foxtongue: (Default)
Lung and Nicole at the Burrard Bridge secret stairs

I took Lung and Nicole to a film shoot at the Burrard Street secret stairs last week, where we took a ton of pictures. The sound inside was beautiful, like the ocean on a rainy day, but heard through a megaphone, crackling and thrumming and incredibly comforting, and the light was so perfect it was almost unreal. I'll post more pictures later, as I get to them.
foxtongue: (Default)
Shane Koyczan
Promotional photo for Shane Koyczan.
  • ChatRoulette Love Song: speed dating done right.

    Arron took me on a driving lesson the other day, all the way from Home Depot to Metrotown, the farthest I've ever gone in a car. I suspect he found it vaguely terrifying, but given my lack of experience, I think I did rather well. No one died, nothing got wrecked, and I finally found myself okay with driving at more than 30 km/hour. I had been vaguely concerned that driving his truck would be somehow scarier than the little car I had been learning in with Young Drivers of Canada, (bigger equals more dangerous), but instead I discovered that though I disliked the hugeness of the thing, (the amount of space it takes up is slightly ridiculous), my years of living in a truck have apparently made me significantly more comfortable sitting higher up. It feels more natural being able to look down at other vehicles, rather than up at them. I blame my mother and her addiction to vans. Also, not dealing with a clutch meant that I stopped mixing up the pedals, so that was a victory, too. The best one, probably. Notes: remembering to check blind spots, figuring out how much space is actually required to change lanes. (Hint: significantly less than I think).

  • Little Wheel: a sweet, beautiful art game involving robots.

    I had a try-out day of work with Agentic yesterday, the web development company I've been interviewing with that I rather like. It was a very relaxed time, some easy work in a nice environment, surrounded by quiet, friendly people, not stressful at all. I was mostly left to myself, just me and a desk and a small pile of simple tasks. It was only after, during my gentle walk home, that I started feeling worried I wouldn't get the job, as if my body had saved up all my concerns for later, tucked away in a bottom drawer of my heart until it was deemed safe to let them out. Silly, in a way, as it is out of my hands now. Everything left to do is on their side - talking to my references, deciding which candidate to hire, then calling us with the decision. (I was told they'll let me know no later than Monday.) In the meantime, all I can do is wait and cross my fingers that I am what they need. It would be great to work in a positive environment again. I'm tired of spending time in offices where you can tell that everyone there wishes they weren't.

  • Mills & Boon: self-portraits that mimic the covers of romance novels.

    My others news: Lung and I are finally starting a photography business together, Fox-Rain Wedding Photos. We've been talking about it for years, but the timing was never quite right. This time, however, I've already kludged together a solid rough draft of our website that I plan to take live in the next few days, before he leaves for California next week, and hope to get some sort of quick logo nailed down by the end of today, the better to toss on business cards asap. Neither one of us is particularly flush at the moment, so start-up money is tight, but I've done my research and I'm not only certain we can do this on the cheap, I'm absolutely confident we'll succeed. If we can get everything together quick enough, things could even be up and running by the end of the month. Expect us at a tacky wedding fair near you, soon! We'll be the people who don't suck.
  • earlier...

    Sep. 22nd, 2010 07:21 am
    foxtongue: (Default)
    Oh, also today: Lung had his wallet pinched from a cafe while we were out, which was later returned with money absent, ("found" by the thief), and I gave him a haircut on my porch, which sounds like a euphemism, but isn't.

    And Derek and Alexandra welcomed their new, perfect baby daughter, Eris Nikitia Chauran, into the world today, which I had absolutely zero to do with, but wanted to mention because they made a new human and that's freaking NEAT.


    Sep. 9th, 2010 10:52 am
    foxtongue: (b&w tony & jhayne)
    I have victoriously returned to the internet from the mad dust desert, minus half a toe and plus 385 unread e-mails.

    To celebrate, allow me to present Lung's... package. (Picture by Tony.)

