inconception Posted by Sad Blogger , 29.7.10 at Thursday, July 29, 2010, in

[Edit: As the comic strip mentioned in this post is no longer displayed on this website, it can be found for reference here.]

Aaaannnnndddd...we're back. Or at least I am. It's been summer, can you blame us for taking a break from staring at a dim screen and laboriously toiling over a blog post that you don't even read? Anywho.

You'll notice a song at the top of the current playlist titled "Cosmic Love". Listen to it and tell me it doesn't move you. It's been moving me for the past few days and as I was sluggishly oozing through rush hour traffic yesterday it really got my creative juices flowing. I couldn't wait to get home and play guitar or start working on a new short story or even contribute something to this dismal website. I just needed to create.

Now you'll also notice a new feature that I intend to update frequently. For now it's an excerpt of a comic strip. I'll have to discuss with my co-author what we will do with that space in the future. But at the moment it is a piece of a Calvin and Hobbes strip that I clumsily edited and threw in some text. The strip reminded me of Christopher Nolan's new film, Inception in that Calvin repeatedly falls to his death only to find that he was dreaming. Above, you see the final panels in which Calvin has once again fallen to his death and woken up with a fear of even leaving his room again. One of the big ideas in Inception is that true inspiration is a rare occurrence at which point the subconscious ignores all pre-acquired data and creates a completely new idea. An idea not influenced by ideas already recognized or memorized.

Stay with me. This has all been a long-winded exposition to preface the main idea behind this post: is inspiration possible?

K so dictionaries define inspiration as either "divine influence of the intellect" and stuff like that as well as the more reasonable "action or power of moving the intellect or emotions". So given this interpretation along with Nolan's rule that inspiration results in a new idea, let's get into it shall we?

Driving along in my little orange car, screaming the backup vocals to "Cosmic Love". I suddenly feel the need to create. To create something that will play "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on people's heartstrings. To create beauty and laughter and colors and warmth. According to the dictionary I've been inspired. So I go home and record a guitar track with hints of the Florence song in it. I outline a short story about a man searching for closure from his parents' divorce. I write a blog about the song I heard and the movie I saw. As far as I can tell, I haven't really done anything original. The guitar track contains notes that every other musician uses and contains themes that I liked from "Cosmic Love". The short story is a reinventing of a story I meant to write a long time ago except replacing an old man with a young man and shellshock with divorce. And my parents just got divorced so that's completely uninspired. Then there's the blog. Who DOESN'T have a blog? Not to mention the fact that several ideas I'd had over the past few days are the basis on which I am attempting to suggest that I was inspired. See where I'm going with this?

Sure, there may not be another song that sounds exactly like my recording, but it's not a completely new sound unexperienced by any living creature. The short story contains tried and true archetypes and themes taken from my own life, nothing new there. And I just won't mention that blog again. It's too indulgent, ya?

Now even this isn't a new concept. I know I can't be the only one that thinks it's nearly impossible to invent anything anymore. As humans we've explored almost every capacity for the technologies we have available to us. Once an action has been invented (such as communication or transportation), the devices that make that action possible (such as phones or buses) are simply refinements of the devices that came before them. If a guy says "I have invented a phone that also dances and reads your Sunday paper", he hasn't invented anything. He's simply improved (and kind of creepified) an idea that already existed, the telephone. Any ideas we dream up or conceive are "inspired" by data that has already been stored in our subconscious. But to say that we could be inspired from absolute nothingness to create pure originality is...well...inconceivable.

If you disagree, shoot us a comment. We'd love to see what our reader thinks.

From my subconscious to your conscious,

Sad Blogger

Great American Novel Brainstorming Session #1 Posted by Sad Blogger , 16.5.10 at Sunday, May 16, 2010, in

This is how I wrote when I graduated from high school. A wonderfully longwinded cacophony of overreaching prose. Commas scattered, like grammatical buckshot, amongst my blinding abundance of pretentious adjectives. To arrogantly split infinitives was my mission. I made the mistake of dreaming my audience idolized every precious, poetic syllable that dripped from my pen. I didn't have an audience then and now that I do you don't give two shits either way.

