I know, I know. A hand tattoo. That's a pretty big commitment - but I have a few lovely rings that cover it perfectly for job interviews/high society functions/my own wedding type events. The decision came on the heels of another - I have decided to extend my half sleeves down to what are called "sushi sleeves" (3/4 length - names for the fact that sushi chefs usually are fully tattooed underneath their blouse-things) and I figured that one measly knuckle couldn't hurt. I was in LA last Monday and I just marched down to the nearest tattoo parlour and said "let's do this."
I like it. It makes me feel somehow more gangster despite the fact that I am not even gangster in the slightest - I'm like, the exact polar opposite. Well, despite the knuckle tattoo... Oh! And what does the V stand for? (other than Vodka, Vancouver, Violence and erm....) Violet, of course. You should all get one!
After a nearly 5 year hiatus I have been writing poetry like a teenager (let's just hope that it is better and less angsty than when I was a teenager.... eep!) No longer am I filling notebook after notebook - now it is all on m'little laptop, but it feels the same. Two, even three bouts of inspiration bombard my brain each day and I am just frantically trying to keep up and get it all out. Perhaps it was my November visit to San Francisco and the City Lights bookstore that triggered this renaissance of couplet and haiku, the swirling spectres of Ginsberg and Kerouac and Ferlinghetti rushing through my brain and tweaking and pulling at various synapses and making them crave an alternate form of expression. Or maybe I am just depressed and bored to be home....
The really unfortunate thing is that I happen to hate the word: Poetry. I don't think that there is another word out there that can make you seem so up your own ass, so incredibly pretentious and d-baggy than poetry. Shudder. So please don't ever call me a poet unless you want a beret up your keister. I own some. I am ready.
4) The Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain
I don't really feel that I need to say too much here about how great this is. It kind of speaks for itself. Especially when you watch them perform Lou Reed's 'Satellite of Love.' Bing Bang Bong, indeed.
5) Optimum Wound Comics
I'll admit - I'm not and never have been a super big comic-reading lady (with the exception of all of the Tank Girl and Sandman issues I could get my teenaged mitts on.) I'm not one of those girls who finds comfort while safely ensconced in the basking glow of nerd approval and the geek-points that obscure manga can accrue. I do, however, savour a hard boiled crime caper with film noir styling and that is why I love Jason Thibault's baby Optimum Wound (and it's stepchild Blunt Force Beating, for which I write sometimes.) I will admit that this is kind of a shameless plug for a close friend and his endeavours, but I have been psuedo-promised that this year Violet Dear's image may make a surprise appearance in one of his stories, Battles Without Living Witnesses (but probably as alter-ego, Violent Violet) and wouldn't y'all like to see that?
6) Werner Herzog
I have mixed feelings about Wernie's latest offering, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans but that doesn't change the fact that he is a member of my 'trimurti of favourite of living directors' along with "King of Venereal Horror" David Cronenberg (a fellow Canuck!) and the exquisitely surreal David Lynch. Recently, my good friend Brandon got himself a tattoo of Klaus Kinski in Herzog's "Aguirre, the Wrath of God" and I realized that I had never seen it. Once I picked my jaw back up off of the ground, I watched "Fitzcarraldo" and its accompanying documentary "Burden of Dreams." Amazing. I am now hooked. I try to watch a Herzog film (and there are about 100) once a week.
But really, the main reason that Herzog is unbelievably awesome comes from this anecdote here.
exs and ohs