    Shana Tova Umetukah, everyone!
    foxtongue: (Default)

    My portrait of Lung as my date at Sarah and Matthew's wedding last Monday at Heritage Hall.
    foxtongue: (feed me stories)
    Lung at Whytecliff Park 365:2010/04/07 - whytecliff park spotted seal

    Lung left Vancouver this week for Montreal to pack up his life and move it back here by driving it cross country. I miss him when he's gone, though it's fairly often, given how much he gets to travel, so I'm fairly used to it. As a fond farewell, we went out to Whytecliff park for a picnic of some strawberries and my best sandwiches, havarti, smoked turkey, tomatoe, and lettuce on finnish loaf with mayonnaise, mustard, and black pepper. We talked about sex and where we want to live and what improbable things we might do for incredible gobs of money. I spotted a seal in the water, initially mistaking it for a dog, and took a 365 shot I don't mind too much. Mostly, though, it was just nice to spend time outside, somewhere we both like. It was a good goodbye.
    foxtongue: (Default)
    HIVE3 was as entertaining as ever, yet in spite of the pushy blow up doll horror movie incident, the near death experience, the cupcake rape-baby incest kiss, and the skunk suicide therapy, the most epic thing I witnessed this weekend was in my apartment: late yesterday afternoon, Lung manfully inflicted a brilliant and surpassingly brave four minute lapdance upon Victoria, my very surprised mother.

    Lung's astonishing strip-tease started mildly, with slow hip swings and mild gyration, but gained momentum as clothes came off, until he was throwing pants at my head and using his belt to better capture my mother, finally finishing with a shocking yet shamefully victorous Full Monty flourish of his genitals.

    No word yet on if he left on his socks.
    foxtongue: (the welsh got you)
    Of everyone I know, Lung loves it best when I'm unemployed. He comes by almost daily to shake things up. It's downright wonderful. Yesterday he met up with me and Michelle for tea, (her new seeing eye dog is adorabibble), then for a drive out to her place, where she showered us with books and gave me a simple air cast, so I can walk around without regularly collapsing in a sprained heap. Next week I'm going to start going out to her place to help her clean.

    Today we're going to visit Dominique and her tiny daughter, then drop in downtown to soak in some of the Olympics excitement and meet up with Mishka, who has a 4:oo Mariachi gig at Robson Square, playing on the stage downstairs next to the rink. The Olympics have been an exciting time for her - she's going to be playing with Dan on CBC on Friday. I talked with her about it on the phone last night before their first rehearsal and it was absolutely lovely to hear just how far she's over the moon! I'm always delighted when my friends connect, and even more when it tickles them so. Fingers crossed I'll have the chance to take photos at their gig. (David told me after that I missed Dan and Shane being silly at Chapters yesterday, which was a bit of an damnit! moment, but then we got the ginger ice-cream out and the world was alright again.)

    Later this evening, 8 pm later, Jess Hill will be playing at Cafe Monmarte with Erica Mah. Even though I'm not sure Lung is game for it, I know Ray will be, so I'm guaranteed to go. She's amazing. You should go too!


    Feb. 23rd, 2010 02:25 am
    foxtongue: (moi?)

    my best boys

    According to Wikipedia "Homie" or "Homey" is a contraction of the American slang words "homeboy" or "homebuddies", but seriously, people, "homebuddies"? Really?

    foxtongue: (have to be kidding)
    An interesting subplot to this trip to Montreal has been the rather immediate crumbling decay of the building we've been staying in, where Lung and Melanie have been living. One of the main walls of the building half fell down recently, as it seems mold got underneath the bricks and simply sloughed the outside layer off. Not a trivial thing, this, especially as we've been staying in the room most affected. In the corner of our bedroom is a mad crack that runs all the way from the ceiling to the wooden floor, casually snapping the baseboard along the way. Every day it seems to be a tiny bit bigger. Sometimes there are threatening sounds.

    Yesterday Melanie had inspectors come by, as the landlord has been too scummy to reduce their rent, and after some mandatory tapping on things, they quite promptly condemned the building, claiming that it's too dangerous to inhabit, as the ceiling "could come down on your heads any minute".

    This morning they've come by banging up some sort of metal scaffolding to attempt to shore it up before it collapses, so Lung and Melanie can at least stay until December 1st. Tony and I have retreated to the livingroom with our electronics, as out of all our options, it seems safest.


    Nov. 19th, 2009 03:37 am
    foxtongue: (Default)

    photos by lung liu
    foxtongue: (Default)

    lung, a chinatown bar, san francisco, dec, 2008
    foxtongue: (Default)
    Secret Film School is presenting The Red Violin tonight. 400 West Hastings st. Doors at 6:30, Film at 7:00.