In my first year of university I began to hate that garbage. That's how the theatre fags talked, how the egotists -stuck in their eighth-grade glory days- wrote. The profs laughed at their snivelling suck-uppery and I despised all of them. So I wrote like this, got straight A-'s, and I decided I should write a book.

This was still all in my first year and as much as I have implied my hatred for the egotists, I was clearly one of them. Though back then my code for egotist was "intellectual" and I was the only one. I read Kerouac and Burroughs and Rand and Vonnegut. I stood out amongst my miserable, in-the-way classmates walking the halls of my school. My green, knitted chapeau and thick-framed glasses spelled out my superiority and significance in flashing, yellow-orangey, Broadway-ish bulbs. I smirked.

At this point he paused and wondered whether the first-person narration was as intellectually powerful as Dave Eggers had led him to believe. The bums around the bus stop glanced curiously at the wall of pencil-text on his douchey yellow legal pad. He was a fake. This was evident by the green chapeau. Not to mention the unnecessarily loud indie music pumping from his headphones (carelessly hung around his neck as if he had forgotten they were there, noisily blasting the sounds of that new band: "Meticulously Researched Playlist Of Post-Rock That Only The Most Amazing Potential Girlfriend Would Recognize And Conveniently Approach Him To Discuss."). Even the bums knew this.

He took a moment from his clever soliloquy of self-deprecation to peer down the street for the bus. It was not coming. He continued to stare at a distant sign post though. Maybe the bums would notice and recognize the intelligent look of quiet contemplation on his face. Of course they would. They're staring at him in open admiration of his youth and virility right this very moment. He can tell. He chuckles proudly, with condescension and reluctant acceptance of his sheer magnitude. He misspelled "sheer" on a test fifty-four minutes ago.

At that point I really began to doubt the third-person thing too. It seems so high-school-short-story. So "see-Dick-run". Is there another option? How does second-person actually work? Nobody ever explains that to you. There! Was that second-person? Do you just refer to everyone as you? You continue to read your words and wonder to yourself whether you should have yoused a different point of vyou. You do. I do.

-Sad Blogger

Memoirs of a Geek Posted by Happy Blogger , 15.5.10 at Saturday, May 15, 2010, in

Well Hello there, we haven't talked in a while. I feel completely responsibile, as I am the one trying to do to many things at once. phew! Now I just have to manage to make it to the summer alive!


Golly gee, I haven't posted anything since the Olympics. This is sad.


The other day I was thinking about how 'sad' my life is. Not like in the 'boo-hoo' sort of sense, but the, 'did I actually do that?' sense. You following? As we made our way up to Whistler for our big band trip of the year, someone put in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back in. Now, this is one of my favorite Star Wars, and I could practically quote the entire film. You know it's sad when you can out-quote the bandies on your bus. And then that got me thinking. I was the biggest Star Wars geek ever. I mean, my mother made my sisters and I cloaks, I still keep a lightsaber by my bed, when it came time to redecorating our bathroom, we based it around a Star Wars poster we had inherited and for it's 'debut' I had a CD player going with the Cantina band song playing repeatedly. And on top of that, I manage to try to braid my hair like Leia every time I watch the classic Star Wars, and then go on to think "I need to grow my hair out for this to work". My sister and I used to have contests to see who knew the most, and it would usually come down to who could name the most planets. At the time, you could ask me anything about Star Wars and I would have atleast a 3 minute answer to go along with it.


Sadly, that isn't all. I went through a superhero phase too. When I started to watch the TV show 'Smallville', I became obsessed with the entourage surrounding the man of steel. Clark Kent, supermans alter ego has the same initials as me, so for some period of time, any nickname that people used to call him, I insisted that they called me that. I recall making my sister call me "Smallville, and CK" and I wouldn't reply until she called me that. For Christmas, I got a superman blanket- which is still on my bed to this day, and when I was at a wedding where we met Erica Durance, Lois Lane in Smallville, we giggled like little girls and brought along our fourth season with her on the cover for her to sign. It's our most prized possesion.


