About Me
Name: Emily Gera
Home: vancouver, Canada
About Me: A girl and her blog, amongst other things.
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  Monday, March 24, 2008  
 
 
I'm temporarily moving to livejournal
posted by emily @ Monday, March 24, 2008   0 comments
 
 
  Saturday, March 15, 2008  
 
 
Concept Snowman
Concept snowman. Consider this a challenge Damien Hirst, you skeletal knob.





posted by emily @ Saturday, March 15, 2008   0 comments
 
 
  Thursday, March 13, 2008  
 
 
Why look at that! 'Looks like I've reached my Blogger sad-sack quota for the week. "Waah, I'm penniless!" "Waah, writing hurts my delicate, puny hands!" "Waah, vital, life-giving blood is spewing from my head!".
Always the same.

Well I have a veritable FEAST of the senses here for you today at least.

1.) Suzie Templeton's Dog: Fancy dying a little inside? Then you're in luck because now you can experience Suzie Templeton's awesome fucking powers of stop motion and become a deadened shell of your former self! All at the same time!




1. B.) Technically speaking it's not half as good as Templeton's Oscar winning Peter and the Wolf however Youtube only has clips of that one, making it ever clearer that copyright infringement is a damned eternal tease : \





2.) Sex Guide - Dolphins: FAQ on Mating by Dragon-Wolfe Dolphinn: Do you ever feel rife with internal conflict? Like only one side of you is capable of action and the other can only repeatedly scream "Not during visiting hours"? Like one moment you're howling "SEA LICE. SEA LICE." but before you know it you're an arm deep in bottle-nose? Come friend, join Dragon-Wolfe Dolphinn in this wild and bile-inducing ride through an aquarium lifestyle that guarantees shame upon your family for generations to come.



3. Finally, Garfield Minus Garfield. This has been making the rounds lately but I can't tell you the misty-eyed awe I feel when I read it. I tell you, it's like looking in to some sort of cruel truth-mirror.









  I was going to end this with a clip of my dog and I, but apparently my dog-talking voice sounds inexplicably like Moaning Myrtle.
posted by emily @ Thursday, March 13, 2008   0 comments
 
 
  Friday, March 07, 2008  
 
 
Series of bloody tubes
Ah, lovely March weather. The sun is shining, birds are singing.

Oh yes, and I HEMORRHAGED today in class. A classmate was struggling to tell the story of the Townhall.com debacle in which a Republican journalist reviewed Mass Effect, evidently using the Ted Stevens Guide to the Internets.*

After he kept repeatedly calling it "some alien game" like some sort of n00b I replied to him in the way of "haha, yes it was called Mass Effect" followed immediately by a glorious fountain of blood streaming down my face from my nose. I must've looked like some deranged clown because it took at least twenty seconds to realise what the hell was happening, and during all that time I was still grinning like an idiot, blood pouring down my smiling cheeks. And on to my STAR WARS t-shirt that I was wearing just in case I felt like I was due a good beating outside after my class decided I was some sort of troglodytic freakshow who's been waiting for the mention of Mass Effect with baited breath. The sheer excitement of the conversation undoubtedly causing my nasal cavity to rupture in such explosive glee that my body could only relieve itself in the way of SPURTING BLOOD FUCKING EVERYWHERE.

But no, it wasn't that bad. In other news, I finally have a plotline! It only took three-to-four weeks! <3



Taken during my short trip to the 1970s last fall.

*A few gems:

It's called "Mass Effect" and it allows its players - universally male no doubt - to engage in the most realistic sex acts ever conceived. One can custom design the shape, form, bodies, race, hair style, breast size of the images they wish to "engage" and then watch in crystal clear, LCD, 54 inch screen, HD clarity as the video game "persons" hump in every form, format, multiple, gender-oriented possibility they can think of.

And because of the digital chip age in which we live - "Mass Effect" can be customized to sodomize whatever, whoever, however, the game player wishes. With it's "over the net" capabilities virtual orgasmic rape is just the push of a button away.
posted by emily @ Friday, March 07, 2008   0 comments
 
 
   
 
 
Much like how all of my attempts at a #1 smash hit sound suspiciously like fucking Prodigy , I've resigned myself to the fact that every time I try to write my disaster of a book I end up accidentally writing the first quarter of Slaughterhouse-Five.

Unfortunately the only other career possibilities my qualifications leave me with is as some sort of maudlin hippie vicar who reads Eliot in parks like a twat.





That, or be Bez.
posted by emily @ Friday, March 07, 2008   0 comments
 
 
   
 
 
Travel Plan
Despite my sweeping success as a waster, the countless hours I spend online and the exhausting effort I put in to Facebook Scrabble, for some reason my intention to get funds together for my five-month stay in England just isn't happening. What more can I do?! Even my half-assed attempts as a freelance music journalist just don't seem to be helping me find bags of money mysteriously placed in front of my house like I had expected. How do you all expect me to pay for the cache of weapons I'll inevitably have to buy to ward off feral London kids without supplying me with an infinite reservoir of cash? By actually working? Ho ho!

