not changing my mind on the reproduction thing

Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

Johnny Cash on Sesame Street

I’m sorry, apparently Canada had an attempted terrorist attack this week? What? Did anyone bother explaining to these people what we’re like here? Gruesomely chopping off Stephen Harper’s head would not send us into an epiphany of terror, we don’t like him. We sort of expect it to fall off anyway, like a withered vestigial limb might. Blowing up Parliament might raise some blood-pressure because it’s some of our only architecture, but I imagine it would become an interesting bit of novel political history to be bantered over dinner rather than a great loss to rally with. As far as I’m concerned, unless they blow up the CN tower, they’re out of luck. Poor sodden fools, let’s dip them in maple syrup and throw them to the moose for being ignorant in their goals.

Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain

I went to AJ’s after work yesterday and by midnight we had finished my gown. (My mother had been wonderfully helpful in procuring tulle for me while I was at work). While I was there sewing tulle to my crimson dupone silk, AJ was finishing a dress for another masque attendee, a black and white kimono that, in contrast to mine, perfectly exemplified the spray of different aesthetics I’m expecting to see Friday. It was fun. I’m going to have to dive-bomb them randomly with cookies later.

Experiments in junk food fountains

I could still fall in love with you

Does anyone know of a professional alteration shop that won’t break the bank?

I have a line on a fairly simple gown that I would like to be a bit more complex. Mostly the skirt ruched up with tulle put underneath as the green one is on this page, or with something on top, as the red one is, yes, flowery bits and all, if that’s easier. It’s about time I admitted myself a flowery bit of girlishness rather than have certain aspects of femininity drift blankly past me like a painted-eye shopping mall crowd after a fire.

  • the feeling of some love.

    Last Sunday I went to Seattle, and after a pleasant ride down with Brian’s friend, Jane, long silver hair, the pretty violet mannerisms of a relaxed bird, I found myself in the grand company of Eliza, who walks like she really means it and takes two hours to decide what to wear. It felt somehow like I was speaking with an echo of something I used to believe in. Three days of barely sleeping, being thrown into a car with a familiar stranger, a city I’m not familiar with. I felt like a game of jeweled cards was playing inside my head where I didn’t know the rules. I appreciated her friends, they were relaxing, a black clothes contingent to take my hand and keep me standing through my weary run. more pictures soon.

  • the feeling of my workplace.

    People have been repeatedly sending Robert Newman’s History of Oil to me the last few days. I am remiss in not posting it immediately, I’m sorry. (I forget more people read here). It’s a shining and clever monologue that discusses the critical political issues of war and energy use in an exceedingly accessible manner. He gracefully binds imperative information in laughter and ties it all up with a fun sense of charming levity, which may sounds silly, but it really needs to be seen to be properly understood. Watch it as soon as possible!

    Quote of the Day: Andrew: “I think it says bad things about me when I try and go to the site and get disappointed that no one has made it yet.”