I could go on about how I used to select outfits that some bands I love used to wear, and that I would be able to recall certain things that they said, and that I could find which video in youtube it was from. I could tell you about the countless hours that I spent researching all this stuff so I could become more 'knowledgeable' about the subject- but then I could be writing this blog for a year straight.


Now that I come to think of it, all the things I did were really 'sad'- but then again, it's all in the past- well, most of it.


-Happy Blogger

A Process (or: Blinking Cursor Syndrome) Posted by Sad Blogger , 20.4.10 at Tuesday, April 20, 2010, in

Sifting through the spice rack in my mind
Trying to find that key ingredient
Still not seeing it
Not able to bake that masterpiece
Disaster repeats itself over and over
'Cause I strove for greatness
And you see how lame this is?
So while pronouns verb nouns
Ideas grasp desperately for sounds
Forwards, backwards and upside down

A furious crescendo of backspaces
Virtually erases each incompetent phrase
An endless expanse of empty space

It's not like this thing’s of the utmost importance
And it’s not as though it really has to
“MAKE MORE SENSE! –shit!”
Bound forever by the pressure to be better
Am I going to regret or detest– “Gah! Whatever!”

Inspired by ghosts who wrote songs and books
Who had the courage to look for new ground

Found whole generations on their profound words and revolutionary sounds

Dramatic pause for the audience
Make the thought seem unforgettable
Assume I’m credible for better or worse
As I curse and–
At first that seemed clever but now it’s a joke
And each keystroke’s the punchline.
But each new line forward is a whole stanza back
Back to basics
Face it, perfection…
It’s not as easy as [snap] that

I’ve gone through eighty-seven spices
“DAMMIT! WHY DOES NOTHING WORK?”
With that jerk of a cursor
Always blinking. Mocking, taunting
Haunting each five-minute 'moment to regroup'

So it's time for something new
With blues lines and familiar red mar...gines
A blank canvas with no stress or pressure

A fresher medium
That I can feel with my fingers
Spread beneath my greedy thumbs
It's freedom from that blinking cursor
And now words are beginning to flow

An idea appears beneath my pen tip
Almost faster than I can even think of it
This way is permanent
No chance to think of what that first verse meant
Pent-up creativity
Released effect of immediately

Shit-- could that have been stuffier?
Why can't I just be enough-is-enoughier?
For lack of a better word
I'm a hack with some clever verses
Peddling redundant rhymes in double time
With personal tangents amidst useless cliches
Just another unconventional way
To impress girls and avoid the traditional
"Hey, what's your number?"

So cue the score, roll the credits
Fifty-six edits have brought me to this
A page stained with egotism
"Oh how great is him!"
They'll ungrammatically shout from the rooftops
"Poetry workshops have done he good!"
They'll continue and ruin the joke
So a bow to the crowd to signal my leave
I'm sure the guy timing the slam is relieved.

The Olympic Hangover Posted by Happy Blogger , 5.4.10 at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

Well, let's see. In short, that was possitively the greatest experience of my life. It was one of a kind, and I am so greatly that I had the oppurtunity.


I got home, and talked for 3 hours straight, distributed the gifts and took a shower.


I showed all my pictures, and discussed highlights.


I then had to catch up in all the school work I should've done while I was there.


But I didn't care.


I had a major Olympic Hangover, and it was awesome.


P.S. I mentioned earlier that I couldn't find my social textbook.

On a closing note, my little 5 year old cousin had taken it, and put it in with her crayons and her princess colouring books. I was panicking and calling everyone trying to look for it, when I finally got a call from my aunt claiming that they had taken it by mistake, and only noticed it when her little princess backpack was about 15 pounds heavier then it should have been.




