Chewing Pavement
To be performed somewhere between the styles of Minor Threat and Earth A.D. era Misfits.
Gonna eat a whole pot of pasta!
Gonna eat a whole pot of pasta!
Gonna eat a whole pot of pasta!
CARBOHYDRATE MASSACRE!
Gonna eat a big loaf of bread!
Gonna eat a big loaf of bread!
Gonna eat a big loaf of bread!
CARBOHYDRATE MASSACRE!
(chorus)
If I don’t get my carbs,
then I won’t be full!
If I don’t eat them up real soon
then someone’s gonna
DIE DIE DIE DIE!
Gonna eat a whole bag of rice!
Gonna eat a whole bag of rice!
Gonna eat a whole bag of rice!
CARBOHYDRATE MASSACRE!
Gonna eat a pound of potatoes!
Gonna eat a pound of potatoes!
Gonna eat a pound of potatoes!
CARBOHYDRATE MASSACRE!
(chorus)
(bridge)
CARBOHYDRATES!
CARBOHYDRATES!
SOME CARBOHYDRATES!
Are gonna DIE DIE DIE DIE
DIE DIE DIE DIE!
(chorus)
DIE DIE DIE DIE! (x 7)
DIE!
Instructions
“Our dreams don’t fit on your ballots” is a common rallying cry amongst anarchists, anti-globalisation activists, and a whole slew of other lefty-type “radicals.” Despite its provenance, I’m starting to think that it applies readily to just about anybody.
As a white male aged 18-36, I suppose I should feel almost as empowered as the people who actually hold the reigns: the old white boomers. But I don’t, not in the least bit. In what has been a steady slide since I came of age to vote, I have felt less and less involved in Canadian politics. The last year has been especially harsh. To say the least, the system is broken.
Though we have more than two functional federal parties with in this country, there are only two that stand a chance at holding power - and I despise both of them. Despite myself, I voted for the Federal Liberals in the most recent election, because Stéphane Dion’s Green Shift represented the best chance Canada had at getting any sort of climate change policy to speak of. (More on this in another post, perhaps, but suffice to say - I have basically become a single-issue voter. Climate change is the single most important challenge facing the whole of humanity right now. If we don’t act very strongly, and very soon, then we are all well-and-truly Fucked. Period.)
As everyone in Canada knows, the “Green Shaft” (sometimes I hate puns) and its sadly uncharismatic but intelligent architect failed in the polls, sending a bleak wave through Canadian politics. The defeat of Dion’s heavily environmental policy has left all major parties afraid of environmentalism, bolstering Canada’s willing participation in the Global Doom.
This shockwave also passed through provincial politics, an area in which some (very) small inroads have been made for environmentalism and climate policy. The result is that BC’s Provincial NDP party (who correlate more closely to the Federal Liberals) based their major platform plank on an “Axe the Tax” policy. This referred to a miniscule carbon tax put into place last year by the Provincial Liberals (who correlate more closely to the Federal Conservatives… the provincial Conservatives correlate most closely with whichever Federal party is the most batshit insane) and could only be described as political pandering at its worst. This is especially noteworthy since the NDP did actually have a Carbon policy of their own — but they refused to even list it on the bulleted policy list on their website. After writing a letter telling the NDP why I would not be voting for them, I wound up voting Green. (I almost voted for the Liberals in a symbolic single-issue gesture, but I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.)
The fact is, of course, that it doesn’t matter one lick who I voted for. The NDP were safe in my riding, and won easily. The main reason I bothered to vote at all in the provincial election was because of the referendum on a proposed voting system called Single-Transferrable Vote. A form of proportional representation, this system would have returned a semblance of franchise to disaffected extremists such as myself. I was hopeful that the system would win, given that it got 58% of the vote the last time a referendum was held (it needed 60% to pass). Instead, STV faced a massive scare campaign organized by various vested interests (BC Liberals and BC NDPs included) since STV would have done away with “safe” seats, and would have ensured that representatives would actually have to listen to their constituents or risk getting turfed. As I whined the next day, BC was offered democracy and turned it down.
