In case my loyal readers were not aware, I am the proud owner/friend of a handsome young mini-lop dwarf bunny, named Danger. Or rather, I was, until today.

Danger came into my life unexpectedly. A plea of "My roommate is allergic to my new bunny!" combined with my bleeding heart, begat my reply of: "Sure I'll take your bunny! I'd love to have a bunny!" So I took him in. His given name was Chester, and he was three months old. Not wanting to totally usurp his identity, or the bond with his former owner, I supplemented that name: Chester Danger Willowstreet. (Danger being his middle name, and the name that he officially goes by.)

I grew fond of the little fellow. I loved to let him run around and hop like a little madman to all corners of my room. But I soon realized that having a pet rabbit was far to much responsibility for someone as busy as myself. I have a lot to do, and I just don't have enough time to dedicate to the little guy. And he deserves better.

So four or five months later, I posted on locals a message, advertising the need for a new home for Danger. Hopefully, a permanent one. Leah came to the rescue, and that's how we got here today. She arrived by foot, and I packed up his things. It was really hard, because as much as I know that he needs a better home, I really love that little guy. I still wish that I didn't have to do this. On the plus side, Leah is very excited about her new friend, and I can tell that she is going to make an excellent rabbit-owner. He needs someone who will play with him every day. He needs more room than I can give. We sat on the front porch-stoop for about fifteen minutes, with Danger in his little travel cage, and all of his belongings, waiting for a cab. I wished that I could be holding him, to properly say goodbye, but with a rabbit, outdoors, that's not really possible. The cab came, and I helped pack his gear. I passed the travelcage to Leah, and said goodbye. I gave him a carrot before he left, to knaw on the way to his new home.

Of many, some things I will miss most about my furry little friend:
- his fluffy little grey feet, which always take you by surprise
- his bunny tail
- the way he cleans his face
- his inability to drink from a bottle like most rabbits
- his preference for water in bowls
- his love of carrots
- his floppy ears
- his pure and absolute joy which he gets from hopping in piles of laundry
- his newest game: "run in circles around someone for ever and ever"
- his newest twist on that game: "taking shortcuts across the backs of lying-down people

Thank you so much to Leah for taking him and offering him a stable home.

I will come and visit you, little guy.

We'll always have carrots.

Please send goodbye letters for Danger to: teamwillow(at)hotmail.com

I have to get my ass in gear, and head down to the polls today to vote. Seth and I have plans to go there together. I'll be honest, I'm almost 24 years old (did you see that Simone, I said almost!) and I've never voted before.

I can't really explain myself for that one, but it definitely had something to do with an overwhelming cynicism about the actual effectiveness of casting a ballot. (That's one cynical skepticism that I'm still guilty of holding on to a little bit, but this year I'm setting that aside for the off-chance that I'm wrong.) I think that it can also be traced to my lack of true enthusiasm for any of the candidates. Then again, I never really followed the elections as closely as this year. (Which was still not as close as I would have liked.)

Before I make my way down to the ballot box, I would like to take this time to appeal to some people. Now, I don't think I'm really going out on any kind of limb by guessing that there's not many people reading this who would consider voting Conservative. But just in case I'm wrong, please please please, reconsider. There is so much to be lost under Harper. I know about minority governments, and that if they get in at all, it will likely be a crippled version of the party, bookended by the Liberals and NDP, but even still.. that's more PC than I care for.

Finally, directing this toward a more likely audience.. I know the Greens are a good party. I know that they have good ideas. And I know that it's refreshing to see a party placing the environment at equal standing with taxes and other issues. But please. We've never had a party in office that was even close to being truly progressive. Bearing in mind that fact, and the fact that the Greens (as we all know) don't stand a chance in hell of winning.. why not just suck it up and fucking vote NDP? Not that I really think that they will win, but they've got a much better chance.. and who knows.. if all you Greens were to align and vote for a party that is so close to yours it hurts (but with a few more realistic ideas, and less ties, from what I've been told, to big business.) then maybe it could happen. It seems to me like it might be worth just trying out this whole "not having a government that makes a mockery of the word 'democracy'" thing. Y'know? Maybe it's all about baby steps. First, try NDP. Give it a shot. They've got some good ideas on child-care, health-care, and affordable housing. They will not participate in the National Missile Defense Program, and want to safeguard civil liberties in light of the Anti-Terrorism Bill. If it works out, then you can vote Green all you want.