-Happy Blogger

Day 10- The End Posted by Happy Blogger , at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

We tided up the apartment, and packed up all our belongings. ( Oh Crap! what did I do with my social textbook?) and made our way to the airport. Since today was going to be the busiest day, as the entire world was going to be spilling in and out of Vancouvers airport, we made arrangements for a limo to come pick us up. At approximately 11 am, The silent treatment was over, and we reconciled. Praise the Lord.


We checked in, and stopped at a couple of stores on the way through the airport. We were looking at the Sea World shop, when bassist and guitarist for Simple Plan walked into this tiny little store. I was in complete shock. I used to love these guys! People now ask me why I didn't go and get their autograph, and you see, at the time, my aunt was making me try on this huge frog hat when they walked in, and I was simply to embarassed to say anything. They didn't even notice, but I did, and snuck a picture of them. I was now giggling like a little girl.


Went through security, ate some lunch, bought a few last minute souvenirs, and headed down to the boarding station. As we sat there, we saw Tanya Kim, the host from Etalk! daily. I could have possibly cared less about seeing her though. From a far, I could see this tall man, with perfect hair and a tanned face. I could have known who it was from a thousand feet away. Ben Mulroney. From the sound of it, you might think that I am fond of this character, but I shall have to inform you that it is the COMPLETE opposite. I despise him. The worst possible thing that could happen in this world would to have Ben Mulroney sing 'I Believe'. Though, I must add, I walked past him a couple times for shits and giggles.


On the flight home we watched 'The invention of Lying". I rather enjoyed it.


As we were getting off the plane, the first thing that I saw was Charles Hamelin and Marianne St. Gelais walking in the other direction. His face was in one of those Olympic Visa bags, and the scenario went a little bit like this. Me: OMG, it's Charles Hamelin and his girlfriend. Charles: Mmm, what's in this bag. Marianne: Why is that girl looking at us weirdly.


And there you have it.


As we were waiting for our luggage, we saw the Canadian Women's curling team. I was taking random pictures, just attempting to prove that they were there when I was there, when this man in a Cowboy hat approached us. 'Would you like a picture with them?". "Sure...!" we muttured, slightly embarassed. He then went up to Cheryl Bernard, the skip, and asked if we could get a picture with her. "Ofcourse!". OH MA GOSH. 'I'm sorry, we're awkward".


Great. We meet an Olympian curler, and I haven't showered in 3 days. Oh my. Then she said "Would you like to hold the medal?". OH MA, OH MA GOSH. So there you have it. Frozen in a picture for the rest of eternity. Lys, me and Cheryl, holding the olympic medal. I was exstatic.


The whole car ride home, we blubbered about how we want to join a curling team, and how she was such an inspiriration to us.


So heres the plan, kiddo. Sochi 2014. Go curl for Ireland. If we managed to win, I could sing the national anthem, and do a little jig!


-Happy Blogger

Day 9- Go Canada Go Posted by Happy Blogger , at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

We met up at the Mariott hotel, and sat down to watch THE game. We ordered wings and fries, and geared up to watch Men Hocky Finals. Canada scores, US scores, Canada Scores. Canada almost wins. 50 second left, US scores. Gramma nearly haves a heart attack. A storm trooper with a Canada flag arrives outside to cheer on. It's tense, very tense. and we are just waiting for CrosBY TO SCORE!!! People jump up. People are cheering. Gramma's hugging strangers. Unity. Pride. Canada.


Robson was crazy. Getting through the crowds was nearly impossible. And knowing how much I am fond of crowds, I just couldn't wait to bask in it for the next couple of hours. We went shopping, and spent an hour in a store. (This is the part where I have a mental breakdown). Sending agry texts to sisters, panciking at what to buy family, the line ups, the expense. WoaH!


After that, we made our way to a Japadog, where we stood in line for an hour. I started to see the same cars, driving around and honking their horns, waiting for drunk strangers who are just as proud to come and give them a 'high five!" We finally got our japadogs, though the majority of mine ended up on my shirt due to some guy running into me. (This is the part in the story where our two young protagonists have a fall out and stop talking to each other). I wanted to finish shopping, she didn't. She was stubborn, I was crying. She was Concrete. I wasTransparent.