But if traveling to other countries penniless is anything like my Scrabble ability right now then I'm sure it'll be just fine.
posted by emily @ Friday, March 07, 2008   0 comments
 
 
   
 
 
TransRatFashion
Look what I've found:



Finally, something I can wear to chapel.

Crafted by genuine madmen, every one of these extraordinary works will be sure to make you the belle of any Tijuana prison.



Guaranteed to be the talking-point of every Jehovah's Witness you invite into your home, don't let this one slip you by.
posted by emily @ Friday, March 07, 2008   0 comments
 
 
  Saturday, February 23, 2008  
 
 
The Thrills - Teenager
I write for a website which sends me free music, most of which crap. So when I can't be bothered to drone on about my miserable existence or how I've run out of Tetley or the state of my cat who vomits hourly because of his stupid ancient little body then I depend on reviews I've written to get the job done.

Apologies, dear readers, for the filler. Both of you.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

2.18/5 = A bit crap.


A black and white photo of two teenagers locked in a sprawling, open-mouth embrace is featured on the cover of The Thrills album “Teenager”. The single still captures them permanently fused together in fully-clothed pretzel contortion as plush toys watch on in a fixed, dead-eyed stare. Who are they? You might ask. Are they in the throws of love or rather is she resuscitating him from the shock of entering what appears to be a 3-by-4 foot recreation of Peewees Playhouse? The lack of any narrative payoff is fitting, since like the album itself, the music contained within Teenagers contains little to no actual conclusive revelations of being a teenager.


The nostalgic content of the album can be summed up as a bevy of mind-numbing adolescent platitudes mimed by men in their mid-to-late twenties. This might have not been so noticeable had the album not been written by grown men in their mid-to-late twenties, called “Teenager” and described in their press kit as “an interior narrative exploring…the emotional world of [vocalist Conor] Deasy”.


With lyrics that near the prosaic depth of a Livejournal, like


“But now I know I’ll never be someone else. Well, not for a long time. I came all this way just to say my feelings have grown. No longer a good friend. I long to hold you in my arms.”


I would like to interpret this as self-awareness in an album which might be ironically pointing toward Deasy’s emotional stagnation since High School. But the absolutely humourless tone says otherwise. Maybe even after Conor Deasy’s emotional spelunking there simply are no conclusions to be made. Maybe even after High School it’s still about High School.

But if you can look past the lyrical and conceptual banality of the album then you’ll be greeted by surprisingly mature pop instrumentation that effortlessly interprets the lush sound construction of Phil Spector and the perfected harmonising of The Beach Boys: a silver lining on a trite cliché of teenagedom.

posted by emily @ Saturday, February 23, 2008   0 comments
 
 
  Thursday, February 14, 2008  
 
 
Valentine's Day
I'm exhausted. Having spent most of the day sorting through all of the doting fan-mail and love letters I had written myself, I could barely find the energy to begrudge Valentine's Day as I usually do: by creating life-size effigies of everyone in my graduating highschool class who didn't ask me out and spend the afternoon crushing their facsimile paper faces. I considered the countless hundreds I would have to make and decided to bus to town to watch Jumper instead.

On the way I met the Ghost of Valentine's Yet to Come. He was standing on the pavement, blowing his nose literally in to his open palm. Then he stood for a minute to inspect what came out.

Happy Valentine's Day, every one.
posted by emily @ Thursday, February 14, 2008   0 comments
 
 
  Saturday, February 09, 2008  
 
 
World: Win. Man: Zero (Episode 1)
In honour of an overall uselessness at maths and The Guardian's insistence that 2008 marks the bicentenary of Darwin's On The Origin of Species (it doesn't), I'm beginning a series pitting man against nature entitled: "World: Win. Man: Zero." Where through a series of empirical tests and shiny weighy devices that go Ping! we can finally get an answer to that age old question "Does Emily Gera simply sit in her house all day constructing doomsday scenarios via Youtube links?" Survey says yes : \

The first contenders in this edition of World: Win. Man: Zero. are:
World: Massive Fucking Wasps, and



Man: Friendly, portrait-drawing Robot


While dually impressive characters, Friendly, Portrait-Drawing Robot would invariably be owned in battle because of his inability to secrete acidic fucking venom from the immense exoskeleton crushing mandibles that he doesn't have. On the other hand, while his sensor system is being harvested by wasps he can draw you a quill and ink picture of a David Bowie with no eyes.

















Tune in next week for: Parasitic Brain Worms versus my absolutely pointless Bachelor's degree
posted by emily @ Saturday, February 09, 2008   2 comments