Me, I'll be happy if Harper gets the old "fuck off" vote, but I'd be even happier to see his older, slightly friendlier adversary Martin out of the game as well.

This election is giving me a headache.

Seth and I just finished printing our latest poster. You can see it here. It's for the Heavy Blinkers and the Remains of Brian Borcherdt. It should be a good show, but there's a lot going on that night, including Sharp Like Knives at Tribecca with Bleubird, and the Burlesque Show.

Choose wisely.

Buried Inside played the living room at Hunter Street, also known as the home of Gerry, Tobias, Emily and Ainsley, tonight. I almost thought about not going, but my better judgement screamed: "Hey idiot! House shows are the best shows! And Buried Inside in a room the size of your bedroom? You can't miss that!"

Not minutes before I would leave for the House, and also not minutes after Greg and I had discussed wanting to play this show, and being a little grumpy about our "band that doesn't play", Gerry showed up at our door to borrow my microphone.

"Hey Ger," I said, "Why didn't you and your jerk housemates ask the Literati to play your jerk show for jerks?"

"Cuz we didn't think you played shows. Bring your gear and if the cops don't show up first, you can play." was his reply.

Needless to say, Buried Inside were out of control! It was the loudest thing I've ever heard in such a tiny room, and they destroyed everyone. (In a good way.) Then This Message Will Self Destruct played, and it was Ross's last show with them. They were great. The vocals were barely audible, but it was still awesome. Feeling kind of like a jerk for not thinking of it until just before OUR band was about to play, I went home and got a bigger amp for vocals, so that hopefully people could hear me.

Our set went really well, and we played super-tight.

Just ten minutes after we finished was when the cops showed up. And we thought we may not even get to play. But we did, and the cops missed it, and we did well.

Someone make Devon not quit our band. I will pay you.

Also, on a side-note: Someone (or a collective someones) please buy me these. I need them for my collection. (need: meaning really really want. Covet, I covet them.) Think about it.. it's worth it.

I finally finished printing the invites for my show a few days ago. Thank you thank you to Seth and Tobias for helping me print them. The pink is actually a seriously hot neon pink, and I'm currently cursing the shortcomings of technology for not allowing monitors to display neon!

Now I just have to finish making.. y'know... all the art.

Fuck.

Peter Brooks, the wonderful, charming man with curly hair, and a moustache who worked nearly every day at the NSCAD printshop, died on Thursday June 17th of cancer. He had been fighting it for quite some time, and had been off work for nearly two semesters. He was 52 years old.

Peter was a familiar face at NSCAD. His career there lasted a quarter century, as Director, Visual Communications Services, and full-part time faculty in the design program. He was a kind, caring man, and he was a pleasure to be around, and truly helpful in every sense of the word. NSCAD students love him, and appreciated him dearly.

He also printed the degree parchments every year. NSCAD is the only university in Canada who still prints our degrees on letterpress, and Peter Brooks was the man behind the machine. He even applied the seals by hand.

Peter and Jeff Wry (Jeff, the other printshop staple. The two worked together for years, and seemed incredibly close.) helped me with many projects in my four years at NSCAD. They always showed great interest, and would spend any length of time it seemed to help me bind books, lay out, and cut pages, etc. They were always interested in what I did, and I always gave them a copy of all the books and projects I made.

My heart goes out to Peter's family and friends, and to Jeff Wry, who I know will miss him greatly.

We'll all miss him.

There was a knock on the door yesterday around noon. I went down the stairs, opened the door, and there was John Mackaye (sp?) standing on my front stoop, with his bicycle helmet on, smiling bright and looking terribly excited.

"Hey Paul," he said. "Would you like to see my new home?"

I knew exactly what he was talking about the second the words came out of his mouth, as this has been a project who's completion I have been eagerly anticipating for roughly the last nine months. I stepped outside, and attached to his small red mountain bike, via a long hitch, was a 7 foot baby blue whale!