We silently got back up to watch the closing ceremony. I would try to make conversation, but she was persistant in her silent treatment.


-Happy Blogger

Day 8- Finals and Italian Food (The Real Stuff) Posted by Happy Blogger , at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

Lyssie and I argued over lyrics in the morning. 'Sun's a ball of Fire' and 'Life's a ball of butter'. We were both sure we were right, and as it turns out, parts of us were right. 'Sun's a ball of butter'.


For the first time in my life, I ate Seafood Soup. I thought it was going to be disgusting, but it was the cheapest thing on the menu, and the smallest, and I wasn't very hungry. As it turns out, it was delicious.


We went and saw Team Pursuit Long Track speed skating. I was personally cheering for the German womans team. It was rather funny, that one of the germans skates broke, and ended ujp skidding through the finish line. As painful as it looked, it managed to get them to the finals! I bet she wasn't worried about the bruises, I mean, they'd made it! They were going again Japan for the gold, and throughout the entire race were atleast 1 second behind. As things turned out, they managed to skate their way to first place, by 2/100 of second. Go Team Germany.


The Team Canada's team persuit won Gold, and it was rather exciting as they were facing the american team, and I was sitting in a section of Americans, so when we won, I jumped up and waved my flag proudly. The guy behind me shot it down, though I can't tell it he wanted to see, or was furious with the Canadian Flag, I guess I'll never know.


That night we went shopping down robson. At one point, we were both extremely tired, and sat down in a little coffee shop. I ordered "Jasmine Moonlight Tea"- which could potentially be the best cup of tea I have ever had, and I know my teas. My cousin asked me how it tasted. "It tastes like, Jasmine, infused with..." -"Oh, for the love of God, do NOT say moonlight" - "I can't seem to find a way to describe the moonlight". After I said that, I started muttering out lines to myself, attempting to write a song about moonlight, and make it sound all romantic and crap, but people wouldn't actually know I was talking about a cup of tea. I'm still working on it.


We ventured into Indigo, and looked around at some books. We came across a book about a pregnant unicorn. Even though the vook looked completely stupid, and would not be worth our money, we went ahead and bought it for a friend. This book was PERFECT for my friend. A story about magic and love. Pregnant Unicorn, little squirrel friends brewing cups of tea, and finding perfectly symmetrical places to have the baby! Ah, it was divine.


We met up with the rest of the gang at CinCin, a fancy italian resturant. When it came time to order, I ordered some sort of pasta, with some fancy ingredients for the sauce. It was divine. Lyssie ordered White truffles and gnocce. I don't think she could have ever been happier. She STILL raves about that meal. For dessert we shared Tirimasu. Holy man. I could have died and been happy.


-Happy Blogger

Day 7- Gramma In The Nose Bleeds Posted by Happy Blogger , at Monday, April 05, 2010, in

Well, through all my procrastination, I finally have a spare moment in which I can sit down and reclaim my thoughts. Phew!


Well, like every other morning in my life, I was to wake up and eat breakfast. Followed by putting some clothes on. I probably sat down and ate some lunch a little bit later, and went shopping down Robsons street. Some people shop to relieve stress, but as per myself, it does the very opposite. While every other girl my age would be happy to spend their parents money they have lent them, I feel serious guilt, and simply hate spending money, like my mom says "we're shanty Irish". Also, I panic over whether I'm spending to much, or whether the person I'm buying something for will like what I'm getting them, and then there's the line ups, and people looking at the same things you are, and I can honestly say I have broken down and started crying in a store, because the crowds are so overwheming. My Theory: Get in and get out, that way I can maitain partial sanity.


Later in the day, we had tickets to Short Track Speed skating. My uncle is a sports journalist for the Edmonton Journal, and was at the arena at the same time we were. So, we attempted to meet up for a brief second. It was quite commical, because there are only a thousand people standing in the same place you are, and descriptions of location through texts simply failed, due to the people sending them (Later we decided we were the worst texters on the planet). After a few minutes of standing where you were, waiting to see the other person, we realized we were actually standing right behind each other, but were to preoccupied with all the other humans to recognize them. We talked for a couple of minutes, and then proceded to our seats.


