Denial

 

I’m always interested in things that give me an insight into the minds of others, and particularly anything that’s relevant to things I’m writing. Of course, I’m slightly overloaded with information for current projects, but I don’t really want to use it all.

Christians Confess and Dear God are two great sites that (like Post Secret before them) really help you understand that what people say, or how they act, isn’t necessarily a sign of all that’s going on. Of course, sometimes everything that’s going on is on the surface, and sometimes people are just nuts, or wrong.

It’s all part of the fun, huh?

Incidentally, I really, really like the design of Dear God!

In a delusional sandbox

 

Gabe Chouinard returns from his exile after a year, and has some comments on not paying me for work he commisioned as well as abandoning Gary Wassner having taken considerable payment for work he then didn’t do. I’ve said what I have to say there, but in case you just can’t be arsed, it’s also here.

Gabe, there was nothing wrong with the misplaced anger directed your way. I’m not going to get in a shit flinging contest about it, but you hired me to do work. I did it (even after you wandered off, but that’s because Gary was - by chance - a mate, so I didn’t want to leave the project unfinished) and I got paid out of his pocket. Now, I’m still pissed at you because it led me to half the agreed price (just after I had bought a flat, no less, and had mortgage payments each month for the first time in my twenty-three years), but I can let it go.

On the other hand, you walked away having taken considerably more from Gary, and having delivered nothing. You were a fake. Completely phoney. What you need to do, in order to get out of this with no bad reputation except for a few failed projects, is to write him a cheque for the amount you ran off with. At least, that’s what would make you what you claim in your post today. As far as I know, Gary just wants to let it go, so let’s not blow this out of proportion, but I’m not about to let you go on deluding yourself and others with posts like this.

I trust this won’t be deleted.

I expect that coffee drinking, cigarette wielding, hyperbole spouting ninjas will arrive imminently.

Protected: Twice in a year

 

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Crazy Auntie Doris

 

The more I read about Doris Lessing, the more I adore her. Today, I was reading this article from The Telegraph, which I discovered in Kultureflash (a must read weekly for anyone with a mite of intelligence or culture in their body). Quite aside from her astute words here on terrorism and reactions - if you’re American, you might want to sit down before you read that - she is entirely on the ball despite her age, and unafraid to called a spade a spade. I admire that.

The room, by the way, is everything you would hope a literary giant’s sitting-room might be: splendidly chaotic, more like a junk shop. Someone once said that Lessing seemed to camp out in her own home. There are stacks of books, some teetering precariously, a globe, a tray of nick-nacks, African masks, oil paintings, rugs rucked up on the floor.

I love this description of her space. It makes me want to write a collection of pseudo-interviews with literati - anyone want to volunteer? Heh. I can’t promise I’ll be nice, but it would be fun.

Hal Duncan’s flat has a door into Evenfall, by the way…

(in parenthesis)

 

On Friday night, I went to see my friend Adam’s performance as the joint lead of (in parenthesis). The play is unique in that the characters are suspended in climbing harnesses from the ceiling of a specially constructed stage, being victims of a climbing accident that has taken place some time before (I presume a while, since the characters appear quite settled in their predicament, and the only shock comes when they begin to realise their possible fate). The entire play was solid and the idea superb, but it almost falls into a predictable rut. We’ve all seen situations where characters are marooned or in some inescapable situation, and before long talk inevitably runs through humour, despair, regret and the questions of what is to come. In this, however, (in parenthesis) is redeemed in the way that Frank, Adam’s character, is used as a moral compass for the other lead before being disposed of in an original and moving way.

I don’t think I am being bias towards my friend when I say that he was the best actor in the show… in fact, this review from Music OMH says of the double-header:

Both plays are very well acted, with Adam Sopp as the unfortunate Frank in [in parenthesis] and Syrus Lowe as Baron, the more morally grounded of the three lads in Overspill, leaving the most lasting impression.

… and Adam is a an experienced actor (and the current voice of Harry Potter on the Playstation games!) so you might expect good things, but I can say without question that it is infinitely surreal to see you friend hanging dead in a harness for approximately fifteen minutes.

News and travels

 

I haven’t had much time to post recently, what with crazy life, crazy work at various places, and crazy everything else. I’ve been pelting through a few projects for Imagination, working away at weekends and in the evenings for other clients, and trying to crank out enough work to pay for my flat and cocktails. It hasn’t been fun.

Here comes the fun, though! On Wednesday I’m off to see Jonathan Ross interview Will Smith for his show (which airs Friday night). That ought to be pretty cool, and the particular guestlist is a great perk of having his agents as a client. Even more exciting: I am off to Chicago at the end of July for Lollapalooza (woo, Radiohead, Raconteurs, et cetara?) and then on to New York for a few weeks escaping my miserable country, nailing this God-damned novel - literally, this novel is going to be damned by God I expect, ‘cos there’s got to be consequences for naming it I Know What You Did Last Supper, featuring Christians, brainwashing, and dirty laundry - and briefly catching up with many friends in the great city for coffee, drinks, lunch and dinner. Hey, I got eighteen days to kill, and at least one of them each day! Fill me in on your schedules, New York people (via email, perhaps).

Feed me pins

 

John Scalzi has made a good post about a great point, regarding Fox News’ ludicrous articles and use of black slang to ridicule Barack Obama. I’m not going to expand on the media’s portrayal of Obama’s race for right or wrong - and the BBC have been at it as well, with their lingering and out of place images of him clinking fists on stage and then patting his wife on the arse as they leave the stage - because frankly, it shouldn’t be relevant. Racism is ridiculous; it is so last century, childish, unintelligent and both socially and scientifically retarded. It has no right to exist, and the fact that Fox News thinks they can play with it, and the fact that people will vote a certain way because of it just makes me sad.

