The Pothole Queen and the Crustacean Graveyard

Listening: Velvet Revolution - Tori Amos

All you killers of the children
There's a new commandment:
That your Divine Creator
Wants a velvet revolution.

I should have mentioned in yesterday's post what exactly makes my life awesome. I realized today exactly what it was. It's the numerous people that I have the privilege to call friends. I guarantee you this: no matter how great your life is, your friends will always make it that much more amazing. Take me, for example. The past 24 hours have been a true testament to the awesomeness of my friends. Allow me to narrate.

After work last night, I hefted my tail over to Matt's apartment. The instant I opened the door, a telltale smell assaulted my nostrils. "What the hell is that?" I demanded, even whilst I gagged.

Matt was sitting in the living room with the rest of the bunch. In one movement, he vaults over the back of the couch, grabs a garbage bag containing a suspicious substance off the kitchen table, and waves it furiously in my face with a grizzly-like roar. After blinking at him for a moment, I asked, "What?"

"Lobster!" he declared.

Apparently Matt's parents had a dinner party. Since he's a lumberjack and frequently forgets to eat, they gave him a bunch of leftovers. These leftovers included a huge platter of ribs, as well as nine whole, cooked lobster. I do not think I have ever seen Matt so excited about anything ever. He looked terribly downtrodden when I told him I couldn't eat one because lobster makes me sick, but he brightened once he realized that this meant more for him.

Colette, at this point, was looking kind of bored or irate, so I suggested that we head to Tim Horton's. Matt's apartment is about a two minute walk from one, provided you cut across a few lawns and through a dilapadated fence. This was about ten-thirty at night, so it should have occurred to one of us that Tim's might be out of stock in some items. It didn't.

After laboring over her decision for several minutes, Cole went up to the cashier. "I'd like a tea and three chocolate chip cookies," she said.

The young man looked over his shoulder and perused the available goods before turning back to her. "I'm sorry. We're all out of chocolate chip cookies."

There is dead silence. Then, after a pregnant pause, Cole utters, with a low and chilling deliberance, "What?"

Later discussion would prove that Cole has no memory of the moments that followed. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), I do. The spate of curses and utterances of general rage would have stricken a nun blind. The young man at the counter looked utterly dumbfounded--several of the other late customers sat gaping. As for me, I could only stand rooted in place, transfixed by the sight of my best friend transforming into pure, unbridled fury.

She seemed to snap out of it with the words "Strike it from the order", which is the point where she claims her memory resumes. It was several moments before anyone could move. The instant the young fellow at the register remembered how to use his fingers, I exploded into uproarious laughter. My gales didn't dim or ease, even when we left the store, food and cups in-hand. My peals of laughter echoed clear across the parking lot for a good few meters after we left the store behind.

When we arrived back at Matt's apartment, Cole and I sat at the kitchen table and complained for a while about a lot of things. It felt good to unload various problems on a listening somebody. Once that was done, Cole and I didn't want to listen to the boys banter about World of Warcraft, so we started up a game of Super Mario World and sat down to duke it out, insofar and inasmuch as you can duke in SMW.

Then Matt decides he wants to devour the lobster I didn't want. I have never seen a man eat with as much fervor as Matt did in those few moments. He literally roared as he ripped the lobster apart with his bare hands. Jimmy, who was there as well, was a little more dignified about it, but not by much. He went at his lobster with a hammer. I went into the kitchen during Cole's turn at SMW to get a drink, and my eyes were drawn to the scene atop the counter. It was truly a Crustacean Graveyard, with bits of shell and discarded meat littering the table, wall, discarded hammer, and nearby toaster. A single gutted lobster head sat nearby, looking mournful.

