be a great show,” said Bill Cooke of NASA’s Meteoroid Environment Office at the Marshall Space Flight Center in Alabama. “The Moon is new on August 12, which means no moonlight, dark skies and plenty of meteors.” This year the Perseid meteor shower could deliver one or two visible streaks every minute during peak times, Cooke said in a statement yesterday. Urban skywatchers will see fewer due to local light pollution.

The meteors in this shower all appear to emanate from the constellation Perseus. The best times to watch will be late night Aug. 12 through dawn Aug. 13.

“The August Perseids are among the strongest of the readily observed annual meteor showers, and at maximum activity nominally yield 90 or 100 meteors per hour,” said Joe Rao, SPACE.com’s Skywatching columnist. “However, observers with exceptional skies often record even larger numbers.”