Ok, so yesterday I sat down and typed to you in the wee hours of the morning, watching the sun rise and feeling life coarse through my veins like the greatest rush a person can know.
Tonight, I type to you drunk, after drinking 8 Vodka and Cokes I am feeling little to no pain. It will be in this intoxicated state, sitting nearly naked in my hotel room with my torn to shreds cowboy hat, and a further supply of vodka and Dr. Peppers staring at me. Why am I drinking? Well it's one of the lifestyles in this northern paradise, that has brought together movers and shakers that are all connected at the hands, a torid sea of card passing, and back slapping. Everybody looking at your badge first, then you second. So it was tonight. But I'm here to type to you of the second day of my Banff adventure, and depending how long conciousness lasts and how long my fingers continue to move, I will type. Perhaps you will yet read tale of Mexican Cabaret dancers, and Humanoids with Elk heads drinking Budweiser. Yes, this is a strange land, and the vodka has intensified that, and I seem to be rambling so let's get to the story...
This was the second day in the land of the maple leaf and one dollar coins called loonies. The flock of meese have yet to surface, but I see them in every shadow lurking for me. Some wise person wanted me to be at the conference at 7am, so I peeled back my eyelids into their upright and firm positions,and walked out into my first day in Canada. The first thing I noticed was the beauty of it all. That can not be questioned, this is a world of love and romance. This is a place to fall for, a place that is ideal to visit and spend fond memories with. This is exactly what I needed in this past year, a sabbatical where I could continue to work, but at once be at total peace (Eeeek, introspective blohard, stick to the story!) Shut up sober brain, drunk Harry in control (Don't tell me to be quiet!!) Shhhhhhhhh...
I caught a cab, which drove me along a ridge overlooking the river below, tourquoise water broken by white caps of rapids, off set on either side by trees, the same green as trees in the X-Files, this is the world where they shot THE EDGE, which means Bart the Bear is out there waiting to eat my leg. But the cabbie took me across the bridge and to the Spring Hotel where I went to my rehearsal for my panel. They wanted a tech run through, what I needed, get it ready. Damn these people. I say prepare nothing shoot from the hip, express true thought not the musings of hours ago, but the thoughts of the moment. The other fellas on the panel, they have speeches, planned thoughts, ideas, feelings. I have no idea what I'm going to say, what I am thinking. No, instead I'm alive, dancing along a thread at 5000 feet without so much as a Capri-Sun box to break my fall.
The tech people tell me to prepare my computer. Joy. So the first thing I do is disable the cookie rejector, and go to the site. I notice that Paul hadn't updated, lazy bastard I think, I grumble a bit, but then begin planning out what I'm going to do, bookmarking the front page, the cool news page, the Saving Private Ryan review, the Disney report on DINOSAURS and TARZAN that has the picture, and then I moved on to Coaxial and the Phil Hartman/NewRadio story, then to the Movie Reviews and the Vampires review, then to Voices, then the forums, then finally the links.
Well, that had a semblence of organization, had Paul infiltrated my nonconformist mind, with some of his anal retentive precision? lakjdflajdflassdlgjfasjflajf!!! hahhahahaha disorder, chaos, that's what I live for! None of this planned stay in the lines banter, I live for the moment.
Of course that's the Harry that is drunk typing, the sniveling worm Harry, left the tech run through and wrote a speech. That's write I actually wrote a damn speech, modeled around my presentation. I only had a couple of hours to get it in place, and it had to be better, and answer every question, challenge the people from CNN, MSNBC and IDV. I was the sacrificial goat, that was going to be filleted like lean cuisine before an international audience. I had to be better than these 'administrators', hell these guys have never filed a story for their respected news services, these guys don't look over the shoulders to fact check, these are the bean counters, the people that plan things, that see what stories get the most hits, that have taken us into a world of Pop-News. News for the masses, news to eat supper by. News that doesn't enrage or provoke, but a mellow sort of messenger that waters downs and soundbites the world. They put it in pushing formats, and the realvideo it, realaudio it, they do everything but make you feel the stories, and that was what I had to convince this audience of, I was going to have to make them see what it is like to love reporting, about waking up and turning your computer on, about reading for hours, sending hundreds of emails, checking up on your stories, about the phone calls and the packages, about the script readings, the film viewings, about living the news, about talking with people all over the country for years at film festivals and conventions and hearing what they are upset about and about giving the people a voice, to advocate excellence. This was what I had to talk about. Not the emerging technologies of the 21st century, not about how 'cool' it is, but about the importance of this tool we have. About the power and the responsibility that we have at our fingertips. About the ethics of digging into personal lives, and the values of a media that would destroy all that it sees.