Morbid mischievousness overcame my brain. I returned to my seat, directly beside Colette, who was too busy yelling at the TV to pay attention to me. That worked to my advantage, because when she turned to look at me, she was greeted by the sight of a bug-eyed lobster skull an inch from her face. For added effect, I shook the lobster to and fro and intoned, "Blahblahblablahblah". The shriek she let out deafened every dog within a three mile radius. Coupled with the sight of her toppling off the couch in sheer terror, I was capable only of dissolving into hysterical laughter for the second time that night.

The goodtimes didn't stop there. When I got home that night, there was a message on my MSN from my good friend Rykea. For those of you who don't know, Ryk (as I call her) is one of my oldest friends. I have literally known her since I was seven years old. We were the best of friends for a while, although it was difficult to see her as we never went to the same school. Lately it's been even more difficult to keep in touch, but we manage it, although at six- and seven-month intervals. Both of us have been working on our respective novels for about the same length of time (although she claims I was the one who got her into writing in the first place). She is my guru of all things creative, and I go to her for advice when I'm having trouble with Usurper. Also we rotate music like it ain't no thang. Boa? Thank you, Rykea. Rosie Thomas? Thank you, Julia.

So Rykea left me a message saying that she and Gen were planning on going out on the morrow and if I wanted to come. I jumped on that like it was a southbound train. I love going out with Ryk and I hadn't seen Gen since MUN let out for summer, so this was a welcome invitation. I got up extra early today to get ready to go out. While I was waiting for a call from Ryk, Jam phoned me. He was looking for something to do too, so I invited him along. And so began the adventure.

Ryk picked me up first. We stopped to get gas, which was more trouble than it should have been. Ryk had no idea how to work the pump, so I had to go in and ask the girl working inside. "Hi, your gas pumps are the spawn of the devil," I said. She looked up from her cell phone and told me in a very bitchy voice, "You have to push up on the lever?"

"Thanks," I said. Then I killed her.

Except I actually only went back out and passed this knowledge on to Ryk. Eventually we were on the road again, and we swooped by to pick up Gen. When I told Ryk where we had to go to pick up Jam, she promptly enlisted Gen's help in giving directions ("--because," she said, "I don't trust Julia ever.") and off we went. I finally got to see Jam's new place, which is charming and retro, though he needs to get rid of that death-trap of a hotplate. Also, he complimented my coat. I felt very awesome after that.

We decided to go for lunch, and settled on my suggestion of the Press & Bean, which is an awesome little restaurant hidden away in the depths of a larger building downtown. The four of us together made positively the best conversation group ever, because we talked forever about everything, from silly things to actual serious social commentary. Also, the food was amazing. Ryk and I had baklava for dessert. It was love.

To round out the afternoon, the four of us trotted to Starbucks. I seem to recall there being a lot of screaming about Mary Dalton on our way there, but that just might have been me. It also seemed that Ryk managed to find every single pothole in the road, but I know for a fact that that actually happened. We spent a grand ol' time in Starbucks until I had to go to work, whereupon we left Jam at the mall to get his hair cut and everyone else went home.

Once again, Ryk found every pothole in the road on the way home. I have dubbed her the Pothole Queen, but I just know that karma is going to come around and bite me in the ass on this one, as I seem to have the same problem. This brought to an end the wonderful part of my day, as after that I had the entire evening to deal with bitchy Wal-Mart customers, but I digress. Just spending time with these people makes all that seem not as bad. They, and not the weather or freedom or new albums or anything else, are to blame for making my life so worth living.

Adieu!

Icarus knows that things can only get better from here.

Some Days Are Just Awesome

Listening: Runaway Train - Soul Asylum

It seems no one can help me now
I'm in too deep
There's no way out
This time I have really led myself astray

Runaway train never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I'm neither here nor there.

So far my vacation has been admittedly pretty awesome. I spend most of my time out with my friends or at work, and on the occasions where I'm not doing that, I'm at home doing enjoyable things like writing, reading, or drawing. As an added bonus, the Newfoundland weather has finally begun to not suck 24/7, so we've actually had a couple of really nice summery days lately. All in all, things have been pretty great.