The only thing that has left me with a glimmer of hope is that Vancouver’s Municipal election in 2008 saw almost entirely “progressive” representatives get elected. The lion’s share went to Vision Vancouver, a liberal/centrist type party. Most of the rest went to COPE and the Municipal Greens. The ruling right-wing NPA was left with a single member on the city council. Good riddance.
What have been the results of this progressive turn in Vancouver? Well, the Burrard Street Bridge now has a dedicated bicycle lane, for one thing. That’s nice. Unfortunately I can’t find a reference at the moment, but sometime over the past couple months I read that Vancouver’s Mayor requested that the Provincial Housing Minister put new rent control laws into place, in order to prevent “renovictions” (kicking tenants out for renovations, and then raising the rent to unaffordable levels) and other kinds of rent increases in the lead up to the Olympics. The result? The Housing Minister refused, claiming that rent-control laws would be “unfair” to landlords. Puke. (If anyone has a reference or can correct any mistakes I might have just made, please comment.)
If the Mayor of Vancouver can’t affect change on something as simple and common sense as rent control, what hope has a lowly animator? Even our political figures are disenfranched. The system is broken, and since nobody in this country (except for a small group of persistent protestors to whom I occasionally add my voice) is willing to make any noise about it, all I can really do is wait for the next political cycle and hope people smarten up a little.
PS. Sorry for the many months of silence. It’s been a hectic summer. Hopefully this rambly mess represents a return to a semblance of consistent posting.
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Lost Pets #4
The Lost Pet Series is a collection of photographs of lost pet flyers.
My artist statement can be found here.
(My brother is still in town, but his smarts and debating skills have left me with a lot of food for thought. Hopefully I’ll be able to crunch it all down to something legible after he leaves.)
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Lost Pets #3
The Lost Pet Series is a collection of photographs of lost pet flyers.
My artist statement can be found here.
(Expect more radio silence than normal, my brother’s in town and I’m very busy.)
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WE NEED NEW IDEAS (THERE ARE NONE)
For well over a year, I have been wearing worn-out shabby shoes. I have been wearing these unwearables because I have been searching for shoes that are biodegradable, recyclable, or both (that is, they can be dismantled into their component parts, some being composted and others recycled). With the possible exception of “Simple,” which is nearly impossible to find in Vancouver (and I will not buy something online that I haven’t tried on first) such shoes do not exist.
Now that my feet (and legs, and body) have started to complain loudly about the rotten scraps of fabric, rubber, and plastic that I wear on them, I am going to buy new shoes. Dirty ones. Non-biodegradable ones. Because that’s all there is.
The world is built in a very stupid way. Obviously I’m speaking in terms beyond shoes alone: nearly every product we can buy is still based on that nonsensical cradle-to-grave model. Why the hell aren’t there more closed loops, already? The book “Cradle to Cradle” explored that idea in 2001, and the concept of the closed loop has been around since long before then.
And yet, we still have the same old crap squelching through the same old rotting system, only to be left stinking in a landfill, never to biodegrade. When will manufacturers account for the disposal of their products? Amongst individuals, if a person makes a mess, they are expected to clean it up. Why is it different for the companies that make the garbage we eventually have to throw away? (Note: there is no “away,” there is only a country-sized maelstrom of plastic swirling in the Pacific Ocean.) Why can’t I return my worn out goods to the people who made them to dispose of?
I want to write more, but I’m literally inarticulate with rage. We’re sitting here at the twilight of an era; night is coming. Whether that night dawns on a green world or a scorched one will depend in no small part on what we finally decide to do with our waste. This is bigger than shoes, of course, but wouldn’t it be nicely poetic if we began by moving forward, shod with sustainability itself?
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Playground
Two weeks ago, I bought a skateboard. Before that purchase, I spent a grand total of about 5 minutes of my life on skateboards, spread over four or five separate occasions and probably about 10 years. On all but one occasion I bailed horribly and hilariously. The last time I tried was in Uganda, at the skate park my friend Brian helped to build. It’s the only skate park in Uganda, and the only skate park in Africa outside of South Africa. After my ridiculous fall, one of the local kids patted me on the back and said “Now you are Buganda!“ Tribal initiation by concrete.
But that’s not what this post is about. Still, I recommend checking out the above links, because they’ve got a lot of rad photos of African kids really shredding. They’re totally ‘core. The last link is a video that Brian put together.