    Met up with Lung for lunch at the Art Gallery today, my favourite downtown cafe. (He's selling prints cheap right now. I recommend you jump on it while you have the chance.) We talked about girls, boys, travel, the friends we have in common and left with the strong conviction there are very few ills that a perfect tiramisu cannot fix (or at least delay).
    foxtongue: (the welsh got you)
    Lung says,
    "Do I have any friends in the Sydney area of Australia? I was asked that if I can't make an awards ceremony in Woolloomoolo, that I should have a representative there for Tuesday March 3, 2009 from 6-9PM. I'm sure it'll be fun and if you're interested in photography, it could be dandy!

    Don't disappoint me....I have faith in you!"
    foxtongue: (26th birthday)

    Me and Marissa, July 2007, by Lung

    The ever groshing Meredith Yayanos (and now Alice and Sara) tagged me in the 16 Random Things meme, "Once you've been tagged, you have to write a note with sixteen random things, shortcomings, facts, habits or goals about you. At the end choose sixteen people to be tagged, listing their names and why you chose them. You have to tag the person who tagged you." I'm no good at this sort of meme, but I love rock star Mer (and Alice and Sara) with the warmth of six suns, so for her I will try.

    1. "Even your voice has changed," he said, looking at me, hearing the wounded strawberry tears that caught all the way up from my heart to my tongue and out into the air. The freeway was so familiar I felt I could have drawn it in my sleep, divided the roads into lanes with a cunning accuracy I didn't understand I had. It was like the promised land, green signs marking exits as well as the graves of so many dreams. "I'm not sure what it is, but you sound softer, like you're an entirely different person here." "I am," I replied, "too full of history to burn."

    2. I used to write fortunes, love letters, and wishes in spidery black ink on the dried leaves I found fallen under trees in the fall and let them go in the wind to fly without watching to see where they might land. They weren't for me, they were for other people to find.

    3. Perhaps if I killed him, he would live on as a ghost, feather light and improperly dead. I woke up earlier this week, wishing I could secretly stab him in the heart with rusty kitchen scissors and open him up like he did to me with his fingers. The only thing that keeps me clear is that I don't think his murder would change anything. You can't erase memory like a stain. It would just mean a little less money coming in around my birthday.

    4. When she speaks on the phone, I know my place is to quietly do nothing more than make encouraging noises in the appropriate gaps and pauses. She is like a colouring book with everything but the eyes filled in with religious illumination, as if someone spent thirty years merely shading in her skin. I love her, so I don't mind. Maybe someday it will be my turn to talk.

    5. There is a pile of books in my room which do not belong to me. They are borrowed books that represent less what I would choose to read and more what people think I should. From top to bottom they are: Blade Runner: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Mistress of the Empire, The Complete Robot, The War of Flowers, How To Not Get Rich, (which I never read), So Far From God, A Little Larger Than The Known Universe, What Colour Is Your Parachute, (which I also never read), His Dark Materials, and Brandjam. Some of these books have been with me for years, yet I refuse to incorporate them in with my own books, believing somehow, tenuously, that they will eventually be given back to their respective owners.

    6. I loved him like no one else I had ever met in my life, but recently it eased back and closed over. All it took was sleeping in his bed, knowing it wasn't mine, then driving away the next day. Now I'm absolutely stone terrified I will never care about anyone like that again.

    7. For no particular reason, somewhere in my room is a birthday candle I kept from my third birthday cake.

    8. Reading back entries into my journal can be like reliving the relationships I wrote about. When I started this journal, I had no idea what it would be like to have such a static essence of memory waiting at my fingertips. People I can talk blithely about now, or some that I mention not at all, are waiting for me there, frozen in time instead of (decently?) dissolved like jet streams. There is nothing in my life that can compare. My valued moments, they are not trapped in objects, they are there, freely available for the whole world to read. How I felt when that one danced or when that one cheated on me. It's unreal, the immediacy. Photographs are not the same.

    9. Sometimes horrible pop music is just going to happen in my house. Life isn't all gamelan, mystery, poetry or jazz. Occasionally it is Blackstreet's No Diggety on repeat for an hour. I'm not sorry.

    10. "Will you sleep with me later if I ask you to?" He looks at me, blinks a moment, and grins. (We've only just met, though we've known each other on-line for years.) For a moment it's like I've kissed him, then he ignores my question as if I never asked it, because it didn't need to be said, and reaches out his hand. The girl next to him look confused, uncertain if she heard what she thinks she did, my words a spectre in the tiny industrial kitchen.