Today, though, was rad.

A good friend of mine left for a European cruise at around noon today. Lucky. Anyhow, he wanted to me to come see him off at the airport, and I thought that would be cools, except for the fact that I didn't have a ride there. For the record, our airport is like, bordering on the outskirts of our city limits. It's not a close place. But nonetheless, I told him I would walk there to say goodbye. He said 'okay' but I don't think he really thought I would do it. Shows what he knows.

I was in the middle of a very strange and delectably sexy dream (involving attempted rape and some other guy named, I kid you not, 'Zeke Tusks') when my alarm clock went off at 9 a.m. I was up and out of bed like I had been electrocuted. As soon as I shook off the last vestiges of sexy-dream-euphoria, I began running around in a mad panic trying to dress for my walk while my dog yawned at me. Halfway into my pants, my doorbell rang. This proved to be my aunt and uncle. Apparently my cousin (their middle child) is staying with us for the weekend, so they stopped by to drop off his supplies and the keys to my uncle's enormous man-truck (for some reason), which is currently sitting in my driveway being huge. Since they were going out of town, I hinted at getting a lift to the airport. "Have a good walk!" they said gleefully before driving off. I hate them.

Finally I hunted down an appropriate coat, jammed my cell phone into my pocket and put my headphones in my ears, and set off for the airport. I had many grand adventures on the way, including several near misses with traffic (most of the walk involved busy roads and offramps), being attacked by a wiener dog, being chased off of a side road by a redneck hick who somehow thought it was his property, and narrowly avoiding being thrown up on by a small child. My life is full of adventure.

Anyhow, I made it to the airport in one piece. The whole walk took me about an hour and five minutes, which was way shorter than I estimated. Fortunately I ran into other people who were waiting to see the same friend off, and went in and hung out with them until said friend arrived. Many so-longs were said, and long story short, we turned to leave, prepared for a long walk back. Instead we ran into another pair of friends who had come to see the same person off, and they brought with them a plane letter. The problem was that said friend was already through security. Cue a long and needlessly complicated attempt to get said plane letter through security. The following dialogue is not fabricated. Every word of it was actually said.

Friend Mike: Hey, excuse me, sir? Can we give you this plane letter to give to our friend over there?
Security Guard: Let-ter? [lumbers over] A let-ter?
Me: ...
Friend Mike: Yeah, um. It's a plane letter for that skinny guy over there.
Security Guard: A let-ter?
Me: ...
Friend Doug: Yeah it's a letter.
Security Guard: You didn't see him before he left to give him his let-ter?
Friend Mike: Well, we saw him. These guys were a bit late.
Security Guard: Can you open it so I can see that it is indeed a let-ter?
Me: ...
Friend Mike: Uh, sure. [opens letter and shows folded bits of paper]
Security Guard: It's not instructions to make a bomb, is it?
Me: ...Sir, it's just a frigging letter.

Then the retarded security guard took the letter to the door where we could see our friend standing. But he didn't give him the envelope. Instead, he gave the letter to another security guard, who walked away through a mysterious door, then walked through security, then scanned the letter, and then walked over and gave it to our friend.

Generous mockery was done on the drive back from the airport.

I got dropped off at Tim Horton's to get something to eat (apparently I'm retarded and can't remember to eat when I get up and go for enormous walks at 9 in the morning) and then walked back to my house, concluding my grand adventure. The walk gave me the opportunity I've been looking for to enjoy American Doll Posse uninterrupted, and I believe I can now numerate my favorite songs on the album. They are as follows:

Big Wheel, Bouncing Off Clouds, Teenage Hustling, Digital Ghost, Girl Disappearing, Secret Spell, Devils and Gods, Code Red, Roosterspur Bridge, Beauty of Speed, Velvet Revolution, Almost Rosey, Dark Side of the Sun, Smokey Joe, and Dragon. (Considering that makes up more than half of the album itself, I think that's a good indication of how awesome it is.)

