cool shit

http://www.uams.edu/news/medical_myths/

La La La Do Dum Dee

In order to broaden the horizons of this project to more unnecessary lengths of non-classification, i've decided to turn this thing into partly a music blog, as that was part of our original idea. Plus, i might even get to break some copyright law in the process.


Bernice's music for the evening of february the thirteenth in the year of our lord two thousand eight.

Vampire Weekend - M79.

This song is pretty bitchin'. Vampire Weekend is officially my flavour of the week, and by that i mean i am about three weeks behind the people with real music blogs who matter, and think themselves to be cooler than us.
tells me what ya think

B.

Deadhead Deisel.

so as some of you might know, i have a not too healthy love affair with one mister shaquille o'neal.
this is true to the point where i once came in second at a public speaking tournament held at york university after talking entirely about shaq.
keeping in mind the big aristotle's recent decline in play, i still think our favourite legally obese black man (sorry fat albert, you dont exist.) will eat more babies (in a basketball sense, meaning ownage) for the rest of this year.

so peep this, i just saw it myself.



so. thats what bill walton thinks.
but here we are. lets talk about envy and jealousy in sports, as theres clearly some of both going on right there from each side.
is walton only saying that only for controversy?
why does this make sports so fascinating?
should stars take these things personally?
is there really a big man code?

This is becoming a problem

I'm standing in Arts with a class in four minutes, shuffling back and forth 'cause I really need to pee, and instead of peeing I'm checking this crazy blog for new comments.

My class is an hour and a half long. I probably won't make it.

Just thought you guys should know.

(If I had more time and was in a different kind of mood I'd write a real post about the implications of a desperate need to read the inspired ramblings of people I was sitting with 20 minutes ago. Some kinda neo-Luddite thing probably.)

Knock It Before You Try It

I am constantly being told, "don't knock it till you try it," or "just try it, you might like it." Most often my one particular friend who I think does this more to annoy me than for my own good (*cough cough* Bernice). And in general, this is proabably a good idea...you know, personal growth and blah blah blah. However, as I finsihed off my third cup of coffee today (in under an hour...not by best idea) I realised that trying new things is not always a good idea.

As I placed my mug back on the table (of course checking to make sure there wasn't a drop left) I remembered back to my first coffee. I was eight. I was with my dad and his friend at second cup, they were downing chocolate chillers to see who could go the longest without getting a brain freeze...clearly they were bored at work and neither are that bright. My dad quickly lost...hes kind of a pansy, and handed me the rest of his drink. I looked at it and handed it back to him and in my snotty kid way said, "why the hell are you giving this to me?" (yes I started swearing when I was eight too) He said, "try it." I said "no, I don't like coffee" He said common. I, again, said no. This went on for a while, (we are very stubborn people) eventually he yelled, "how do you know you don't like it if you have never tried it?" "Fine!" So I tried it, and ever since that day I have lost a signifiant portion of my money to coffee of all forms. Hot, iced, flavoured, black, little milk, red eyes etc.

So all I'm saying, is maybe, sometimes, its ok to knock it before you try it, so you don't end up unable to study cause your shaking from too much coffee intake.

At the Temple of Ishtar

What the fuck is up with clubs?

OK, dancing can be fun. For my part, I'm always gonna take slamdancing (or, honestly, skanking, or even just fistpumping) than going to a club and boppin' around to beats I could have written on my computer in half an hour--but to each his own, right? That's cool. It is a lot of fun when you get into it, any kind of dance. But that's because dance is powerful.

I've always maintained that moshing is a way to connect to the spirit of heavy music in a way that's aggressive, felt rather than thought, and deeply primal. It's rage in the storm, and while there's a code to it at most shows, the soul of the mosh pit will always be to mimic and thus channel the spirit of the music through the motions of your body. For me, all dancing--to music--has this purpose. I don't know anything about jazz or ballet or modern, but I know a little about music and how to connect to it through locomotion.

Except club dancing is different from slamdancing. Sure, you're channelling the spirit of the beats with your body. But what are you doing, really? Grinding up against someone, trying to grind up against someone, throwing your arms and hips all over the place so that it looks like you're having sex with yourself, or engaging in some weird dance-conversation with someone so that you can grind up against them later. The music you're hearing is specifically engineered, mixed, looped, and crossfaded to facilitate these purposes. In a very real way, the spirit of club music is sex itself. Sure it can be fun to dance to--in the sense that jumping around and being silly and revelling in movement can be fun--but what does it represent, what does it imply, this musical culture of casual sexualization?