No, this post is about the “Skater Eyes” that I’m starting to develop. I’ve always been quite aware of the “caps” that are put on the edges of curbs, benches, or handrails (basically they’re little knobs that stick out, preventing a skater from sliding along said edge with their board), but I’ve been less aware of generally skatable surfaces. All this is changing, now. The image I’ve attached was taken a couple years ago in Richmond, it’s the empty parking lot of the Lansdowne Centre. I took the photo because I was disgusted at the magnitude of emptiness. Parking lots kill communities and green spaces, while encouraging the use of cars (which also kill communities and greenspaces, among other things). That particular parking lot takes at least five minutes to traverse.
While I still hold the belief that the last thing the world needs is more parking lots, I’m starting to suffer some cognitive dissonance - because such a giant parking lot would be a lot of fun to skate around on. Since I am still not yet skilled enough to do anything more than push myself around in large circles, big flat surfaces like the Lansdowne parking lot are attractive, now. My neighbourhood, which I love so much, is terrible for skating. The roads are old, bumpy, and occasionally potholey. The same goes for the sidewalks. It’s got lots of hills. It’s largely residential, though there plenty of grocery stores, restaurants, and shops just a couple blocks away. The only parking lots are at schools, and are small, cracked, and often occupied (except on weekends). In other words: you can’t skate here! There’s nowhere to go!
Having a skateboard almost makes me wish that I lived in a residential neighbourhood in the suburbs. Smooth roads, driveways, very little traffic, and giant parking lots. The very things that I have grown to hate are suddenly appealing. It must be true what they say: Skateboards really do corrupt the youth. Maybe I’ll take up smoking, next.
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Acceptance
Say it with me: I am always already “beach-ready.”
‘Tis the Season of the Bootcamp. A poster at an intersection near my house touts the miracle of the “Booty Bootcamp” - for the ladies, according to the sign. My workplace is partnering with a local gym for a “Beach Ready Bootcamp.” Bootcamp, bootcamp, bootcamp, everywhere you look.
The notion that one’s body is unacceptable for public display after six months of winter’s indoor huddling is patently ludicrous. In this day of supposedly liberated ideals, it should be painfully unnecessary to say that it doesn’t matter what you look like. And yet, we have the bootcamp. A four-week (or so) intensive set of workout sessions, designed to whip our flabby sedentary bodies into a semblance of attactiveness, that we might once again attain a form suitable for scanty swimwear. As if we aren’t always already suitable to wear whatever we damn-well please.
Naturally, these bootcamps are largely just a symptom of entrenched unattainable ideals, but it’s hard to see language like “beach ready ” or “booty bootcamp” and not see them as a perpetuating engine of the Myth of the Perfect Physique. Mind, the notion of an intensive workout is not in itself an offensive thing. Exercise is healthy, and if the bootcamp gets an otherwise inactive person doing something physical, so much the better. But please don’t say it’s for the sake of beauty: it’s the wrong motivator, one that can only lead to dissatisfaction for all but the most dedicated, disciplined, and genetically lucky (not to mention the large role class plays in being able to “work out” at all).
Why do I even need to say this? Why are we still so cowed by society’s expectations that so many of us still believe ourselves to be ugly, when we are not? Why stress and strain to be beach-ready? We always already are.
In a later post, I will explore the linguistic implications of “working out” in one’s spare time, and the philosophical difficulties of repeatedly lifting the same heavy objects for hours on end.
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Moonscape
How do you punish a person who feels no remorse? Along the same lines, what is a suitable punishment for those who have driven the world to financial ruin? What retribution awaits the architects of our disaster?
Abject poverty.
The rest of their lives spent in squalor, stewing weevil-infested maize meal on a rudimentary charcoal cooker, sleeping under a tattered mosquito net on a mat covering a dirt floor, sparingly using toxic bug spray to keep the cockroaches out. Ideally there would be some poetic justice in the choice of under-developed country in which they’d be deposited - a nation riven by resource wars fueled by first-world demand that they helped drive, or perhaps a state crippled by arbitrary debts and structural-adjustment loans (though perhaps that is a net cast too wide for any satisfying irony).