Now that that bit of mindless indulgence is out of the way, I have got to tell you the best story in the history of anything ever.

So my dog (Gracie) has this vendetta against crows. I don't know where it stemmed from, but she has this deep-rooted hatred of them. It is honestly the funniest thing ever, to see this five-pound ball of fluffy puppy go tearing out after a much larger black bird, barking her little lungs out. Normally the average crow reaction is to get mildly irritated and take to the wing, which probably communicates as victory in Gracie's little doggy mind. This has been her system of ridding our property of crows for the past seven years.

Until three weeks ago.

My dog, as usual, was camping out in our backyard for a little game of Bother The Neighbors. I was inside on the computer. Abruptly, I heard her going insane outside. We don't like her barking at the neighbors on either side of our house, but she continues to do it, so basically our only option at that point is to go out and bring her back into the house. Irritated, I got up and headed for the back door. However, instead of having to apologize to a beseiged neighbor, I found myself witness to the following scene.

My dog is roughly the size of a football, so you can imagine that she doesn't present much of a threat. She had stretched herself up to her full height (roughly my knee) with her paws on the fence, and was yawling up at a large black crow who was sitting there, looking down at her. This is a pretty common scene, so I waved my arm in the crow's general direction and uttered "Giddoutofit", which normally sends the more stalwart ones packing. This one, however, just sat on the fence and looked at me. Then he looked down at my dog and made the most obnoxious sound I have ever heard an animal make. It was a deep-throated clicking kind of sound, and it sent my dog into absolute hysterics.

I had never heard a crow make that sound before. I sat down on the deck to watch the drama unfold. I wasn't disappointed. Over the course of the next ten minutes, that crow proved to be the most entertaining thing that had happened in days.

In between making that obnoxious clicking noise, cawing, and mimicking my dog's yappy little barks (yes, he actually mimicked them. I have no idea.), he proceeded to hop to and fro along the fence, and swoop down into the garden right over her head, as though he was deliberately taunting her. It sounds ridiculous, but he literally would have had no other reason to do it, so I can only conclude that it was done to torment her. I will also point out that it worked; Gracie just about had an aneurysm every time it happened.

Finally Gracie was worn out from running around after this S.O.B. and collapsed in the yard, panting and watching him balefully as he hopped around on the fence. I was still sitting on the deck watching the drama unfold. The crow cocked his head at Gracie, then--I swear to God--made a cawing sound that was more like a laugh than anything else, and flew off.

I told that story to everybody. I thought it was amazing. I also locked it away in the annals of my memory for preservation forever, because I thought it was one of those things that you only experience once. Apparently I was completely wrong.

After I got back from my walk today, I let Gracie out the back door to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. It was one of those summery days I was talking about, and I figured she would enjoy it. Ten minutes later I heard her barking her head off. Figuring it was, yet again, a neighbor, I went out back... and found a crow sitting on the fence.

I shit you not, it was the same crow.

It has to be. He has exactly the same mannerisms, the same way of hopping along the fence and making that obnoxious clicking noise, the same mocking "bark", the same habit of swooping down right over Gracie's head and making her chase him. I practically had a heart attack when I saw him. "I do not believe this," I said, and sat down to watch. The crow is cool with me hanging around. I think he likes the attention, because he acts up a lot more when I'm watching.

I was so appreciative of the show that I went back into the house and got some bread to feed the little jerk. I set it on the fence for him, and he gobbled it up and disappeared. I have a strange feeling that neither me nor Gracie has seen the last of him, though.

I can't stand having an animal hanging around my house without naming it, so I've taken to referring to the little bugger as Doyle. It's Gaelic for 'dark foreigner', which I think seems appropriate.

So with that, I must depart. I have work in half an hour, and I need to go make myself look like I haven't been running around in a backyard all afternoon.

Adieu!

