shoebox_dw: (kitty sock puppet)
OK, I'm officially on an upswing this week. Found a pair of slinky jeans that fit perfectly and everything. Down two sizes from last year's purchase, too. Turning thirty-eight? Hah! I laugh at turning thirty-eight!

Well, alright, I don't really. But the jeans definitely helped. So did the cute sneakers - do they still call them sneakers? I just realised I may with one word have completely undone all the jeans' good work. Excuse it please. They're New Balance, and according to the endearingly typical salesdude @ Athletic World they're 'very ergonomic fit, good for the high-intensity urban environment'. Translation: I'm all kitted out for the summer's hiking. Which is nice.

So is the response I just got from my very nice former PopMatters editor re: my most recent feature submission: he definitely remembers me, and will be pleased to take a look at my essay ASAP. This, of course, being the flat print version of "OMIGOSH HE REMEMBERED ME! I TOTALLY DID NOT EXPECT THAT! DO THEY REALLY DO THAT?!"
...aaaaaand the sophistication level slips another notch. I don't care. Frankly at this point I am not even really worried about the article getting in or not - although it would be huge if it did, don't get me wrong - I am just so pleased to be remembered. Makes me feel all...professional, and stuff.

Meaanwhile, the plotting ideas for finishing the sci-fi novel keep on keepin' on, popping into my head apace. Apparently, my subconscious really wants to revisit this thing, so I guess the Grand Sweeping Epic of Everything will have to wait a bit. Sorry, anybody who was waiting breathless.

Last but definitely not least, it came time for my bimonthly flash of renewed interest in Kalan Porter, ex-Idol moppet and current...baby-faced blond dude with big china-blue eyes and some stubble. There's a ways to go yet, is all I am saying, deliberately ironic blogging or no. Still, they did pose him with a glass in his hand for the scanned article I read, and there doesn't seem to have been any angsting in the fandom about a possible drink problem as a result, which I think qualifies as serious progress.

(I, on the other hand, have regressed dreadfully. Because I now cannot get out of my head the impulse to pop in and start some angsting, just for giggles. I think my next rant post will have to deal with how fandom rots your brain.)

Anyway, in the article Kalan describes his new music as 'kind of synth-pop...fun...very uptempo'. Now, as has been chronicled elsewhere, I adore synth-pop. Have done for years. Always assuming Kalan is talking Thompson Twins and not Aqua - the emphasis on 'fun' is especially worrisome - but that's a risk I am prepared to take. Go ye forth into the world and tweak those keyboards, KP. I may yet realise my dream of hearing the Weird Scathing Angst factor performed deliberately, rather than frantically wishing it there myself in an effort to salvage coolness points.

Now, to bed...perchance to dream of the Niceness Wave spilling over Finance. "Why, yes, you can have this new vendor record # processed overnight! Urgent purchase orders approved without budget dollars available? No problem, our pleasure!"
shoebox_dw: (mythbusters problem)
It’s been a long time since I’ve done one of these, isn’t it? And now, not liable to again. I was feeling rather wistful about the whole situation – the way you do, when you hear the fate of a friend long past – until I happened to catch judge Zack Werner’s reaction. Something about how bitterly ironic it was that the show was being canned as too expensive, when it’s in just this sort of economy that kids need dreams to hold onto.
Er, yeah, Zack. Not to worry; they can always still aspire to be contestants on Don’t Forget the Hits! And there, they’ve a chance to be paid real money.

Anyway, I dragged out my old home-made ‘Best of CI2’ CD as part of the total music overhaul, inspired by Brian Melo’s version of Karma Police from CI5. It’s worth a download, mostly; Melo’s rock voice sounds authentic, and I was heartened to learn that he and the bubblegum factory have since parted ways.

As for CI2…oy. Remember I said I wasn’t particularly embarrassed by my past musical choices? Well, I lied. Shorn of the excitement of the moment, Teh Greatest CI Season Evah comes off, largely, as…how do I put this? Like you thought you were watching American TV, and it turns out it was Canadian all along.

Mind, this does have the effect of throwing the glimmers of real professionalism into high relief:

Top 32:

What I preserved
- Kalan (Lady), Theresa (Summertime), Kaleb (Water Runs Dry)
What I'd keep now - None of the above. These are three canny kids showing off their vocal tricks for the voters; that's all. Kaleb probably gives the closest thing to an actual performance.