I’m not sure what is more ridiculous. Fox News’ obsession with black, or this elderly painter’s:

I’m pretty sure the old guy puts it perfectly:

“The moon is weeping in its secret room…”

Verbatim - Chris vs. Ryan

 

Ilya Popov, Ryan Howse and I often have the most amusing conversations at stupid o’clock in the morning - the only time when Ryan in Canada, Ilya in Australia, and myself in England are at equal levels of awakeness and sobriety. This happens more often now than a couple of years back when I was in New Zealand, Ilya was in Canada, and Ryan was in South Korea!

Last week we were discussing the BBC News’ top articles of the day which featured, amongst others:
A baby jumping competition!
Police planted weed on civilians, then forgetting?
… and (this one was a while ago):
Wife carrying (which I fully intend to do some day if I can find a, err, wife?)

So, onwards with the quoteworthy conversation excerpts:

Ryan Howse:
THANK YOU FOR AWESOME NEWS ARTICLES WHAT THE HELL

Chris:
Hahaha, they WERE awesome! Like… what the hell?

Ryan Howse:
Baby jumping!

Chris:
I think the weed police one was the best - “hope… hopefully they’ll give it back?”

Ryan Howse
It was a hit around the office!

Chris
Yeah… baby jumping might be the best, in fact. Man, one year I’m going to spend training, and I’m just going to tell people I’m training to ‘compete’ the next year… and then I’m going to do baby jumping and wife carrying IN THE SAME YEAR. I’ll be that hardcore.

Ryan Howse:
AT THE SAME TIME

Chris Billett:
AT THE SAME TIME! Wh… whoa. Oh my God; you’re onto something!

Ryan Howse:
THIS IS A NUCLEAR FAMILY MOTHERFUCKERS

Touché.

On sanitary documentaries

 

I was just playing email tennis with Karen Traviss*, eventually getting onto how I was watching Jesus Camp while I wrote, and nattering about documentaries in general. I realised that there were several that have really impressed me recently, and that I watch them more and more for research. The one on right now is full of great material for I Know What You Did Last Supper. Anyway, here’s a few recommendations for the discerning documentary dabbler:

Grizzly Man:
It’s the story of Timothy Treadwell (who, it turns out, could have trodden better). Werner Herzog chucks a fantastic voice over - and some posthumous interviews with related people - onto the hours and hours of footage that Treadwell left. The fact that the subject was absolutely batshit insane suits Herzo fairly well.
(Website)
(YouTube Trailer)

Jesus Camp:
I have a special place in my heart for this film, having been a bit of a pseudo-victim of the kind of fundamentalist brainwashing it describes as a child. It follows a group of Christian characters in America and their adventures in conditioning children. Honestly? It makes you feel sick, but it’s enlightening too.
(Website)
(YouTube Trailer)

The Bridge:
When my boss suggested checking this film out at the ICA in London, I thought it was a great idea. Eric Steel filmed Golden Gate Bridge for a year, and made a documentary about the people who leapt from it. The most interesting aspect is when they start talking to the families, at which point I wonder if I would have perhaps taken the swim that needs no towel a little sooner, but also of interest is the implication that perhaps the overbearing nature of the bridge in San Francisco is somewhat related to their choice.
(Website)
(YouTube Trailer)

Wisconsin Death Trip:
This is a documentary about weird shit in a colonial American town. Think Tim Burton meets John White! The residents of Blackwater Falls experience varying amounts of bizarre happenings, and newspaper articles and photos from the time are slung around, along with recreations of certain scenes. Sometimes, photos become live action scenes in pretty creative ways, making it a touch above the usual historical documentary. The way it’s shot is intriguing and entertaining, and it’s just fucking weird enough that it stands a cut above the rest.
(Website)

* this was ‘cos another deadly spider sprung out of the fruit aisles at a UK supermarket. It’s a long-running joke with us since a spider escaped into the UK some years ago, and I set up this spoof blog that documented his many harrowing escapes.

Know where you are in Arkansas

 

It’s getting to that point of the year when I quit sleepin’. I don’t know why, but I generally get insanely busy with work, socialising and (because of the inspiration the previous two bring, generally) writing. Fortunately I tend to get by on a couple of hours a night when the sun comes, and that suits me fine ‘cos I need the rest of the time to get my shit done. I’m currently finishing up some forums for Video 125, a company that sells videos of train routes, as far as I can see. I don’t know, I’m not working on the main website (in case you look), but I have seen The Station Agent so more power to them. I envy them the pleasure.

I’m watching Walk The Line on while I’m working, on account of how it’s been on my shelf for about a year and a half. I’m impressed already, but more than anything else I am [insert appropriate or inappropriate home-away-from-home-thing here]sick for the goddam state of Arkansas. What the hell is with that? I mean, obviously I don’t have to explain that I have a certain nostalgia for the place due to people that we will not mention here, but there’s something else to it. I want to fuck off and reside in some farmhouse, Smallville-esque residence where I have to walk miles down an ol’ dirt road through cornfields before I can do so much as buy a frackin’ Coke from the ‘local’ store. Don’t take this for uneducated nostalgia, either; I’ve stayed in the place - specifically in Hartford (population seven-hundred and seventy-two, or seventy-three while I was in town) - and I know what day to day life is like from long experience of myself and close friends. Here’s the rub; it’s great. It’s easy and I don’t have to screw around working eighteen hour days to pay for a one bed flat that ain’t worth the one hour a day I get to spend in it. It’s also beautiful. I can wander down to the sea in five minutes, but there’s a lot to be said for an ocean of green, or a mountain, or a bloody Sonic with a couple of mates and a bag strawberry sugar-loaded drink.

Funny ol’ world, isn’t it?