|
Lorna Mills and Sally McKay
Digital Media Tree this blog's archive OVVLvverk Lorna Mills: Artworks / Persona Volare / contact Sally McKay: GIFS / cv and contact |
View current page
...more recent posts
I missed Canzine this year, due to being out of the country. Luckily, the independent art and writing (maga) zine Kiss Machine has nice quicktime documentation of their Secret Room, here, at the Inflatable Museum. People were invited to write their secrets on balloons and leave them behind, the tender silly things slowly jamming up the airspace over the course of the day. It's a typical Kiss Machine project: open and welcoming with just a peppering of genuine risk. "Come on and join us out here on the end of this limb!"
I really love Kiss Machine because lots of the writing is really good, and nearly all of it is unpretentious. Sometimes I'm faced with poems and stories I think are dreadful, but I never find it oppressive, I just read on. Everyone is mixed up together, veterans and greenhorns alike. I trust editors Emily Pohl-Weary and Paola Poletto to choose stuff on it's merit and not it's social clout. There is often something in there by Paul Hong, whose short fiction I find delightful, or Jon Sasaki who is still, somehow, slipping under the radar. There's lots of art reproduced, but a sane lid is kept on the DIY production values, and now that the infamous mattb is doing the design, it all falls into place very nicely indeed.
Damn! Just heard that Alliance Atlantis, who bought out Salter St. Films in 2001, are closing up shop on their small budget projects. Yeesh, after all that raving I've just been doing. Having just closed down an independent Canadian art magazine myself, I find this news further disheartening. You'd think in a country full of kooks we'd find more ways to fiscally support the oddball art phenomena that we love. Damn again. Guess we'll always have the beer commercials for cultural identity. Har har grizzly bears and curling.
A friend in New York asked me why I "like things from Nova Scotia." I was puzzled until I realized the source of the question was the Trailer Park Boys. I started trying to describe Canadian east-coast humour, which led me to Codco (of Salter Street Films)...and then I promptly gave up, cause there's no explaining those guys. (For the record - yes I know they were from Newfoundland) So in lieu of a description, here's some holiday transcription (scene 4 from "Would You Like to Smell My Pocket Crumbs?", 1975, as published in The Plays of Codco):
Tommy Common Christmas Special
The Characters:
Tommy Common
Friends
Singers
Kid 1
Kid 2
Announcer
The Queen
Mother
Father
Children
The Setting
Stage setting for a CBC Christmas special. Feeling of "old fashioned Christmas," fake snow on singers' shoulders, etc. Singers stroll back and forth across stage singing Christmas carols, providing a bridge between sketches.
Tommy Common: (Singing)
Sleigh bells ring, are ya listening?
In the lane, snow is glistening...
(He speaks to the audience)
Oh, hi! Well, it's Christmas time again. And well everyone seems to be getting into the spirit. Especially my good friend Dean Martin. Ha ha ha! What could be nicer than to have your best friends come and visit you on Christmas Eve. Sit around the yule fire and sing Christmas carols. Oh, here are my best friends now.
(Friends enter in a tight bunch, making exaggerated happy gestures, but emitting no sound.) (He calls to them.) Hi friends! Come on in! Come on in! Through the door. Come on in! Yes, Christmas is holly and ivy and all good things. Welcome. (Friends begin to laugh and shout as if volume has suddenly been turned on. They attack Tommy, beat him senseless, and exit, still laughing and shouting.)
(Enter strolling singers, linked arm in arm).
Singers: In the meadow we can build a snowman
And pretend that he is Parsons Brown.
He'll say are you married, we'll say...
Two Male Singers: (Arms linked and appearing effeminate. They speak.) Not exactly, man.
(Introduction on piano to "God Save the Queen." Two singers detach themselves and become Announcer and Queen.)
Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, Her Majesty the Queen!
Queen: Hello (She stops, realizing that her accent has rendered the word unrecognizable. She tries again.) Helle-ah. (She tries again.) Hell-ya; hell-uh; hillya; hilloo. (A whole bunch of "hellos" emerge at once.) Hilleehillyoohillaaaahillye (Piano repeats first line of "God Save the Queen" which covers her confusion. She pulls herself together and starts again.) On this festive and happy (Her accent has now destroyed the word "happy." She tries again.) hi-yappy; hi-yippie; h'yappy (Her voice trails off.)
(Singers resume stroll.)
Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock,
Jingle bell chime in jingle bell time,
Dancing and prancing in jingle bell square,
In the salty air.
(Two singers detach themselves and become kids.)
Kid 1: Shur I saw Santy Claus. It was last Christmas Eve. Me and Dad and Jack Costello were up real late drinking. Yeah, drinkin'! And Santy Claus came down over the stairs, and I picked up me hockey puck, boy and I said, "Get up over them God-damn stairs and don't come down again, or I'll pick you off wit' dat, luh." And he didn't either.
Kid 2: What ya get for Christmas?
Kid 1: Nudding!
Queen: (She resumes character and is finishing off her message now.) And a happy new year (Oops, there goes the word "year." It sounded more like "yir." She tries to correct it.) ye-ir; yeah; yuh; yeh; ya; yi; yoo (She trails off in confusion as "God Save teh Queen" comes up again.)
Single Singer: I saw daddy kissing Santa Claus
(Singers become a family. It is late Christmas Eve. Nerves are frayed. Children are panicking as parents begin to unravel.)
Mother: No, you can't have anything more to eat. You'll have it all tomorrow. Christ sake, I spent more than we had for the past two months. Well, this is it, this is the last year I'm getting into it. I bought all the presents you know. I had to get all the treats and yank all the decorations up from the basement. I suppose you want me to fill the bloody stockings?
Father: Then don't fill 'em, for God's sake.
Children: (Frightened, trying to please.) We don't want nothing in our stockings.
Father: Well, you're not gonna get anything in your stockings and where do you think all the God-damned money is coming from? Santa Claus?
Mother: (To father.) Now, my son, you can keep your money and go down to the Newfoundland Hotel for Christmas. There's gonna be no Christmas here!
Children: (Weeping.) This is not a house, it's a hell hole!
Father: What's wrong with ye two? Be quiet! (He prounounces it "quite.") It's gonna be a wonderful Christmas. (Pause.) Just like last year!
(Children weep more loudly.)
(Singers form strolling singers.)
Tiny tots with their arms all on fire,
Will find it hard to sleep tonight.
They know that Santa's on his way ...
(Songs and lights fade.)
I've been lax about posting lately, due to arguing with Tom (see link below) and my new job: art book publishing at a venerable artist run centre in Toronto. It's fun and hectic. The lineup for this year is exciting (more about that later). I'm scrambling to learn everything I need to know in order to run things smooooothly. Anyhow. That's where I've been. I'm starting to get a grip, so I'll be back onto the blog thang very soon.
There's an interesting "but is it art?" thread going on here.