Top 10:

What I preserved- Kalan (Born to Be Wild), Theresa (Good Mother), Elena (Mary Jane)
What I'd keep now  - Theresa. No idea how I put up with Elena's shouting for even this long, anymore. Meanwhile, Kalan's developed a serious case of Johnson novelty syndrome: it's not so much that he's performing well, as that he's performing it at all.

Top 9:

What I preserved- Jacob (Space Oddity), Kalan (House of the Rising Sun)
What I'd keep now  - Both, unreservedly. They are collectively the reason us Canucks were all "Our Idol is better than yours, nyahhh!" at AI all season. (Although I do wish Kalan would just record the damn song already so I can get a version clear of all the SCREEM!s.)

Top 7-Finale under the cut... )
shoebox_dw: (kermit muppet show)
So I ran the semi-something Google checkup on Kalan Porter this afternoon - why yes, it is kinda boring waiting around for the new processes to kick in gear after the office reorg, however could you tell?

At any rate, there's still no news of fresh music-making; kinda disappointing. Especially in light of the award SOCAN handed him...well, today, actually. Looky that, for a brief (and somehow vaguely disturbing) moment I'm current with the Porterverse once again. In this nostalgic mood, I rejoice to discover that an award is 'really nice because it kind of keeps you going'; way to chat up the leading lights of your industry, there, boyo. What were you planning on doing if this honour didn't pan out, pre-law? Lawn & garden maintenance?

Yeah. Because I was idly fiddling with my iPod just after this discovery - why, yes, the new commute does double as an hourlong Great Industrial Wastelands of Southern Ontario Tour 2008, why do you ask? - anyway, as it turns out Wake Up Living, the CD from whence this honour springs, is still on there, and I was in a heard-everything-else sort of mood, so gave it a relisten. You know, interesting to see what's emerged from the mists of obscuring adoration and all that.

OK, bad idea. Most of it is patently dreadful, of course, in exactly the manner suggested by the quotes in the article - a beautiful voice repeatedly banging up against banal cliches. I am thinking now that they didn't provide the lyrics on the CD liner because they were hoping to cadge a few more months' sales off discreet fudging on lines like 'Before I let this sinking ship go down/And I watch you swim away'.
Mind, with our boy here it doesn't even have to be all that discreet. In fact, it's to his real credit that the thing contains lyrics at all, beyond "Hi there, potential CD purchaser! I'm Kalan, and you really kind of keep me going. Unless you happen to be male of course...I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that idea, it's just that..."

Yeah. I did say 'most'. There is Hurray. There is Try, the still-passable Beatles pastiche, and there is the fragile elegance of Out of My Head, which is based off real emotion and thus always to be respected. Also, over in a different part of reality, there is the amusing Run Run Run, in which our Earnest Young Musician takes a random unexpected holiday from trying so damn hard. Just mucks around in his own earnest young psyche for awhile: 'Do you ever stop to think about lines that run, run, run?/And fall past each other on the edge...'

The thing is, that song is in its way most intelligent thing on the CD - even more so than Hurray - because here the wit is somehow incorporated right into the standard Lite-FM drivel, transmuting the whole into...well, assuming you've listened to one too many Bob & Ray routines and do a nice line in wishful thinking to boot, it sounds an awful lot like subtle satire.

There's still promise there, somewhere. I said once that I'd love to see Kalan follow in the manner of Franz Ferdinand, and got some awfully funny looks - but to me this is where the boy's real talent has always lain, in riding that same razor-fine line between loving homage and sly parody (the snappy-suit thing is a nice bonus).  Awareness without anger...or even much awareness, I suspect. How exactly do you convince somebody to be snarky for their own good?

shoebox_dw: (ratatouille remy pensive)
Google News is a wonderful thing. Sometimes, when I happen to think of it, I type in the names of a few old media crushes and see what's going on. Not that I'm nostalgic for the crush, exactly; but it is reassuring to find out that they haven't yet been reduced to dog food commercials, or anything. Tom Everett Scott for instance, he's had a pleasant run. I must try and catch that Law & Order finale.