That's an awful lot for an 8 minute speech with a virtual tour of the site, but dammit, I had to show these people that we aren't a bunch of Jerry Lee Lewis typist pounding the keyboards and howling at the moon. We are people that are fed up with the lack of passion and the misplaced ethics of the people documenting our world. I couldn't talk Hollywood, because I was on stage about news, and the integrity of it, so I wasn't going to attack the stupidity of Hollywood, or complement the great decisions. This was about whether people like me, Garth, Patrick and people like you should be in existence, or should the CNNs and MSNBCs rule the world. This was a fight worth fighting, and for better or worse, they picked me to get into the ring. I'm surprised they didn't get Drudge, but quite frankly I'm glad they didn't, because he would have taken the oppurtunity to grand stand, instead of focusing the media and giving them a look at vision, and what this thing called the internet can do when you take the high tech training wheels of technology off.
I sat at a window, in an oval gothic room, chandeliers over my head, and the most breathtaking view ever before me. This is a room to die in. This is a room and a view to have some one to share with. The place and time you wish you had that special person beside you. I wrote a speech with much passion. I wasn't going to drop this ball.
After finishing the speech I went out into the courtyard and sat on a cobblestone wall facing the great divide, the ass crack of the world. The sort of ass ya want to dive into and explore. Geez, that's a sick as hell way to put it, sober up the pudgy fat freak. Dinosaurs lived here. I know it, you can tell. If you opened your eyes and looked with the imagination that you locked away when you saw your parents place the Christmas parents that one Christmas eve, you could see them, if you blocked off your ears and listened to the sound, you could hear them. I sat like that for an hour, time tripping back, pondering how this all came to happen, how I was sitting upon this wall, in this the most lovely of places my journeys have taken me.
It was time.
I walked back into the Spring Hotel, fresh and relaxed, fully ready for the showdown, the panel. Sure enough they had me on one side basically by myself. The moderator was beside me, but on the otherside there were those people that were from the system. They all had that same professional look, that 'I went to college' look. And there I was with my wacked out hair and the valley between two mountains in my eyes. I was not nervous, not shaky, I was ready to rumble.
I find out I am going first. Perfect! I set the pace and the agenda, great! I deliver my speech, taking them through the site, showing them what it's about, showing them the reasoning, the passion and the love that goes into it. I notice both a new ad, that wasn't there earlier from REEL.COM and that Paul updated! YES! Good show ol man. So I tell them of the dream of VOICES and they clap. I tell them about news stories that the real guys have to sit on in advance because they won't get the interview next time, about the politicing and the leveraging. I talk about the checking on stories about two sources, otherwise it's listed as a strict rumor until further developments. This dealt a big blow to the opposition that thinks that I put up everything that arrives in my email box. (I don't have the server space for that) But most of all I challeng their use of the internet. I talk about all they have done is use it as a delivery system, and not as a tool. They haven't allowed the internet to evolve the way it's done, how you can take the news and the views from people from all walks of life, of all positions and make the world listen to itself.
The audience of differing cultures was a bit taken aback by this stuff as they were expecting a gosh gee whiz, what am I doing up here with CNN sorta Harry. Screw that, I'm on stage with the real fellas, I'm gonna let it hang out. Screw that pussyfooting around, that hiding in the shadows while the flog me with their diplomas.
I finish and am quite pleased with myself. Then the CNN dude takes over, and he was taken back. He actually says that he's a bit taken back, and feels old listening to me. He then goes onto to give an informative speech on the state of CNN.COM. This was a professional presentation that was rehearsed over and over again. Perfect timing, but ultimately it was about delivery systems and numbers of people. It was not about dreams, about vision or about the potential that lay before them. He talked about 20% of America getting some of their news off the internet weekly as opposed to 6% two years ago. He keeps complementing me, dammit. He instead takes potshots at the MSNBC guy calling him a monopolist, while singlehandedly pointing out that you can not escape the TIME/WARNER/CNN empire. That they will reach your pager, your plane, your bus, the airport, you cellphone, your email, you web browser, everything everywhere... you will become one with CNN. It was a tad frightening.
Next came the MSNBC guy, and he was a complete shambles because he couldn't get his computer to work, which really threw him... I wonder if the CNN guy did something...hmmmmm... So I end up helping him with his presentation from my computer, because well, I know how to use a computer. But the MSNBC site has Cookie error messages attacking me while I enter into a big screen clicking war, while the MSNBC guy tries as hard as he can to click his heels three times and wish it all better. Meanwhile CNN dude smiles and leans back.
