not to mention he's narcissistic

I was given a Myers-Briggs test today and like they will, it spun my head around. Some of those tests are mildy enlightening curiosities, but this one plain cleaned my clock. For those of you familiar with this I turned up an 'INFP', which means 'Introverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, Perceiving', or 'Introverted Feeling with Extraverted Intuition'. Everything following is absolutely true of me. Some excerpts:

Their primary goal is to find out their meaning in life. What is their purpose?

They are on a continuous mission to find the truth and meaning underlying things.

They rely heavily on their intuitions to guide them, and use their discoveries to constantly search for value in life. Every encounter and every piece of knowledge gained gets sifted through the INFP's value system, and is evaluated to see if it has any potential to help them define or refine their own path in life.

When it comes to the mundane details of life maintenance, INFPs are typically completely unaware of such things. They might go for long periods without noticing a stain on the carpet, but carefully and meticulously brush a speck of dust off of their project booklet.

INFPs have very high standards and are perfectionists. Consequently, they are very hand on themselves and don't give themselves enough credit. They may have problems working on a project in a group, because their standards are likely to be higher than other members of the group.

They are usually talented writers. They may be awkward and uncomfortable with expressing themselves verbally, but have a wonderful ability to define and express what they're feeling on paper.

And so forth, ad absurdum. Basically a plain language, point-by-point description of my oh-so-unique inner being. Same with everyone else in the room. My most topically impactful revelation, however, was in a chart outlining natural career choices by these very specific types. It very specifically separated 'Drama & Acting', and 'Performing Arts' from 'Creative Writing'. My decision to back away from acting came from very, very deep down, and, as elucidated above, from an intuition. When I wasn't listening as closely to these intuitions in the past, I still knew that my heart wasn't 100% behind acting, and as far as I saw it then I was hewing to the old chestnut from the theatre world- "If you ever want to do anything other than this- do it." So I am, I have been- but I still write. It all jives.
Also, though, I've always known, or at least since I was in my late teens, that I didn't want to be forever married to one mode of life; that I wanted to experience things from as many perspectives as I could, live as many lives as I could on this one mortal coil. It's all a part of that.

If none of that interests anyone (see today's title), I did one of those Google "---- looks like" searches a while back, and, more tea-leaf-like, it turned up some things that made me laugh and think, and in their contradictory diversity are kind of accurate as well, some of them oddly poetic.

Nate looks like:

-some bum that just crawled off his couch, stringy hair, gruff face
-a huge tool with no game
-an ass to the rest of the world, but if you know him, he's actually a pretty good guy underneath
-a totally different person
-he's going to be a problem for Bermuda
- he missed the party
- he just can't wait for that flash
- a Charlie Ward type, solid but unspectacular
- he's been in a few fights, or at least his nose has
- a little kid
- a beast
- he's got a thirty-year old head on a kid's body
- he's going to the prom with his mother
- he's coming on strong as well (if that's him)
- he's going to start blogging
- a 17 year old who really needs a shower
- a pretty damn good kisser
- a twig
- more of a mess than ever
- the kind of guy someone would have cast to play the handsome but pensive friend to the slightly more handsome central protagonist in a Joss Whedon show
- he'll be the number two starting pitcher this spring


potluck of poems

Doing the ol' biannual poetry submissions- posting some of the more unfinished ones that didn't make the cut. The irony here is that the readership on one blog in a million just might be higher than in one little magazine out of ten.


I used to have a different luminosity,
a kind of negative emanantion of the mind
A negative goal in a transient life.

Here though is a mysticism,
Lost and found,
projected through jazz,
John Coltrane,
Bouncing off of these angled walls
with the possessions of my soul.

When I slinked there
as I did, on Montreal streets
I searched for you and found you
tippling on Sangria
ready for anything.

And when I slink here
I think of the nights when you reached,
Searching for something
you hoped would entwine us
creating unnnecessary longings
on the spot
that we could cast in an amber of distance

My longings are necessary now
and our memories exist in tandem
In this way we may be arrested together
But I hope that we'll never be jailed.

the wicked spread at the weekly potluck I hosted this evening


fuck a movie*

Well. I've had that title sitting in the draft box for a few days, anticipating another Oscar night that would throw me into a three-day depression (as did the winning nights for at least three of the last six years). But whaddya know, I kind of had a good time watching the show last night (the bottle of zinfandel perhaps helping things along).

Before I get into things, however, I've got to preface by saying that I'm not after talkin' too much pop culture here (and despite what certain pompous old shut-in nannies might think, the Oscars are pop culture), but this does bring me to another reason for starting a blog- I was inundated with 'what did you think' emails this morning, and it was my pleasure to refer those people here- please don't think me lazy or unfeeling; I feel in the end I'll be communicating many things better this way.

On to the show-seems they've tightened up the proceedings quite a bit- it may have seemed slow to some of you, but I popped in a tape of the 2004 ceremony over breakfast this morning (the only ceremony I haven't seen live since 1986, I think), and this one had the pace of a CSI episode compared to even three years ago.
I actually wept a bit during the foreign-language films montage (again-zinfandel)- I didn't realize how many of those fantastic films actually won Oscars, and how many of them I had actually seen- seemed like most of the fifty they went through. And the montage about writers- I wept at this as well, but they were horrified tears of recognition. I love a montage, though Michael Mann's was preposterous.

