What's good.

Red Road.

First full length by British filmmaker Andrea Arnold who won an Oscar (and a bunch of other awards) for her 2005 Short Film Wasp.

The film is a nicely slow unraveller that follows a woman named Jackie who works in Glasgow as a surveillance camera monitor(er?)... that is, she monitors the video feeds of various public space video cameras for crimes and other emergencies. One day on the job a glimpse of a certain man sets her off on a single-minded pursuit that is hinted at but not fully explained until near the film's conclusion.

Arnold does some truly interesting things with p.o.v., both in the video surveillance and in the filmed reality... especially (not trying to be titillating, but...) the sex scenes that are shot atypically and provocatively. In colour and composition it reminds me of Morvern Callar; another UK film by Scottish filmmaker Lynne Ramsay. Above all it is a very quiet film... very sparse dialogue... very rich imagery... and the violent undercurrent is always uneasily there, but still shocks when it erupts.
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I sporadically watch Vice TV... one of the few online video entertainment sites that actually provides something better than "real TV" and is watchable. This is part of an interview from one of their programs called Soft Focus that is hosted by Ian Svenonius, who used to front the groups Nation of Ulysses, The Make Up and Weird War. The interviewee is the enigmatic Will Oldham who records as Palace, Palace Bros. and most recently Bonnie 'Prince' Billy. This is part 3 of 4 recorded in front of an audience at the Guggenheim Museum.

umm...

Best question of the day.

Female student comes into the lab.

She: I don't know where I'm going... I have to watch a video for English class.

Me: I think you're in the right place, what movie is it?

She: Twelfth Night.

Me: Yeah... it's right back here (bringing her into the TV room and setting up the video). OK this is the VCR remote... and this is for the volume.

She: So I just sit here and watch it?

Me: ...yes.

How beauty is truth, but truth could be full of germs.

So I took a stretched out weekend and headed for Florenceville... taking off on Saturday night. Taking off on the Acadian Lines bus system is not exactly foolproof, though. It is proof of foolishness. The last two times I've taken the bus towards Carleton County I went to the terminal in Fredericton, getting there at least 15-20 minutes ahead of departure time (7:45pm). Both of those time I ended up waiting until around 8:30pm before the bus actually left. This time I thought I'd be pro-active while I bought my ticket and asked, "When is the bus really really leaving tonight?" The ticket agent said, "Well... we had to pull one of the buses off the line, but he should be here by 7:45pm, but he may be running late." Normally there are two buses that leave "around" the same time from Fredericton headed North... one is an Express that stops at Woodstock, Bristol, Edmundston and Riviere-du-Loup before transferring folks headed to Quebec City, Montreal Toronto, etc. The other non-express bus stops at all the little stations in NB to load/deliver people/parcels, etc. That is the one I usually get on... but tonight there would be only one bus, apparently.

When the bus pulled in (around 8:20pm, not 7:45pm) I had cleverly positioned myself near the loading area so I could be assured of getting a seat if there happened to be an overflow of passengers. The driver of the bus came out to unload/load luggage and I said, "so there's only one bus tonight, right?" He, of course, said, "No, no... this is the express, there'll be another one to take people... where are you going? Florenceville? Yeah, one is coming from Saint John, or, if not, they'll call you a cab instead?" There was an unspoken wouldn't that be lovely? tone to the cab part. So I went back in the terminal and sat, with a few others like me (or somewhat like me) and waited for the boarding announcement... that, of course, said the one and only bus would be loading all express and non-express passengers. A new driver was taking tickets, as the other's tour ended in F'ton, and I asked, "So this is the only bus, right?" He looked at me as though I had asked the most ridiculous question ever and said, "Of course, and there's plenty of room!" So I got on.

Luckily, once safely in Florenceville (since we got there much later than scheduled the Irving we stopped at was already closed and dark... the bus driver seemed especially concerned as I got out, asking, "Do you have anyone meeting you?" I told him I thought I'd be OK), the vibe was much more relaxed. On Sunday M. and I got up at a reasonable hour and she had prepared Crepes with ham, apple and other good stuff for filling. That and a good cup of coffee started things off quite nicely.

After noon we stopped at Burnt Normal, a coffee shop/artist gallery run by Lee Clark and his wife Yolanda. It's a cool little spot right on the river. We chatted with a few folks, including an older guy named Bill from Florida who was site-seeing from his camper and who presented me with a flier about exercising my brain through specialized physical movement. I said thanks.

When then headed up river a little ways to the Shiktehawk Stream Trail System for a walk in the woods.










It was successful.

For dinner we had Oktoberfest: German beer, sausages, carrots and I was given the task of making Spaetzle, a kind of German noodle dish I'd never had, or seen for that matter. It consisted of a batter concoction seasoned with fresh herbs and forced through a strainer to make the noodles. The kind M. had tried before in a restaurant was longish noodles, but I had no luck squeezing out more than little teardrop-like blobs into the boiling water. It looked a little like the picture linked above... but not quite. The boiled noodles were then fried with onion, mushroom and more herbs with a little chicken stock. All in all it came out successfully. I think.

The next day we meandered around Woodstock, doing a few errands. I was leaving on the afternoon bus that went through Florenceville around 2:30-3pm. That is if things went as planned. Which, as evidenced above, never really do with Acadian Lines. Rather than drive back to Florenceville I thought I may as well just leave from Woodstock... so I went to the Irving to buy a ticket. Except, of course, the bus no longer stopped there. Even though it had on Saturday night. Instead it now stopped at Murray's Esso up on the highway. OK. The bus was still about 3 hours from leaving, so we thought maybe we'd just go back to Florenceville after all. It a fit of paranoia we decided to call Acadian Lines and see if this change affected anything else... and lucky we did, since the bus didn't stop in Florenceville in the afternoon at all. Giving in to external pressures we went up to the highway and I bought a ticket at Murray's Esso. In fact I bought THE FIRST ticket at Murray's Esso, since this was THE FIRST run going through there. It took two ladies to sell me THE FIRST ticket, that I luckily had exact change for because they hadn't thought far enough ahead to have a till or change or stuff like that. Small details.

