I knew I made this blog for a reason...

Restless during the black of night, I throw back the bedsheets, overheating from the almost suffocating blankets but just as quickly replacing them as the cold crawls over me again. I had forgotten the joys associated with summer in Toronto.

Strange, in a sense, firing up the computer circuits at 3am to find some outlet for the hamster that won't stop running on the wheel (thanks for the phrase Ryan). It turns out that putting finger to key (and again) and actually staring at my own incoherent thoughts is as ridiculous as it sounds.

And yet I couldn't help reading over a few past posts and thinking, "hey, with the exception of certain terrible sentences/posts/ideas, this writing is actually passable." At the very least I didn't feel like editing the posts into oblivion, so that must be something.

I find myself torn: unable to dive into my summer science fiction reading because of academic commitments I find myself without my first line of defence against insomnia.

Unwilling to sell my soul to the TTC and impatient customers, I am wary of the financial reserves dwindling and reducing my capabilities for alternative sleep inducing methods even further.

Don't get me wrong, the summer holds promise. G20/G8 meetings always raise public awareness and participation (as well they should), two weeks settling in has seen the release of multiple blockbuster hits - all of which I have yet to see - and more are in store.

Update: Michael Bryant had the charges of reckless driving and negligence causing death dropped, on grounds that there was no reasonable chance of conviction. Bikers took to the street in response, holding up traffic during the regular rush hour out of the city.

On to less dramatic affairs...

A newly discovered local book store has become a wonderful place to spend time, both chatting with the owner and perusing the shelves; in true independent fashion one is required to put on the ol' Indiana fedora and go hunting through shelves of artifacts and treasures. And there thur be gold!

Why then the insomnia? Surely reacquainting with friends missed during the year and a fresh bookshelf and theatre is more than sufficient. Although personally a fan of the cold rather than warm (and willing to bitch regardless of what season it is), even the weather is cooperative. Until this week.

In retrospect this sounds more like the rambling of middle class white kid. Loving girlfriend, finished degree, full belly and warm bed blah blah blah the stereotype goes on. However, akin to my peers and those less endowed, I find myself facing bleak summer job opportunities and uncertain career prospects.

Somewhat ironically, my successful application to graduate school (promptly splattered on the front of my resume to distinguish from those who were on the "5-0 to go program") has actually hindered job search opportunities. Full time positions are everywhere, having been shut out of at least three in my local neighbourhood, but part time seasonal work seems to be MIA.

The green numbers continue to get smaller, almost taking on a slightly reddish hue as they shrink in size.

STS-128 Discovery Shuttle Launch

Retrieved from NASA TV.



Night launches are sick. Nothing else comes close.

Inglourious Basterds

My mind is still recovering from the all assault of Tarantino brutality. His latest work leaves divided opinions.

Part of me loves the film. The no-holds-barred approach to a Nazi vengeance film ranks the work on the level of Saw, High Tension and Hostel in terms of violence. Make no mistake: your $12.50 admission is not covering plot. It's going towards the number of props that were destroyed by explosions, blunt force trauma, knives, machine guns and a various array of other weapons. It's probably also going to cover some of the inevitable complaints from Germany and whoever decided this film was 14A. Laced with his well known dialogue and comedic relief, the film had the audience laughing and reclining in horror from second to second.

And yet, despite immensely enjoying the movie, a part of me hates myself for enjoying it. Not because it's a senseless attack on the Third Reich. Not because it had Brad Pitt in it. Simply put, this movie was a sell-out. As game developers have learned, brutalizing Nazis sells. Hardcore. To me, this was nothing but an underhanded attempt to cash in on the latest violence fetish in moviegoers combined with North American society's love for bashing the Reich. I had always held Tarantino above that standard, his films were unique and stood in a league of their own. I'm not deifying him, only pointing out that previous films had a fantastic ability to take a simple story and spice it up in a new fashion. Well, this certainly isn't an original story, but it lacks that unique flair that I so enjoyed about his films.

Comprehensive analysis aside, everything else about the film was fantastic. Brad Pitt and his 'Basterds' were delightful. Negative reviews often say they didn't have enough screen time, but I'd beg to differ. Pitt's few scenes and distance from the story only enhanced his character. After all, that fleeting moment where Dracula crosses the scene is far more spectacular then following his every step. The acting was top notch across the cast. Christopher Waltz played Col. Hans Landa and stole the show. Even with Pitt failing miserably (and hilariously) at an Italian accent, Waltz kept the spotlight on himself. Definitely the star of the film.

The music and cinematography was standard Tarantino. Read: excellent. In his style of filmmaking there is no competition. The scene where the German Sergeant is about to be interrogated is a fine example of this.

Despite having so much fun, my reservations still hold. I think this movie is going on the list of guilty pleasures I so loathe and love simultaneously. I hate myself for loving it. After all, despite all the ingenuity and creativity, this movie wasn't made to tell a story. It seemed tailor made to appeal to a wide variety of audiences who would pay to see this movie again and again, and then buy the DVD with deleted scenes full of violent brutality. Damn Tarantino for selling out, and damn him for doing it so well.