In order to combat my natural inclinations toward sloth and idleness, I set myself a number of topics upon which to expound in such a way as to always have a ready excuse to prattle away. One such subject was the music that my iPod plays whilst I shower. I've always suspected that there was something a bit strange about the tracks that appear. On one occasion, I was driving northbound on Broadmoor Boulevard in Sherwood Park when the wee machine played a track from the Hillsborough Justice concert recorded live at Anfield in 1997. Ian Broudie of the Lightning Seeds was just introducing Holly Johnson to the stage, and as the music begins to swell behind him, he announces "This is for everyone who's ever walked down Hope Street." As I heard him say that over the car speakers, I replied aloud, "I've walked down Hope Street. From cathedral to cathedral. And I HOPE to get back there again." I snickered at my own half-witted comment. At that precise moment, I crested a hill and the billboard sign in front of the Salisbury United Church read, "There's always hope." I've been suspicious of the little Apple product ever since, and several similar incidents over time seem to have reinforced my wariness.
Moving on, here is what resonated in my bathroom earlier today:
- A Good Place - The Lightning Seeds
- Graffiti on the Train - Stereophonics
- Boys of Summer - Bree Sharp (Don Henley cover)
- Some Days Are Better Than Others - U2
- Can't Get It Out of My Head - Electric Light Orchestra
- Step On Me - The Cardigans
If these track titles form any sort of narrative, I'd love to hear it. Surely the human imagination can connect the imaginary dots of these musical notes to form some sort of meaningful constellation.
Tonight, I'm obliged to visit a friend's house to observe some national celebration-type activities. Before I set off, however, I thought I'd indulge one other of my prescribed avenues of discourse: a quick voyage through my consciousness and a brief insight into the sorts of associations my conscious and subconscious minds make on a regular basis. So if you've got your tickets and boarding passes, let's go for a quick trip.
- A friend posted an NRA propaganda video on Facebook. Thoroughly vile thing, and I'm sure that it's gone viral across the interwebs by now, but that led to —
- Charlton Heston, the NRA spokesbeing renowned for his scenery-chewing overacting skills, who starred in the often overlooked film —
- Gray Lady Down, which was a late seventies disaster movie that basically ripped off "Airplane" but placed the action in a submarine at the bottom of the Atlantic. The film also featured the ridiculously under-rated actor —
- Stephen McHattie, a fantastic Canadian actor who, for me, was the best part of the film adaptation of the Alan Moore graphic novel "The Watchmen." If you, gentle reader, have not seen the bonus DVD feature "Under The Hood," you are leading an incomplete and inauthentic existence. "Watchmen" was directed by Zack Snyder, who also directed Stephen McHattie in —
- "300" another graphic novel adaptation with a very stylish ambience, but a very subversive subtext. A stark and grim imitation of "300" just happened to be on my television two days ago, and it was awful. Not just by comparison, but as an object example of creative manifestation. The piece of visual garbage that functions as a cinematic abortion of the stuff with which Zack Snyder wipes his fundament after venting a particularly abrasive three-coil cornback rattler is —
- "The Bad Batch." This is where my narrative ends because this film was so amateurishly mediocre that I cannot stomach giving it more attention that a random puddle of dog vomit. If you ferociously masturbate to "300," but need the extra stimulus of "Sucker Punch" to reach a volcanic climax, this is your film.
That's it from me for now. Happy birthday Canada, and may populist despots worldwide tremble at the strength of our diversity and spirit of community.
Good night England, and the colonies.
—mARKUS
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