So... yes... I can faintly hear someone whispering, "why don't you get your license?" But perhaps another question is, "why doesn't another bus company set up shop in NB and kick their asses?"

So many questions.

Oh... the germ bit (see title). Not an hour after I got back home did my throat start getting tickly. This morning I woke up with a full blown sore esophagus and now I have the achey fever thing happening. And of course tonight is the first busy night of the year.

Makes you want to take a bus away from it all... almost.

Fun things to do.

(1) If you find a cell phone, like forgotten in a bar or restaurant, pick an overseas number you've researched and know to have a repeating recorded message, dial it, put the phone down and walk away.


(2) Pick a men's public washroom, preferably one you can monitor without appearing too creepy, especially one with a single urinal. To start put a penny in the urinal and leave. Check after fifteen or twenty minutes, then leave a nickel, then a dime, then a quarter, etc... all the way up to a Twonie. By keeping an eye on the bathroom you can discover who will pick up the smallest amount of pee-soaked coinage.


(3) When you answer the telephone and there's that 2-3 seconds of dead silence that warns you you're about to speak with a telemarketer, take a deep breath, prepare yourself, and when they say hello start your own telemarketing spiel on them. It's best if you have one already worked out, unless you have a flair for improvisation. My own favourite one so far has to do with helping out burned children... that way when they hesitate you can accuse them of supporting the burning of children. See if they can sell you better phone service then.

Mainly around the eyes...

We're into October, double digit deep...

So far there's been that familiar smell of dust burning off in the radiator from the first cold enough night.

There's been that evening when you stayed out later than expected and wished you'd brought your hoodie.

There's been mist in the ball field as the cold night air hits the infield dirt, warm from the traffic of two dozen feet.

Here's what I've been doing/thinking about:

I've been reading Mad Notions by John Lawrence Reynolds. Although the bulk of the story is set in Tennessee he is actual from Ontario. I hadn't read any "True Crime" books in quite a while... more or less burning through the genre a few years back researching Jack the Ripper for a couple of writing projects. I got my fill of Jack and moved on to more contemporary Serial Killer books... this is a little ahead of CSI and Se7en and the explosion of forensics/killer narratives we are still immersed in. This particular book is not about serial murder... rather it centers upon a single killling in a fairly small town/white trash setting. Reynolds takes what is a tawdry but fairly by-the-numbers homicide and works its simple details into a more interconnected story of a place that is superficially idyllic (iconic imagery of Dolly Parton included) but shot through by drug-related corruption that infects the infrastructure for more than a decade leading up to the murder. This backstory is much more interesting than the case itself... and ultimately the book is just a pretty good time-passer for slow stretches at the store.

Incidentally, one of the "Serial Killer" books I read back during that stretch that I'd really recommend... even if you aren't entirely interested in true crime is The Killer Department by Robert Cullen. It deals with the case of a Russian murderer, Andrei Chikatilo (left), who killed an estimated 52 people between 1978 and 1990, mostly children. While the psychology of the man responsible is fairly predictable if you've seen more than a couple of profiler crime dramas... the book deals more with the state of crime investigation before, during and after the period of Glasnost that transformed and opened up the then Soviet Union. Saddled with a strong party line stating serial murder was a "decadent western phenomena" impossible at home head investigator Viktor Burakov was stuck having to pursue dead end avenues searching out mental patients and homosexuals (because of a sexual component, but despite the fact both sexes were killed inclusively). The book was adapted into an equally well-told film called Citizen X, and in fact subsequent printings of the book took on this title.

Coincidentally... or perhaps not so much so... I've been watch season one of Dexter... a Showtime drama about a Miami forensics examiner (blood spatter analysis) who moonlights as a serial killer. I've had it recommended to me a few times and, despite reservations that the premise might be easily riddled with holes and/or clichés, I went ahead and grabbed it. While it isn't a slam-dunk, it is exceedingly well-acted, well-shot, and well-written... only occasionally faltering with police procedural and horror movie stock moments. The title character is constructed and portrayed in a complex, tightrope-walking, and ultimately convincing fashion that satisfies squeamish believability.


And for the ears...

A recent goodie box from Forced Exposure contained Samamidon's All is Well on Bedroom Community records. I had seen his first record mentioned online, how can you not notice something called But This Chicken Proved Falsehearted? But I'd not heard the music. All is Well features 10 traditional folk songs adapted by young Sam Amidon who is evidently gilded with tarnished vintage brass. He touches the sturdy acoustic tales with just enough whispery electronics to dislodge them from their dustbowls. Sam's style has echoes of Iron and Wine and Damien Jurado (two favourites) and is ridiculously easy to fall for. It comes out on October 23rd.

So there. Now you know.

Kerrections

It was pointed out by Jamliz that I made a mistake last post. The website work I credited to Cory Arcangel (Goooooogle [53Os].com), is actually by artist John Michael Boling. I made the mix-up reading an article in Tokion (see last post) and mixing up Arcangel's own work, featured later in the magazine, with Boling's who is recommended by Arcangel (see picture above).

Thanks for catching the screw-up... Cory's own work is outlined here. Good to find out someone's paying attention.