I believe that what we pretend to do influences what we will do. Our offhand remarks desensitize us to our actions, our actions force us to bend our morals--and our personal Cosmo archives (or, to nod to Frank's post a few days ago, favourite porn sites) make us think about sex in different ways than we otherwise would. So naturally I find an activity totally designed for and comprised of movement that is intended, for whatever reason, to be redolent of the sex act highly suspect. Dance has power; sex also has power. The union of the two, either the apex or a sick parody of natural physicality, should maybe be given more consideration than it is. Because you can only pretend to have sex, to music, for so long; eventually something gives. And, indeed, I'd further suggest that this is also part of the culture. Guys don't like to dance, by and large; they like to pick up. And they do. From the pseudosex which is called dance (and which is made socially acceptable by a metronome attached to a subwoofer) to something else is an intentionally easy transition. No surprising observation here.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned--maybe, as has been suggested, I belong in the 15th century in the employ of the Pope--but I have a problem with that model. I think there's something demeaning about casual sex, and consequently I find something wholly sinister in what constitutes, through the shit-coloured glasses I seem to be wearing this evening, an abuse of the musical form to condone and promote animal depravity. This isn't to say there's anything wrong with casual sex in and of itself; nor should I criticize without experience--I leave clubs alone. But I notice it's strange that club dance is so sexualized. What else is sexualized like this kind of dancing is? What societal role does it fill? Would it be as much fun if it wasn't part of the mechanism I believe it is part of? Imagine clubs were full of people dressed in normal clothes and dancing like they wanted to go have picnics instead of put parts of themselves into one another. Would they still be fun?

I know this kind of emotion isn't really what the blog is intended for. And if you think I'm criticizing you, or your lifestyle--rest assured. I'm not. I just wanted to hear some thoughts on the subject that come from heads not coloured by my specific and personal prejudices. I realize too that I'm riding the same hobby-horse as I was responding to Frank's porn post. It's obviously important to me. So--what do you think? Am I wrong, or should I seek therapy, or what?

a vat of anchovies

Peep this article about the king of spain and a drunk bear.
let's go over what we just saw.
Spanish King Denies Shooting Drunk Bear.
good for you, juan carlos.
why is it that ridiculous news is made that much funnier when it involves a foreign king? especialy from a country that no longer has a ruling monarchy?
are spanish people going to lose support for the king over this?
is the king really that bad at hunting he cant shoot animals unless their senses are numbed?
and how the fuck does a bear get drunk?

Swish. Crack. Ping. Vroom?

Theres nothing inherently good about professional sports. by definition, a professional sporting event is a parade of anatomical freaks doing something scarily specific, like putting a round piece of rubber into a metal ring. again and again. also by definition these events are a ridiculous spectacle, expensive, loud, garish, and filled with people you would rather be.

But, of course, i love sports. as any red blooded human male does, little pleases me more than watching the magic of a lebron dunk or tiger's drive. why? i have no freaking clue. some argue that the appeal is the spectacle, or the story behind what's going on, or the constant, eye-popping physicality and intensity.

on one level i agree with this system, yet from time to time i realize that this idea is entirely invented. when Talented Swede comes across the ocean to play hockey for the Red Wings, what possible attachment could exist between him and the city of detroit? there is nothing, no reason for him to represent that city other than for what is pure chance. it happened to be the team he has now arbitrarily chosen to identify with.

but that's only the beginning. why can i read in twenty places online about a phone call which may or may not have taken place between Shaq and steve nash? because it adds to the story, which really doesn't exist in the first place. it's created to get people more emotionally invested in the game (or more people emotionally invested in the game, i havent decided that yet). apparently, the players care about what they do. because once we understand that the game matters to the players, and they are actual humans and not just 7'1" freaks, we are endeared to them. but they are not humans. humans take out garbage and invest people's money. these people compete with other freaks for our amusement, and arbitrary accolades. we all fall in love with our champions, our MVPs, but in actuality, they're empty. created.