John's been talking about his whale-home/trailer since roughly October, or even earlier. I will admit that I was skeptical at first (although entirely charmed by the concept.) but I severely underestimated this man's skill and resourcefulness! The whale won't be entirely finished for at least another 6 months, if not a year, but it is slated to be "finished" enough to function comfortably as a home sometime in the next month or so.

This thing is fucking unbelievable! It's large enough that three average sized people can sit up comfortably inside, and lay down outstretched at night, is insulated, and boasts, among other things, a periscope, quilted pocket-laden interior walls, and a stereo! It weighs roughly 300lbs, which sounds like a lot, but is not terrible to pull on a bike. (Grocers at the Halifax farmers market routinely bike-cart between 150-400lbs of food/crafts up and down the hills every week.) His plan is to develop the concept over the next 5 years into a self-sufficient, miniature bike powered home, which he can mass-produce and sell. They will eventually be made of Fiberglas, hopefully, which would lighten the load considerably.

Since getting the whale-house into semi-completed shape, John's been living in it, and parking it in the driveway of some friends for whom he provides handiwork in exchange. He's been sleeping in it for the last month or so, and apparently loves it. The response from passersby as he bikes from place to place has been overwhelmingly positive, he says.

I biked with John to his temporary home, acting as a sort of pace-car, and traffic lookout. It was pretty amazing riding in the company of the whale, as it swam down the sideroads of Halifax, for between 15-20 blocks, looking for prospective resting spots.

"I will never pay rent of my own free will again" - John Mackaye, Halifax NS.

Halifax's Risky Business is quickly becoming one of my alltime local favourites! It's almost hard to believe that people are still making posi-core / xhardcorex, and it's not 1994! If Ian Hart hadn't been involved with this band, I would have suspected fraud, but I know Ian, and I know how he likes his hardcore - classic!

Folks who loved Gorilla Biscuits will love Risky Business!
Persons down with Throwdown will be down with Risky Business!
"Risky! Business! Risky Business - That's us!"

Follow the link below to their website, and download the three free songs.
Be extra careful not to forget the title track "Risky Business". It is imperative.

-----

Also:
Speaking of 1994... hardcore oldies and London Ontario ex-pats should check out this video of my friend Mark's highschool band, Asscribed. Lukas, you especially, should check this out. You may need divX to play it.

I should say that I've never heard/seen a band in the last five years that made me feel more like it was 1994, (it was actually 2002) or who so successfully reminded me of Shoulder (future Constantines, London homeslices) both in sound and in emotion. Asscribed is my new favourite nostalgia band!

Plus, that video rules!

I'm going to work here until the day I die.

And so, by popular demand, Optimuscrime Halifax presents a story of suspense and drama. A tale of excitement, shock, and danger! Gather all ye readers and listen (or read) with wonder.

Our story takes place on the highway turnoff just outside of Quebec City, Quebec. We were two young hitchhikers, Erin and myself. Full of fresh exuberance, and Jewish-style bagels, we looked warmly to the trip ahead. Having spent a carefree and fulfilling two days in Montreal, we were on the road home, to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Our last ride, Philip, had dropped us off just before the onramp, and just after having received a hefty three hundred dollar speeding ticket. We shook his hand, wished him luck with his newfound money problems, and parted ways.

Walking up highways, searching for the best place to start a voyage (and it is a new voyage with each ride) is a special skill. We strolled forward hoping to get past the inevitable onramp which would feed our stretch of highway with a bountiful supply of fresh rides. As we walked, another road curved in, and met ours to the right, but we noticed that ours and theirs did not connect in the foreseeable future, but were separated by a cement island. (see figure A) We stayed on our stretch, and headed up to better concrete.


figure A.

Just as we were about to pass the main entrance curve of our near-adjoining road, we heard a honk. A young man and woman in a beat up hatchback (Car A) had pulled to the side of their road, at the opening of the turn. He waved hurriedly, and told us to come over. (which was obvious from his motions, but he spoke only french, and so we didn't know what he was actually saying.) Confused, we gestured that we were in fact staying on our present road, and that we would pass, thank you very much. He motioned more, and pointed up ahead on his road (which we later understood to mean that the two roads merged ahead, and that we should just get in there.) and again offered his car. We, unable to see the merge, declined the invitation, and began to walk away.