And, happily, I lost the pool this year- Scorcese actually won. I realized I may have been a bit too cynical in thinking that the academy would remain freaked-out by his violence; what I didn't realize is that he's been making films for nearly forty years- the average length of time it takes for them to accept a cultural norm.
Forest Whitaker had the best acceptance speech ever. Ever in the history of anything.
The constant commentary about how 'diverse' the nominees were was, to me, a little off-putting. I long for the far-off day when things are all Star Trek-y and we don't even have to draw attention to this.
Jerry Seinfeld was a straight-up asshole when he introduced the documentaries as 'five incredibly depressing movies' or whatever he said.

So, not bad for a year of largely uninteresting movies- I couldn't even come up with ten for my 2006 year-end roundup- The Devil and Daniel Johnston
- Half Nelson -The Departed
- L'Enfant - Casino Royale
- Art School Confidential
- Clerks II -Winter Passing

And only one of those would make it in a good year.
For more half-assed Oscar thoughts check out Harry Knowles' psychotic, as-it-happened coverage

* today's title is a line in 'Where are all the Guards?', a deleted scene from 'Trailer Park Boys: The Movie", spoken by Eugene Clark, who by my reckoning gives the funniest performance committed to Canadian film in 2006 in this scene alone.


through the darkness of future past, the magician longs to see

I spent much of the last year & the year previous travelling the country & working for a, well, kind of theTV ratings company. My co-workers & myself fully meant to blog this experience, but it was strongly suggested we not do so, so as not to depress company members stuck in the HQ. There are thousands of photos documenting this and stories to go with them, but this being a forward-thinking kind of endeavor I won't go in to all of that.

However, there's a continuing story that came out of this that is still mildly amazing me. On several occasions I dipped down into the U.S.- I took some overtime in Vancouver around this time last year and fulfilled a longstanding desire, ripping down through Seattle and through the Cascade Mountains to

Roslyn, where rerun watchers and those of the reminiscent mind will recall 'Northern Exposure' was shot.
A great little town, with a cross-section of people as interesting as their fictional counterparts- I hung out at The Brick, chatting with the bartender and watching hippie mountain girls dancing with the old men to the owner's cover band, called 'Doohickey'.

From there I doubled back to the North Bend/Snoqualamie area, where 'Twin Peaks', the greatest, coolest television show of all time, was shot. Inasmuch as the brightness of 'Cicely, AK' was present in Roslyn, the creeping, dripping darkness that inspired the protracted moods of 'Twin Peaks' was in full evidence here. I didn't go into this place anticipating fear and eeriness to come upon me, but after ghosting through the area, it did.

river where Teresa Banks' body floated along at the beginning of 'Fire Walk With Me'

trailer park where she lived and where Agent Chet Desmond disappeared forever

bridge on which Ronette Pulaski appeared in a state of psychogenic fugue

corner across from the RR Diner where Mrs. Tremond/Chalfont and her grandson manifested themselves to Laura Palmer

So it's all getting to me. Not to mention I'm staying in a $35 a night motel room with blood stains on the floor. Some people have heard the story of the lost & lonely woman who was living in the room next to mine.
I got out of town and spent the afternoon in Seattle, but was drawn back that night. I checked into a new motel, crashed out, and as soon as I turned on the TV there was none other than

David Lynch, speaking about his study of Transcendental Meditation at the U of Washington in DC. I took lots of notes. People should really look in to what he's trying to do with all this- he's started a foundation.

The next day I tried to brighten things up a bit and walked around taking non-Twin Peaks related photos. There are a whole bunch of train cars parked on the tracks in the middle of town and they made for beautiful images.

Jump to almost a year later, and I catch wind of Lynch's new film, 'INLAND EMPIRE'. This rings a really odd bell, and after a while I go back to my photos from North Bend, and lo-

one of the North Bend rail cars.

and finally, this-

I know this may all seem mundane to the outsider, but the periods in one's life that seem to be sprinkled with some odd, serendipitous magic are rare. All of these little events tie together quite logically, in fact, but when you think of the things in your life that bring them together, well... Jesus.


now it's dark

here are some shitty, contrast-corrected photos of my current apartment.

living area w/'guest bed'


favorite painting in the place

horsehair therapy chair

messy kitchen

little stereo place

more on where this is located and what that place is like later.


# 1is # 23

Jack Kerouac's Belief & Technique For Modern Prose, List of Essentials, no. 23:

Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning

While this likely won't be added to every day, and certainly not every morning, it will keep track of things, though perhaps with little regard to time or place. Lest I fall into self-loathing or self-aggrandizement, I aim to keep both the personal and the professional at a fair distance. I intend more of a freeform abstraction of things that make up my existence. Though it also has a few intended purposes:

- to provide context to creative endeavor. When I'm in any extended period of creation, whether that be writing, acting, painting, whatever, I sometimes get to the point at which I feel like I did when I was creating epic stories with my G.I. Joe figures as a boy- totally subsumed, not wanting to leave that place. Having another consistent focus should be beneficial, and fun.

- keeping in touch. Never in my life have my contemporaries been so far-flung. We're spread all over the globe at this point, and while that's great, it might be nice to have a check-in point. There are so many people I haven't seen in so long that some backstory will make its way in here too. & after a while, as this grows, it'll all be backstory. Expect me to refer you here if ever the face-to-face question 'what have you been up to' arises.

-maintenance. maintenance of mind, soul, writing, computer skills.

-to intrigue and baffle strangers, and maybe to inspire.

Otherwise, as my grade nine English teacher used to say after he swatted a fly: "Evolve!"
We'll see where this goes. Outside contributions invited also; promote your show (to, oh, twenty new people, maybe, but that's twenty new people who ain't heard about it before), show off your new baby, rock your poems or prose or photos.

The title of this blog comes from "Stuff", a short film made in the early nineties by Gibby Hanes and Johnny Depp about John Frusciante.