I'd liken it to the similar phenomenon of celebrity culture. while i may not be a slave to it like i am to tiger woods' win streak, it seems like i can identify with someone for whom suri cruise is important enough to use good journalism on. there is no reason someone like ashton kutcher should be famous, other than that he's on tv alot. therefore, he must be on glossy paper alot, and on the bedroom walls of teenage girls alot. there is no reason for this, it just propagates itself, and only exists because we decide it will. we want someone we've never met to make us feel like the luckiest person on earth to maybe-see-on-the-street-in-new-york-one-day.



but, of course, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. There is no telling the power of imitation. when one dresses like JT, or holds a basketball pretending to be MJ, the fact that it is all constructed is exactly what makes it entirely attainable. if you can construct power and superiority that those who are famous have over you, then you can give it to yourself, even if only briefly and in the land of make believe. its the same cyborg as before, except this one loves you back.

What's In a Name?

When I find myself locked in a egotistical mind frame, I often Look at life as a quest for immortality. As an average student, of average intelligence, living an average life with no real distinguishable qualities setting me apart from the rest of the heard, doomed to be forgotten at the moment of my absence, I take comfort in knowing that the average man can overcome the odds on his journey to stardom. Perhaps the Sean Turner I think I know is just Sean Turner the Hollywood visual effects coordinator, or Sean Turner the Georgian republican, or Sean Turner of “Sean Turner Music”, thrown into the spotlight by some asshole too lazy to write the extra letter required for a Chuck Norris joke. I choose to believe otherwise. I believe Sean Turner was once your plane Jane, one in the same, John Doe Joe Blow. An average McGill student, just like myself, walking along the path of mediocrity with his sails set for a slow, painful, meaningless demise. Yet now he is famous for being average; Sean Turner is part of the 83% of Americans who don’t stretch before they exercise. Sean Turner is on a diet. Sean Turner might be gay. And as of recently, Sean Turner is watching Rambo. Sure he pees sitting down, but being average implies imperfection by definition. Sean Turner took matters into his own hands and created a legend that will live far longer then his mortal soul. Is it in this fashion that I dream of finding my own (dessert)ticket to immortality? Maybe not. But as it stands, this world knows a lot more about Sean Turner then they do of Terry Collier.

Z

Selective Memory

I was walking down University Street, Wednesday morning at about 11:25 am. Not late to class, but I have the tendency to test myself and see how fast I can make it to class. I won't leave my room until the last possible moment I can, to make it perfectly on time to class. I end up semi-sprinting down the hill, passing all the kiddies doubled up on the sidewalks, New York style, probably with a path of destruction in my way.
Anyways, I was in kind of a hurry. I ran into one of my frosh leaders whom I hadn't seen in months. I was pretty surprised that she recognized me, actually. I recognized her...but for some reason I felt like an underclassman again, just happy that someone remembered me enough to select me from a crowd and say hi. We shot the breeze for a couple of minutes, and I was happy to see her but I was also mid-sprint. There was also that awkward moment after she asked how life was, where I didn't quite know what to say. I tried to think of things I've been up to, and I reverted to my line "I'm always busy, but I couldn't tell you what I'm doing" because it seems to communicate my overall feeling towards the chaos that is university life. We said "see you around" or some bullshit, but I guess its inevitable we will, and next time it will be just as meaningless, but just as comforting. A reassurance that I am still the same person I was in August, at least on the outside.
50 feet further down University, I hear a car honk to my right. There's this dude waving manically through his window at me, a shit-eating grin on his face. It's like he hasn't seen me for three months, and all of a sudden we are best friends reunited. But I've never seen this guy in my life. I put up a hand, smile, taking a moment to make sure I don't know him, and continue on my way. This happens to me a lot. Whenever I meet someone, they tell me their cousin looks just like me, or I remind them of their camp friend, or even better..."Did you go to such-and-such Hebrew School?" One time I was telling my Dad about it in a restaurant, and 5 minutes later, the woman at the next table asked me if I had been in L.A. in the summer of 2004, because a girl had walked into her Mac store that looked just like me.
So I keep walking, thinking about all of these things, and outside the frat house, a girl in a touque (spell check??) gives me a huge grin, a wave and a "Hi!" as she passes me on the sidewalk. I have never seen her in my life either.
I touch my face. Did I wake up this morning with a new one? I look at my shadow, thinking itll show me my altered identity. But it doesn't. And furthermore, I was recognized by the frosh leader as who I was in August...did I pass out during Frosh and meet a bunch of random-ass people and make a bunch of friends that I don't remember?
It's a distinct possibility...