Icarus thinks that today rocked the cosmic taco. Also, she just wants to point out that the "attempted rape" was not what made that particular dream sexy at all. That was scary as hell. The sexy part came after.

Musiphoria

Listening: Bouncing Off Clouds - Tori Amos

Bouncing off of clouds we were
Is there a Love Lost and Found

Make it easy
Make this easy
It's not as heavy as it seems
Wrapped in metal
Wrapped in ivy
Paint it in mint ice cream

We could be bouncing off the top of this cloud
I'll put on my silver
We could be bouncing off the top of this cloud.

If you know me for any length of time, one of the aspects of my personality that becomes quickly outlined is that I harbor an intense love for music of almost any genre. One of my most treasured possessions is my iPod. I can't get to sleep at night without listening to something. I had to send my iPod to Apple for repairs several months ago, and I thought I was going to die.

Therefore, due to my insatiable desire for music, I frequently find myself having wrung my audio library a little dry. Often there are long stints wherein I have no new or particularly absorbing albums or artists, and I find myself browsing my iPod looking for songs I haven't listened to in quite some time, in the hopes of refreshing my auditory cells. These states can stretch anywhere from several days to several weeks, and basically end the moment I get my hands on some intoxicating new material.

One of those stints came to an abrupt end yesterday morning.

Two of my favorite artists, Tori Amos and Björk, recently released all-new albums, a fact that somehow entirely escaped my notice. Fortunately I have good friends who bring such facts to my attention. I spent the majority of Monday night downloading said albums, whereupon I loaded them onto my iPod on Monday morning and listened to them while I walked to Wal-Mart to meet Benji.

I think I am in love. I still haven't had the opportunity to drink both of them in as deeply as I would normally like to, but I'm in deep enough to know that these two albums are some of the best work their respective artists have put out in a while.

First of all, Volta. Björk's latest album has been expected by her recording company One Little Indian to be the biggest-selling of her entire career. I'm a Vespertine fan through and through, but Volta is definitely ranked up there in the annals of awesome. Some of the tracks bear closely to her deep entrancing sound, such as Vertebrae by Vertebrae, while some, like My Juvenile, are more whimsy and fun in nature. There's a lot of fresh sound on the album (I'm becoming steadily more addicted to tracks like Innocence and Earth Intruders) but it's still very undeniably Björk. I'm hopelessly besotted with it.

American Doll Posse is the ninth studio album produced by Tori Amos, one of my all-time favorite artists. It follows up her album The Beekeeper, which received a lot of chilly reviews and raised questions as to whether the songwriter was losing her touch. ADP puts even the pickiest critics to rest. Tori never lost her touch to begin with.

Warning: Rant Ahead.

I'm not a die-hard Little Earthquakes or Under the Pink fan, I can accept it when things don't sound the way I think they should. I've never understood that about Tori's fans. Just because she's putting out a different sound, they think the world's coming to an end for some reason. That seems to be a problem with a lot of artists who try something new and their fans crucify them for doing it. Get a grip, people. Songwriters aren't there to cater to you, they're trying to be creative and let their work be heard. Don't turn into a lynch mob because you don't like the sound of a new album. Just accept that songwriters and artists are people trying to express themselves and you're being intolerant and shallow about it. Try listening to an album as it is, and don't rank it up against earlier works that you feel are superior. I mean, was Beekeeper really so bad? Did Ben Folds Five turn against their fans by putting out Brick? Why take this stuff so personally? Get a life, seriously.

End of Rant.

Now that that's out of the way, getting back to American Doll Posse. Even the Tori fans who felt she was losing her touch should be appeased by this album. ADP has been received with rave critical reviews. I can say as an earnest fan (who doesn't foam at the mouth on a regular basis) that this album portrays her array of personalities and styles beautifully. Songs like Smokey Joe and Dragon savor very strongly of her earlier work, while newer sounds can be heard in the addictive Big Wheel and Teenage Hustling. I've been stuck on this album for two days now, with no end in sight. I think I was shock-numb when I listened to the whole thing the first time. I've been trying to go through it slowly, a song at a time, since then, but it's seriously like trying to slowly drink a lemonade after a week in the Mojave desert or something.