Gramma was a real trouper the whole trip, but I would personally like to give my entire credit to her getting to these seats. We just happened to be in the nosebleeds of the nosebleeds. I'm pretty sure that the arena had set up this extra row to sell tickets. We were at the very top, no one behind us. Fifty thousand steps later, we got to our seats. The competitons were short, but sweet, and though our seats were slightly inconvienient to get to, we could see the whole rink, which was kind of awesome. They had qualifiers and Team Pursuit. This was the one where one of the teams got disqualified- I believe China or Korea. The american team should consider themselves lucky- because they were soo far behind, and managed to get a Bronze medal. Poo Poo Poo.


We ended up leaving a little bit early, because we desperately needed to beat the crowds, as Gramma needed her time getting down the stairs. Fifty thousand steps later, we were safe on flat ground. All I could think was, My Gramma's a Super Trouper.


Went out to Dinner, and finsihed the night off with some glee. Per usual
-Happy Blogger

Your Colon Posted by Sad Blogger , 28.3.10 at Sunday, March 28, 2010, in

Have you ever run the last leg of the relay?

If you have then you know it’s a stressful experience, because you either make it or break it. I mean, you’re either ahead and it’s up to you to hold the lead, or you’re behind and it’s up to you to make it up. Everyone else is done, so they’re just standing behind you relaxing and catching their breath while you give everything you’ve got to sprint for the finish line. And of course, because you’re last you’re dealing with a sweaty baton, a trampled path, and cold muscles.

It’s not easy.

Well, guess who’s running the last leg of the relay in your body? Guess who’s anchoring the team? Guess who’s picking up the slack? Guess who’s taking the baton for the final leg of race?

Dude, it’s your colon. Or Cole for short.

Now, Cole’s a humble guy. I mean, call him colon, call him large intestine, call him big snakey, call him whatever you want. He doesn’t care. He just shows up to work, all 1.5 meters of him, day after day, week after week, year after year. He punches his timeclock and starts working in the dark, tight recesses of your abdomen from the day you’re born, twisting himself up into all kinds of positions, kicking it into high gear from the get go.

Now, Cole does a lot of work:

1. He stores and dumps waste. This isn’t a pleasant job, but somebody’s got to do it. This man is the garbage man and the trash can, think about that. He doesn’t get one of the nicer jobs like looking at your food or tasting your food, no, he just stores and dumps it after everybody else has had their way with it. I mean, they’ve done such a number on it that it’s no longer food — it’s called chyme, a partially digested semifluid mass that probably smells like what would come out of a dog if you fed it raw pork, bleach, and hot sauce. Thankfully, Cole’s a real professional.

2. He gathers water from the waste. I know what you may be thinking. “Doesn’t my esophagus, stomach, and small intestine already do this?” And actually you’re right, that is true. But Cole picks up where they left off. Yes, he smiles backwards at the gang, flashes them a big thumbs-up, then quietly finishes the job when they aren’t looking. What a team player.

3. He absorbs vitamins. What, you thought he was just a chymebag? Just a water-sucker-upper? No man, he’s also rooting around for vitamins, too. He’s the guy at the dump with an eye on your discarded clothes and furniture, aiming to spot those hidden gems that are useful somewhere else. You know all this talk about reducing, reusing, and recycling? Cole’s been doing that for thousands of years. He practically invented it.

Now, Cole the Colon is a huge player in your body, but you’d never know that from talking to him. If you try he’ll ignore you and you’ll just hear the deep, quiet sound of chyme processing. And that’s sort of the point. He’s always there, always grinding, always working the gears, always helping the younger guys along, and most importantly, always getting the job done. And just try getting him to take a vacation!

So — this one’s for Cole. Pat yourself on the belly today and thank your colon for being a true servant leader, a humble team player, and a bona fide nice guy.

From my colon to yours,

- Sad Blogger