    11. I dislike religion and ritualistic behavior. It is fine and wonderful and inspiring that people like to make themselves meaningful, that people try to be more than themselves, but to require emblematic props to do it offends me somehow, as if intelligent people should know better, should know they do not require symbols to attain self worth. (Also, I will judge you if you actually believe in astrology of any kind. Quietly, but it will be there. You! The offended one. Half a point. Docked.)

    12. The last time I was sick, it was because of him. We had quarelled. I had walked home. It was freezing. Standing within his gravity again was sensory overload. Had it really almost been an entire year? My hands shaking as we said hello. Watching him stand at the podium, I tried to pretend I was a solid being, but my eyes tripped, caught by the enigmatic living miracle of his face. He still had me on a string. I didn't want even a week to go by without a hello, but after the last time we'd seen each other he wouldn't even answer the phone when I called. Instead I had to crash his party, all cameras and politicians, as if I was welcome, as if it were planned instead of a lucky accident of bus arrival.

    13. If there is a book in the lavatory, it's because I like to read while I brush my teeth.

    14. Though Marissa, (who I later renamed Mishka, which stuck), and I were ten when we met, neither one of us had pierced ears. Mine because my parents thought it was cruel to do to a baby, her because her parents treated it as a coming of age. From this, I couldn't have cared less while she could not wait for her sixteenth birthday. As it approached, she was practically vibrating with excitement about how she was finally going to get it done, so for her birthday party, I gathered all of our mutual friends together at the mall downtown to get our ears pierced with her in solidarity. (This took some managing, as one of the boys we knew, Charles, had a highly evangelical mother, who thought this was a terrible sin somehow). After an hour of waiting for her and calling her in vain, we finally got a hold of her. She couldn't make it and had completely forgotten to tell us to call it off. Rolling our eyes, the group of us went through with one ear of the procedure anyway, with the intention to do the other one with her later. About a month after this, she went off with her mother one afternoon and had them done alone at a tattoo parlour, forgetting again about our group effort-in-waiting. As a result, I still only have my left ear pierced. For all I know, so does everyone else involved.

    15. "When my husband came back from Iraq," she said, and it struck me as it has before, completely new again, "I am in a foreign country". Curled on the bed with my friends, it was easy to forget, the same way it didn't occur to me later while I was away on my trip. Even when guns were involved. Too much about the USA will always feel implicitly like the word belonging.

    16. I will not tag anyone in a meme. It is far too interesting to see who will pick it up for themselves without prompting.*

    Where it's gone from here: Ben Peek, Duncan Shields, Sarah Edwards-Noelle.
    foxtongue: (beseech)
    Liontamer at the abandoned bathhouse...

    This is the very first photo Lung and I worked together in creating. We've never done anything like it before, but I'm pleased to say, looking at the finished product, that our first shot seems to be a winner.

    Before, he would always tell me to go over there, stand here, tilt your head that way. Almost invariably we would end up with a result I didn't like. My accusation, founded very fairly though a bit tongue in cheek, is that he can't take an attractive portrait of someone he didn't want to sleep with. He agrees, and so when we found ourselves at the abandoned ruins of the Salton Sea bath-houses, we finally took the next step, and collaborated.

    It was a strange experience, as he chose the spot, and I chose the position, peering through his camera and deciding where I should be based on the light, then assembling myself while unidentified animals made chewing noises in the ceiling, trusting as Lung had me look over my shoulder just that little bit more.

    I'm glad it worked. More than glad, I'm delighted, as I really wanted it to come out well. Our recent trip South brought us closer together than we'd ever been before, and to have tangible evidence of how our friendship is evolving is comforting. It's nice that I can look at this photo and point to one of the exact moments we shifted, no matter that it was only one tiny step among many over a process of several months. It's still a singular moment captured splendidly, and one with enough meaning for me.

    An added bonus, too, is feeling completely justified that I dragged my Hallowe'en costume all the way down and back just to cheerfully wear it once or twice in highly inappropriate circumstances. Next had better come the boot pictures, where I dangerously tottered in stiletto heels along a shoreline beach made entirely of bone.

    foxtongue: (Default)
    This is his picture of my reaction, (post rooftop snow-angel):
    This is my picture of Lung's reaction:



    foxtongue: (Default)

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