Thus I also learned this evening that one Richard Kalan Porter was up for nomination as Alberta's Greatest Citizen. I like that. In a world that seems entirely made up of pressing concerns these days, It's great to know that one small corner of Canada is still drunk on money and having a good time running pointless civic contests.

Otherwise, there doesn't seem to be much going on in re: the bishonen Idol moppet. No mention of a new album in process, or any new music at all come to that. Then again, no mention of any of his family members coming down with life-threatening illnesses, either. So I'm guessing he's pretty content with his 2008 thus far.

Me, I'm having a great time in the first real summery weather Toronto's had in a month - yes, I know it's still technically spring. You want me to come over there and start carping about the Winter From Hell again?

Anyway, Shoemom is down East at a family funeral this weekend - that would not be the great part - but yours truly has
just completed a five-hour urban hiking circuit and is in decidedly mellow mood this evening, contemplating the result.
It all started with a mad desire for more saltwater taffy from this little candy shop I know on the Danforth...and about halfway down Yonge abruptly mutated into a panicked quest to stop by the Bay and make sure I remembered to hand off the non-ad signage (long week, even longer story).

Once that was polished off (phew!) I betook me across the
valley. Several random 'hey, that little side street looks shady...' decisions later, I ended up on photo safari through the gardens of Rosedale, my own private fairyland, lying as sweet and calm as if it had never even heard of concern, over work or anything else. Nothing can ever be pressing anyhow, in a summer twilight.

Then I emerged and sat for awhile, near Yonge again, in the shade of some maidenhair trees and watched a little Scottie dog play in a reflecting pool, barking ecstatically whenever the moderne
fountain design dumped the water over his head....and so home at last, tired and hungry, to a warm bubble bath and a big plate of butter chicken. Oh, and saltwater taffy for dessert.

It was a really lovely day.
shoebox_dw: (self discovery)
So I got far enough in my grand scheme of revenge - you remember, the one where I flit back onto the Kalan Porter fan forums just long enough to post a link to the PopMatters article and "Who's unreadable now, hey?! Hah-hah-hah-hahhhhhhh!" - to try and sign back up. But the confirmation email hasn't come thru after two days, so I guess I've been fairly thwarted.
Probably this is a good thing, as choosing the username 'shoebox2' indicates I'm not exactly cut out as a master criminal anyway. I feel a little bad, thinking of all the people whose nominations I've now permanently scotched just because they might think some variant of 'shoe' would make a cool username. Sorry, guys.

As penance I will just mention that I did finally check out the most recent video on [personal profile] shing 's blog - the one that offered Single, tambourines and Michael Jackson all in one go - and boy it did not disappoint. In fact I submit this to be the most original piece of film ever captured of an ex-Idol anywhere, unless somebody can finally unearth that long-promised footage of Clay Aiken kicking puppies.

Frankly it has the potential to revive my Porter fanhood in something very very close to its former glory... assuming he fulfils my fantasies of performing it just once more, this time without lyrics at all, just the tambourine and that half-interested smirk. After which he becomes a practitioner of Kabbalah, also a vegetarian, and upon returning from retreat - having made headlines by dragging with him a girlfriend whose name he has tattooed on his bicep, and who was trying to sneek controlled substances through Customs - records a CD consisting of  the most whacked-out pretentious electronica ever, the kind where the videos involve ironic homages to classic children's stories, and I will promptly march right out and buy fifteen copies I do solemnly swear.

********************************************************

Meanwhile. It's been quite a week here @ Shoe Central. Thus far I've been concentrating on the good bits, which have been mindblowingly good no question...but there comes a time at which you have to put aside pleasant daydreams and start focussing on the stuff that matters. Either that, of course, or you have to find better daydreams. In an odd way, the current job situation promises quite a bit of both, over the next while.

Interlude

Jan. 1st, 2008 08:49 pm
shoebox_dw: (lucy)
Public service announcement: I really must apologise to all - uh - [glances at statcounter] - any of the readership who may have unwittingly bought seats on the Great Bob & Ray Essay Kaleidoscope these past few weeks.
It started out as just your standard offhand blogger's appreciation I swear; but then an unexpected hit from a Los Angeles IP address started me thinking that it would probably be a good idea, when writing a public tribute, not to leave the impression that any live honourees were deceased. I got interested, and started researching, and realised I'd left out some really great details...well, you can imagine, after forty years there are a lot of details.