Downloaders Rejoice: I'm leaving You Alone

Through the last couple months of university I have found that one of the staples of college life is downloading. Downloading music, episodes of missed tv shows, porn and movies. I have never been a fan of downloading. While i don't think it should be illegal, I have never thought it should be done to the extreme it seems to be. It just kind of always felt wrong to me. I have never downloaded porn, (though my neighbor does put it on my computer everytime I leave my room) I never downlaod an episode of a tv shows I missed ( though honestly, I have watched the ones my friends did download) Ok, I also download music, though not full albums, just songs. If I like an entire album, I will probably buy it. I like to support artists, (not the Britney's and Nickelbacks who have more money than talent) and enjoy owning cds. Thats not to say im not above burning my friends cds, hey, someone bought it. Actually, as Iwrite this I realize I have no problem with downloading little bits, like the odd song, or odd tv episode. But the one thing I never downloaded and have always been bothered by when other people do, are movies and full seasons of tv shows. The thing is, I couldn't really tell you why. Becuase I DO downoad bits of music, and I DO watch the odd downloaded show. I just don't think movies or series in their entierty should be put on someones computer with the click of a button, or two...i really don't know how its done. But today I had a change of heart. I was reading an article from my Communication and Democracy course pack today by Jonathan Lethem called, "The ecstacy of Influence:a plagerism" (defenitly find it and read it, its really good) and was convinced that I was wrong (and that is not easy for me to say). Movies are made to entertain, they can be peices of art, or peices of crap, but they are meant to be seen. I am sure you have all seen those commercials where they akin downoading to stealing a car. This is ridiculous, I ahve always thoght so. For one good reason I quote this article, "for a car or handbag, once stolen, no longer is available to its owner, while the appropriation of an article" or in this case movie, "of 'intellectual property' leaves the original untouched." Downloading takes nothing away from the original, or from the people who made it. That being said, I still would never do it. For one thing, as I said earlier, I wouldn't know how...computers kinda scare me. More than that though, I appreciate too much the work that goes into a movie, or an hour drama. I appreciate how they're made and I want to be able to see every aspect of it. I want to have a clear picture on a big screen with crystal sound. I don't want to see a somewhat pixelized image with Japaneese subtitles on the bottom. But that's just me. I like the details and the technical aspects way to much. I like the experience, and watching a downloaded version hinders that experience for me. Even in the slightest way its just not worth it. But I am an odd individual. I love movies, they give me an escape, they give me inspiration and they just flat out entertain me. If you can do all this through your computer screen, then more power to ya. Doanloading expands an audiance, and as the article that started this all (in my own mind when I was trying to study) says, "the primary motivation for participating in the world of culture in first palce: to make the world larger."

Rich White Kids

Is college anything but a way to legitimize oligarchy and the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie by calling it meritocracy? Seriously?

In Defense of Our Good Name

Dessert tickets is a really good name. Here's why.

First, conversations over meals are the stuff that hold us together, in a practical sense. Some days they're the most stimulating part of my day. Some days they're even the only part of the day worth getting out of bed for.

But they can only really last so long. Sitting in the caf with the remains of the meal congealing on the tray with nothing but talk to sustain you--the talk is like a fire, and needs some kind of fuel to give it justification and prolong its life.

Dessert does that. Cup after cup of coffee, bowls of Jell-O, those weirdly starchy cookies, perhaps a Nanaimo bar--these are the things that prolong and enable engaging discussion.

And dessert tickets are thus the currency of conversation.

peace bitches.

PS. this random thought is an example of how i hope everyone uses this. or at least bernice. you know what i'm sayin.

Manifestations.

Dessert Tickets has opened. it is a forum which exists precisely for the purpose of itself, a blank canvas open to the work of a yet-to-be-determined number of people. As a collective we represent several things. This may sound obvious, since we are distinctly several people. some of us are similar, some different, but ideologically this space has the same meaning to all of us. It is a place for discussion, information, and communication, with one another and the external universe. We all say and do different things in different ways, and talk (write) about them in different manners. Therefore, in this space there will be information and opinions from a variety of sources, in a variety of styles, reflective of our personal philosophies, interests, and the grassroots organization that is the Dessert Tickets system.


Talking to the world is about countless things. there are ideas, sensitivities, and passions which influence people to say things, thats why we're here. we're to preach, baby.