Hostage situation.

It's Saturday, and what follows is the sort of trouble I get up to when I have no pressing deadlines.

My good friend 163478, prone to forgetfulness, left his ipod here when leaving my house yesterday after more Who watching. Seeing as my Ipod presently lies prone in a drawer (only 1 1/2 years old!), broken and unusable (ggrrrrr I hope you Apple fuckers are reading this) I have taken advantage of this to enjoy a day of gratuitous shuffle at 163478's expense.
And as my heinous crime (outlined below) will never make the papers, denying me my fifteen minutes of criminal fame, I post this email, sent to him, outlining my demands for its safe return.

Now. It occurs to me that what we have here, dear 163478, is a hostage situation.

You see, until I receive my ransom (one mixed cd of a memorable and 163478-standard quality), your ipod will remain in my possession. Your actions alone can determine its fate.
So.
Until such a time as you yield to my demands, I am holding your ipod here hostage.
But I am a benevolent captor, rest assured, and, seeing as I'm sitting next to it at my computer puttering away, I shall heretofore record, via email, what songs it sings to me in its shuffling state, to reassure you of its well-being.

So off we go.

...(listing of various songs of an admirable and highly entertaining quality, courtesy of 163478's ipod.)...

i have to go for brunch now. I'm leaving a bowl of water by this ipod and it's shackled to the speakers. The place is booby trapped and the walls have ears. Don't even TRY to come get it.
----

hmm.
i wonder if this is how divorcees deal with their assets. You know, like:
I'M PISSING ON YOUR COUCH RIGHT NOW YOU FUCKHEAD, GIVE ME BACK THOSE PILLOW SHAMMIES.

More tr(who)isms.

As beautiful as you and as deadly as the plague. If she was real I'd marry her.

Do you mind not standing on my chest, my hat's on fire.

Restrain her! We must cannibalize her for parts!

This is not wine but vinegar! Fetch good wine, dog!

I have better things to do than meddle in the piffling policies of your tiny planet!

We agreed to meet at midnight, but I had nothing better to do so I thought I'd come early. What's your reason?
Do I need one?
Well no, but it would have been fun to hear it.

RSS, an unstoppable force of wit.

Commenting on my tendency towards self deprecation, R coined it today thusly: Always pissing in the champagne. Honestly.

Galloping Authoritarian Equines!

A police horse just GALLOPED past my window. Just this moment.
GALLOPED, dear reader(s). What is going on in this city?!?!

random query about shrubbery

to a friend via email, today returned this link.
Of course.
And it's so true. I would feel Horrid, betrayed, and horticulturally destitute if months and years of my hard work (were) simply wiped out and destroyed with BAD INFORMATION(.)

and on the seventh day, she knitted.

Above you will see a model photo of the projected (width-wise) proportion of human to wool for my new woolly Scarf.

I started it last week, and Dr. Who can eat his heart out, 'coz not only will I be able to strangle dastardly villains and rescue people hanging from cliffs with this one, I will do it while the sheep look on in sheer (har har) astonishment.

1.5 feet down, 18.5 feet to go.

debt and daisies.

RSS and I decided over lunch today to compare debts.
We decided that she is, in fact, in worse debt than I am. Instead of feeling relief at this, (which would be odd), I felt the need to reset the scales somewhat. I pointed out that, being 6 years younger than me, she might well be in debt longer, but she will also last 6 years longer, still skipping valiantly through the daisies whilst I am pushing them up.

the One Night Stands, an official announcement.

OK.
So now. The show is up AND the books are done, but Rubbishy Christ. I bound them by hand, a task which left me with a mixed feeling of bliss (fun to do) and Utter Futility (About 5 hours of fiddling, for a meagre 13 books.)
That's 13 Very Lucky People, that's all I have to say. Or not, depending on how good my binding turned out in the end.

Printmakers of the world would be right to be appalled.
As would many, and not just at my bookbinding skills.

Anyhow. Go check out the drawings. They're in the art window 'til the end of the month. The drawings are for sale; I'm running out of room to store 'em all, so if you have rich friends, drag them with you. Point out how enticing said millionaires will seem to colleagues, exes,mortal enemies, if they hang a sleeping stranger above their mantel.

In the meanwhile, and since you've read this far, I'm using the cover image (above) as a Rorschacht to discover the true/inner nature of you, my dear reader(s). What do you see in the fabric on the cover?
I've had three answers so far; a sweater, intestines, a corpse (three guesses on who saw the corpse).

Today.

Should be OUTLAWED FROM THE ANNALS OF TIME.
Today should have been questioned before it began about the pending atrocities in store, and then cancelled due to lack of enthusiasm.
Today was SO Ass there are no words to describe it.
And so, dear reader(s), I won't even try.
You have been spared. And may my karma be watching (the good deed of my silence on the subject of today) from wherever it lurks, and may it take notes, gold stars at the ready.

the One Night Stands, a public hanging.

My One Night Stands are now publicly hanging in the art window at Pages bookstore in Toronto.
Well, six of 'em are. I'm pleased, though very ready for this project to be over. I'm not sure how my well-intentioned projects always end up being creepy, but there it is.
The original idea behind the project was a simple one. Find pictures of strangers sleeping, take one night with each of them (no more no less), make a drawing and then walk away from it. Never go back.

NO I DON'T KNOW ANY OF THEM, AND I HAVEN'T SLEPT WITH ANY OF THEM.
just for the record.

The idea seemed harmless, but as I finished off the book, with my little bits of text and definitions and such, the end product has turned out decidely more ominous.
Weird.

I'm a nice person, in actual fact. Really.

There is a book with the project, that was in fact the end product in question, but they, alas, are still in the finishing stages. In fact the cover drawing is sitting here in front of me right now, in fact. So I'm back to that. Binding 'em tomorrow, bringing 'em to Pages Wednesday. So if anyone feels inclined to pilgrimage to Pages, wait 'til Wednesday and you can see (and buy if you want!) the whole book.

This is silly, but both times I've had a Pages art window I've felt a little like I've won an Oscar or something, I walked by the window tonight and felt a ridiculous moment of pride that something of mine has a home there.
It's the Best Bookstore in Toronto. The Best. I don't care how cheesy and/or fawning it sounds.

(not even close to) the end of a Very busy sunday.

This pithy little reminder from U2(!) as i fatiguedly plod onwards, with piles of unbound paper and framed things everywhere.:
"You have to live in your dreams; don't make them so hard."

bondage.

by the nefarious nipples of Nebuchadrezzar, HOW BEST TO BIND THESE BLOODY BOOKS.
Show goes up tomorrow despite it all; books are printed at least, covers incomplete, heart pounding.
Gah.