Car A continued to gesture, while the lineup of cars behind him gathered length. As we walked away, the car directly behind Car A (Car B) took it's opportunity and pulled out, onto the shoulder, and attempted to pass Car A. Unfortunately, Car B chose the exact same moment to do this, as Car A had chosen to give up on his quest to pick us up, and rejoin traffic. As Car A pulled forward, he met the side of Car B with a scrape, and a crash!

The two cars stopped dead with a loud screech of grinding metal, and we stopped dead as well. And we turned around to look. Had we just caused an accident? We couldn't tell. We had no idea where to place ourselves in this situation, so we contented with watching, frozen to the ground, and hoping like mad that none of this was really due to us.

As we watched, the driver of Car B got out, and made his way over to Car A's driver's side window. He was a tall, burly man, with a moustache, and a polo shirt. He swore expertly in french, and yelled with more vigour and genuine anger than I have heard in a long time. Car A's driver was a french college jock. Tall, but not overly large, wearing a shaved head, and soccer shorts, both of which had the appearance of functional comfort rather than conscious fashion choices. After yelling for only a minute at most, we watched Mr. B (Car B's driver) strike Mr. A in the head, through the driver's side window! This was when things escalated.

Mr. A got out of his car, and the intensity of the yelling increased tenfold. As their voices rose, Mr. B got visibly more and more irate, while Mr. A tried his best to talk him down while still holding his ground. The more Mr. A talked, the angrier Mr. B got, until eventually the event degraded into full out assault. We watched with horror as Mr. B pushed, and hit Mr. A repeatedly, and then began to kick large dents in the side of the little hatchback. All the while, both of their companions (lady-friends) stood and watched, one with fear, the other with total disregard. And we, from across the road, watched too, and wondered if we should be intervening, should be doing at least something more than watching.

But what could we do?

The most intriguing part was that Mr. B also made frequent attempts to flag down other cars, and demand use of a cellphone, or for them to call the police to the accident-scene. We were dumbfounded. I mean, this man obviously believed the accident to have been 100% the fault of Mr. A, (arguably, he was partially at fault, having pulled over too soon after the onramp.) even though his attempt to pass on the shoulder had clearly been an equal-contributor. But the true wonder in this case was the mentality of a man (Mr. B) who would so adamantly insist the police be called, WHILE PHYSICALLY ASSAULTING A MAN. The extreme lack of foresight was in some ways, admirable.

Eventually, after things had calmed down a bit, (and I use that term loosely, meaning that there was no longer any hitting, but still plenty of yelling.) we realized that the police would soon be on their way. And the police would ask questions. And sooner or later, it would come up that this whole scenario had begun with Mr. A stopping in an attempt to pick up two hitchhikers. Not wanting to be caught up in questioning, and police beaurocracy, and then remembering that hitchhiking is illegal, we decided that we didn't want to be around when the police showed up.

We caught the eye of Mr. A, waved him a sheepish wave/shrug, and yelled "We're so sorry. We have to go.". He gave us an understanding and kind look, and then, with a visibly heavy heart, returned his gaze to the man who was berating his family, and threatening violence upon him until the police were to arrive.

Five days later, I arrived back in H-town. The events of the first ever OptimusCrime Leadership Summit 2004 can and will be recorded here under three categories; The Trip There, The Summit, and The Trip Home. Most stories will be condensed for this entry, but I encourage readers to request full versions of any of the events mentioned here. The top 3-5 will be posted, in detail during the next few days. PS: Award for dumbest hairstyle? Yours truly. (front-wing)

1. The Trek To Montreal, Quebec, featuring Erin Greeno:

We left on Tuesday morning at around 8:00am from Halifax. (I had bypassed sleep the previous night) Backpacks, ballcaps, and a blazing sun seemed to forecast a flawless hike. It was less than flawless. By the time 6:30pm rolled around, not only had we been stuck in Moncton NB for over five hours, but I was rapidly gaining a new respect for the terms "heavy", "pain", and "stupid", having made the questionable decision to carry a dufflebag filled with over 400 cardboard cd sleeves I had just finished printing for my pal Abigail Lapell. The problem is, one cardboard cd sleeve is not in any way heavy, and could quite easily mislead you to think that many sleeves couldn't possibly weigh too much. It is not true. They can, and do.