Tori's ADP world tour comes to North America right around my birthday. Do I want to go see one of the shows? You bet your ass I do.

That being said, my brain is starting to hurt from the overload of amazing music on these two albums. I honestly can't do anything without thinking something like "Wow I'd like to listen to Roosterspur Bridge" or "Wow some Dull Flame of Desire would be great right now". To get my focus off of my obvious addiction, I've been trying to drown it in South Park, which is another brand-new addiction of mine. Somebody ruined my life by showing me this site. I've been too addicted to sleep, these past few nights. And when I do sleep, I listen to American Doll Posse and Volta. I think it might be time to get me some help.

Between my friends, work, and dealing with my new addictions, I haven't had a lot of time to do much in the way of creativity. When I do, however, it's to colour original lineart of a breed of adorable fuzzy things called Lonesomes. All things considered, I could be using my time more wisely, but they're simply too cute for me to ignore for very long.

That pretty much wraps up the majority of my news. I am in the process of looking for a new job, but there's no telling how effective the search will be. Keep your fingers crossed for me, kiddos.

Adieu!

Icarus did this post in response to a taunt by Jam. Slackerhead, indeed.

Life As It Is

Listening: Universe - Sarah Slean

Once, I took the universe to dinner
When she failed to yield to earth's demands
"Oh," she said, "you mean that little ant farm?
I'm alright, dear, I've got other plans."
...
And when she talks, she fills the room with sunlight
She can name her babies, every one
I've returned to the place of my beginning
I can see her turning off the sun.

Okay, if you don't have this song yet, go find it right now. ...Right now. Because Sarah Slean is everything that makes rainbows go off in my head, and this song... it um. I don't know. But whatever happens to me when I hear it, I want to feel like it always. It's like, crack in song form, only much safer and awesomer.

The school year has ended, and I have plunged into my vacation time with all the gleeful abandon of a two-year-old at a water park. No one likes the summer hours more than me. I haven't set up for my extra hours at Hell-Mart yet (that'll be happening sometime this week) so for the nonce I'm left with most of my days free. Here's a basic rundown of how my average day goes.

Between 10 AM and 1 PM: Wake up. (Yes, I am lazy.)
Prior to 2 PM: Work on my novel.
2 PM: Shower.
2:30 PM: Work on novel more.
~3:00 PM: Go out with Matt, Cole, Steve, and usually Matty P.
~12:45 AM: Return home.
1 AM: Work on novel.
3-4 AM: Crash and sleep until morning.

I am truly the laziest thing there ever, ever was. That's cool though, because I can get away with these kinds of activities for the time being, and I intend to enjoy them to the fullest while I can. On that note, due to the obvious influx of free time, my book is nearing completion. It obviously needs some serious editing and even complete rewriting in some parts, but for the most part, I feel really pleased with it. Stay tuned for updates!

When I deviate from the above schedule, I find myself occasionally going to the mall with Jam, which leads to misadventures in search of belts, and drawing competitions in Fog City. Oh, the memories. Jammy's sick right now, poor muffin. I will have to send him soup made with love.

Marks came out! I did... pretty much as I expected. Well overall, with the exception of Linguistics (again; I've learned my lesson), and I completely owned my English course with an A. English Honor's program, here I come. I hope everyone did well on their exams as well!

Oh lord it is 2:15 and I still want to get some writing done before I turn in for the night. I'd have made this post longer but... well it's 2:15.

Go to sleep!

I has an eggs. They will hatch in June.


Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!

Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!

Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!


Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!


Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!


Get your own at Unholy Laboratories!
Icarus is off to write about a monestary. Oh, monestaries.