What distinguishes this punishment from simple revenge is that its “victims” would have as much freedom as most members of the society in which they find themselves. In some cases their freedom would be greater: if they caught malaria, diarrhea, or some other disease, they would be given medicine without charge. In other cases, it would be less. Specifically, they would not be allowed any income greater than the what the majority of that country’s extreme poor take in: $1-2 a day - though this would be provided for them if they could not find work.
What’s more, their income would rise with that of the poorest billion. Not that they would have any say in the matter (the poor never do - and criminals have even less), but if a decent standard of living became universal, it would be not be denied to the indicted.
Is this unfair? Is it too lenient?
(A similar question is asked in the Propagandhi song “Iteration” - scroll to the bottom at the link for the lyrics. I think they do a better job of answering it than I did here.)
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Lost Pets #2
The Lost Pet Series is a collection of photographs of lost pet flyers.
My artist statement can be found here.
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Lansdowne Mall, Richmond
As I mentioned in my post about the point of art, “entertainment” and “art” are two different things. They often mingle, and it can sometimes be difficult to tell them apart (this becomes a matter of taste). What distinguishes entertaining art from artistic entertainment can be something as subtle as context (is it in a gallery?) If it’s possible to categorize creative works - a big “if” - then it might be easiest to create a scatterplot chart (not unlike the “political compass“) with “Art” on one axis and “Entertainment” on another. It would be incorrect to imagine Art and Entertainment as two ends of one spectrum.
I have finally started to come around to the idea that it’s possible for television programming to count as art. What kept me so hostile to that notion for so long is the fact that all TV shows exist, more or less, to provide captive audiences for advertisers. If advertising did not exist, neither would television as we know it. However, this view is too simplistic. It doesn’t recognize that the form of TV (serialized, long-term storytelling) can be applied to any end and should rightfully be distinguished from the content, nor does it admit that it is possible to work within the system without necessarily being complicit to it. What’s more, the advent of DVD, PVRs, and a vibrant bittorrent community is starting to leave advertisers out of the loop - allowing TV shows to be appreciated without interruption.
Naturally, most TV has a high entertainment quotient. If it didn’t, there would be no captive eyes for advertisers - a televised Damien Hirst would not last very long. (Now that I think about it, Invader Zim might be the nearest equivalent. It survived for one season before being cancelled unceremoniously. Invader Zim was art.)
On the art side, Dada is a classic example of a playful and entertaining art movement that can be found in any art history text book (though there are still those who would question whether Dada works are “art” - and Dada works would not have been considered “entertaining” when they were new). Works like Yves Klein’s “Leap into the Void” carry that playful and inquisitive thread onward, but are far too open-ended to be entertainment. Banksy is perhaps the best known contemporary artist to really tread the line between art and entertainment, while remaining on the side of the former (his work, though popular and marketable, is still far too subversive to be fit into the latter box).
I’m not really ready to tackle a definition of art (or of entertainment) - at the moment I’m still trying to organize my thoughts. For now I will settle for some assorted postulates:
• Advertising (billboards, tv spots, etc.) can never be art. It can be extremely creative or beautiful, but it does not exist for its own sake (though art doesn’t need to), and any message or feeling it might convey is secondary to the primary objective of selling a product. Indeed, any “aesthetic emotions” it achieves are funnelled towards the product and away from the work itself. (I should note that as of this writing I haven’t read the linked essay in a very long time. I link it because, as far as I know, Bell coined the phrase “aesthetic emotion.”)
• Art does not need to be an object (a painting, a sculpture), does not need to live in a gallery, and does not even need be “intended” as art. Again, context is key. Damien Hirst called 9/11 “wicked, but a work of art,” and on some level I can’t help but agree.
• Entertainment turns the brain off. Art turns the brain on. This is part of the reason why entertainment is so popular: after a long day at work, most people haven’t got the energy to feed a busy brain. For what it’s worth, an “off” switch for the brain can be useful. After any strenuous exercise, mental or physical, an aid to relaxation and recovery is essential.
The problem lies not in the fact that entertainment exists and is the mental equivalent of processed sugar, but in the fact that entertaining candied treats are not appropriately balanced by healthful and challenging art works. We have work to do!
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