In Moncton however, we were lucky enough to be picked up by a gentleman trucker named Darren. He was polite, and generally considerate. But gentleman though he was, Darren still managed to do one thing: He left us by ourselves in an empty Truckers Lounge, over night, for 6 hours. The next morning, after a very interesting night, we were on the road again, and by noon, we were in Montreal.

2. Two and One Third Days in Montreal, Quebec. (or: Optimuscrime Summer Conference, MTL)

As I said, we were in Montreal by noon, within minutes of our projected goal of arrival. After parting temporarily with Erin, I met with my partner in crime, OptimusMontreal at the Berri-Uqam station, and our cross-provincial Awesome Conference begun. A short recount of our two days of conference activities:

+ Working hard to meet our Leisure Quota.
+ Making sometimes difficult-to-hear phonecalls on an item known as a "Blackberry".
+ Consuming the mandatory amount (crap-loads) of Montreal Jewish-style bagels, from St. Viature, and Real Bagel.
+ Practicing complex high-fives and handshakes.
+ Taking full advantage of my 3-day metropass.
+ Abi's phenomenal folk-inspired set, followed by Rae Spoon's toe stomping hoedown spectacular!
+ Hanging out with Mackenzie, and seeing Kyle and Heather again.
+ Meeting with Design-wrecking crew Chloe and Yannick of Seripop, to check out their studio, and hang out.
+ BRAID!!!!! (Where the eff were you?)
+ Being mistaken for a hardline straightedge vigilante by some Toronto youths. They had never heard of Braid.
+ Eating cherries
+ Making, subsequently eating delicious curry on rice.

3. The Journey Home Through Bizzarr-o Land, Canada.

After leisurely waking up at 11:30am, crawling out of bed, and slacker-ing around with OptimusMontreal for an hour or so, it was time to hit the road. The conference had gone well. All of the important issues (bagels, high-fives, cherries, Braid) had been covered, and many critical decisions made. (Decisions like: How many bagels is too many in a ten minute stretch?)

I met with Erin again at the Berri-Umaq station, with a dollar-slice in my hands, and a song in my head. High-fives were exchanged, and I bid adieu to Montreal, until our next meeting, which is slotted for July 8th in noneother than Halifax, Nova Scotia. We hopped on the Metro, and within the hour, we were on the highway, set for home. Little did we know what (mis)fortunes lied ahead us. Among our highway interactions, may be noted:

+ Philip, who during our drive, received a speeding ticked for $300!! "This hurts" he said.
+ Outside of Quebec City, witnessing/causing a two car accident, and then quickly making tracks as the old "phone number exchange" turned into outright physical assault.
+ Getting so sketched by one driver that I actually prepared myself for the possibility that I may have to strangle him with my bandana to escape. Then feeling like an ass, when it became obvious he was harmless. "Let me tell you another joke! Oh... it doesn't work in english. Sigh. None of my jokes work in english."
+ Rivier du Loup: Three cars pull to the side of the offramp in the pitch black night. Two people get out of two cars, and disappear into darkness over a hill/cliff, and do not return. No headlights. All three cars then leave on cue together, in total silence. Us: "This place is fxxxked, lets get out of here."

+ We tented in an empty provincial walking park, without incident.
+ The next morning, we were picked up by David MacDonald, who as luck would have it, was going all the way to Halifax, Nova Scotia! He bought us breakfast, and questioned our eating habits. Ten long hours later, with no substantial breaks in the thoughtful, but very intense conversation, we arrived home. "Consider doing something other than art, Paul. It won't make you any money."

I arrived at Willow Street Manor, just in time to find out that the Burdocks were playing down on the waterfront. So, with my camera, and a Montreal bagel in hand, I trundled my tired little feet downtown for a great time!

As all Optimuscriminals will do at least once in their life, I am going forth, and beginning the long pilgrimage to Montreal, home of the Optimuscrime base station. There, the Optimuscriminals find peace, truths revealed, and sometimes, live concerts performed by favourite rock bands. This traditional journey marks a turning point, a coming of age, in the world of Optimuscrime weblogging.

In the great tradition of the Optimuscrime pilgrimage, I will write more from HQ MTL.