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passing judgment

ok, it's completely unfair of me to pass judgment on things that i did nothing to help, but it's how i'm made...

this year's nuit blanche was... well, it was socially wonderful. we ended up hooking up with everyone we would have wanted (except for one person who we apparently missed by a hair's breadth when we passed on an early breakfast in mile end). but in terms of letting us experience a wide variety of artistic possibilities, well, this year fell a little flat.

we chose to head to the plateau, rather than downtown, where we've headed the last couple of years. while there, we found some beautiful paintings and dioramas, backed by a lovely string quartet and piano playing very nyman-esque pieces for the huddled... almost masses. we also got to hear the tail end of a performance at monastirki on st-laurent and one at cagibi next door (once we'd waded our way through the hipster masses who were there to celebrate the fact that they'd located the one place in the neighbourhood still serving alcohol.

we moved on to gallerie circulaire a couple of blocks over, where visitors were invited to engrave their own album and then watch it printed to vinyl while they waited. this was undoubtedly the hit venue of the evening and, although we didn't decide to make a record, it was fascinating to watch, particularly listening to the awesome accompaniment of dj's tyg and ciemnosc.

and of course the oscars tonight were... mila kunis and scarlet johannson looked amazing. everyone else looked nice enough, but i'm really bored with seeing off-white/ black/ red at the academy awards. why am i leading with what fashions i enjoyed? because i figure it's the most interesting thing. seriously. the most surprising part of the oscars was finding out that they're still happy to kick david fincher in the round globular region south of the waist, which isn't a particularly happy revelation if you're a fan of cinema. sure, the social network wasn't his best film, but after shafting him for zodiac, where he was denied a chance to show down with "there will be blood" (the other best movie of the year, no matter what the records will say) and completely neglecting seven, which redefined how suspense/ horror films are made, you'd think they would at least pat him on the back by letting him have an award for best director. instead... well, instead david fincher has to be satisfied with having some unknown blogger talk about how awesome he truly is and how many directors were shunned by the academy awards in their heyday. i'm sincerely hoping that he takes the opportunity to give the middle finger salute to the hollywood establishment and go back to making the kind of pictures that made those of us with taste and brains love him to begin with.

ach. not the best way to start the week. but let's look on the positive side. for many of us, things are looking up for the next few days. well, except for those of us who are looking at a snow/ freezing rain storm tomorrow. for us, life is completely terrible. for everyone else, monday will mark a significant improvement.

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jihadvertising?

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am i the only one who finds the suicide bomber clown at the end a little unnerving? all the nice natural things like the bunny and the [extinct] woolly mammoth and the fruit get devoured by a trying-to-appear-nonthreatening-but-obviously-psychotic clown who then blows himself up. congratulations, tictac, i think this ad has landed you on about a dozen watch lists.

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