So the next thing I knew I was working on a full-fledged little article.
(Should anyone with a personal interest in fact be reading, I'd like to stop right here and say thanks. Not sure what for, specifically, but I have developed a very great need to thank somebody for those forty years.)

'Tennyrate, the really good news is that I've just added the very very last, finishing touches this afternoon. I think. Well, barring any shocking! revelations of late-night cavorting on the set of Bob & Ray & Jane & Laraine & Gilda, the SNL special they taped in the 70's...

...OK, getting grip once and for all. Seriously, as far as I can tell both Elliott and Goulding were perfect gentlemen at all times; even while throwing a spelling bee to a miniskirted Laraine Newman they come off as the dear old grandfathers they were by then. Albeit I do wonder if the little ones were allowed to stay up and watch their Grandpas chorus Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?...

[Um, in business suits. You can put down the brain bleach now. Sorry.]

*******************************************

So life acquires a distinctly whimsical edge anyway, when you conflate vacation days with the holidays...

shoebox_dw: (pbs truism)

So the other day I decided to recklessly shell out some Audible.com credits on John Ritter and Arte Johnson reading Dave Barry’s columns. Quite good value, really; if only for the nostalgia factor. At that it’s funny how the one defect in Ritter’s reading is that he hurries a little, as if anxious to get it over. You’d think Barry’s Everyman-to-the-comic-extreme schtick would fit him as comfortably as if, well, they were sharing a beer.

At any rate, the collection also turns out to contain Johnson’s reading of the lengthy piece Barry wrote on the 10th anniversary of Elvis Presley’s death. It’s not about The Pelvis, per se, but his fandom – the hardcores, the Graceland ‘gate people’, the ones who made up the eager audience when he rented a local theatre for exclusive showings of (for instance) The Nutty Professor, night after long night.

The thrust - excuse it, please - of Barry’s essay is that, contrary to the popular notion, the really hardcore fans idealized, not the image, but the man himself. That they rode the downhill slope more faithfully with each stop, all the way to the sick, sad, trailer-park joke he was at the end – circling the wagons as you would for a family member, Barry points out. “I still don’t understand it,” he concludes, “but I’m not laughing anymore.”

I was standing in the checkout line @ Wal-Mart pondering this, and the thought occurred that – well, to be entirely honest, that I finally had a way of working Britney Spears into my journal [waves happily at theoretical oodles of new Google traffic] without feeling like a total sellout.

shoebox_dw: (kermit muppet show)

So I sent around a PM to my forum the other day, announcing that I did not, repeat not, want to spend any more time trying to care about Kalan Porter. I threw around phrases like 'moving on' and 'flapping my wings' and generally stopped just shy of yowling "Free at last, Lord! Free at last!"

Then my good friend Margot offered me a free ticket to his show at the MOD club here in downtown T.O. (also the chance to see her again for the first time in ages). After which, my other good friend Monica informed the world at large that her life would be complete if only I wrote up a recap.

Clearly, step one in the Serious Writing Career is find some less caring and encouraging friends ASAP. I must have angst, people! Angst!

...hey, wait a minute...
 
 
shoebox_dw: (kermit muppet show)
This is going to be a recurring theme, in this journal: Notes from the (Canadian, mostly) Idol Front Lines...well, sort of front lines. I'm probably the last female in Idol fandom who hasn't yet been hugged by the current CI, an elfin - some even say angelic, though I have my grave doubts - rocker by the name of Kalan Porter.
Maybe it's more like M*A*S*H, where they were perpetually 'three miles from the front' - not close enough to be totally engulfed by the madness, but close enough to need to ward it off constantly with jokes. (Yeah, I realise I just compared the Korean War to a reality television series. Go tell that to the TV critics who carry on like Simon Cowell's the Antichrist.) 
This year, though, bore a closer resemblance to later-season 4077th, inasmuch that as time went on the feeling that I was watching Something Actually Quite Special, in this case young Porter, got harder and harder to ignore until it threatened the funny to a really alarming degree. Luckily, as this recap from the Toronto leg of his concert tour demonstrates, there are compensations...

Read more... )

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