Next came the British guy from IDV or something like that. This guy completely lost the audience. He just seemed so dang dry, and his presentation drug on and on. I felt a bit sorry for him, because he was actually trying to show his site in a good light, but it just wasn't working all that well.
As a result of his looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong speech, we only had 4 minutes of Q&A, which was quite unfortunate cause I was ready to talk for another 6 or so hours with this group. I was fully ready to show them what for. Alas, I'd have to settle for a radio talk show with the CNN guy the next afternoon on CBC.
We got down off the stage and I instantly had two people ready to interview me. The first for a newspaper, then the other for television. So I did interviews, it's what I do, I do it all the time. The difference was these guys had just listened to my speech, and they knew there was something going on in my head besides movies, that there was a larger vision, so that's what these interviewers wanted. They wanted to know when innocence is taken away, when I can no longer look at a film as a movie, but instead see the nasty world behind that. To one of them I answered with, "When I tire of breathing, when I tire of viewing art, when I tire of a kiss from a beautiful woman, when I tire of smelling a sweet scent in the air, when a newborne carries no smile in my eyes, when flowers cease blossuming, then and only then will the innocence of a darkened theater lose it's magic, and that is a day I can never foresee, thank God" The reporter just looked at me all slackjawed. And I smiled. I had shown him a bit of my world, and he shook my hand.
Soon after that I met Isikoff, the man that broke the story on Monica Lewensky, and sworn enemy of Matt Drudge. He and I talk for about an hour or so. We talk ethics in the field of reporting, about Drudge and mine's past relationship online, and every word about the ethical side of reporting went through him like gamma rays. He has sharks' eyes like he sniffs for blood, searches the waters of stories for the wounded to prey on. I feel a bit sorry for the man because he is making his entire career off a blowjob. Forever, his name will be linked to the President's penis, and he can't let go. Just like that overweight female coach in Porky's he has ahold and he will identify the penis and then he will become a star. Hell he's already acheived star status, just as Drudge has, but personally I'm the sort of person that would rather be searching for what is happening in this world that effects the whole of society, not 4 ounces of protein in an oval office. He can't see it though, it's his story, his 'baby' as he put it. Go on Ahab, search the world for your shrivled white whale of a story.
After the interviews I walked about, I looked around and I realized this enviroment was making me a better person. Everyone should get away for a spell, to see the world around them in it's best light, and the light here is a 20 hour length it seems. 'Top of the world ma!'
The Parties...
I had parties to attend, and party was the mood I was in. I did my job well, I didn't let the internet down, I didn't drop the ball instead I hit a three pointer from mid-court with a tenth of a second on the clock. I scored. I felt good, alive, and I wanted to celebrate, so I took a cab to the Whyte Centre (I misspelled it the same way they do up here)
The museum had an exhibit to early peoples of Canada, fantastic artifacts of long ago. It also had this wonderful Merlot from BRITISH COLUMBIA that just rocked. I had two quick glasses and was loosening up. I was in a glowing mood. I talked with a young guy that's starting his own CGI house in Canada. I talk with him about having his artist study traditional hand drawn animation and stop motion. How they have to begin thinking about building characters at 24 individual frames a second. And stop thinking about just making it look cool. How a character needs to just be, for a glimpse here and there. We talk about the specializing of the smaller fx houses and the farming out from the majors. It was a good talk.
Then I meet a blonde babe, I'll call Killer. She has a beautiful face, these perfectly plucked eyebrows, and a killer smile. She is full of flames and energy, she's on the path to make it at all costs. She has the scent of success on her starched white collar. She has to kill for business cards and she's been working the room something fierce. But she stops at me. I have to admit right here, carnal thoughts are definately in place, she would be fun as hell in a mountain romance, but hey, this sort of enviroments breeds that sort of thought pattern though I have to say at the same time looking at mountains, valleys and perfect skies makes on wish for something as long lasting as the view one sees, and anything with Killer or whatever Banff Babe I may run across with be as intangible as a blown kiss on a midsummers night.
(HARRY NOTE: I just read over this, and damn this reads pretty good, maybe I should write more often in an intoxicated state.)
Killer and I talk about the biz, we take more sips of the Merlot, as we pour through 5 or 6 long stemmed glasses a piece. She really is quite something. We continue to share dreams of what the world has to offer, of places to be, things to do, people to share them with. That's when the Indiewire guy shows up, we talk for a bit about projects (not what I wanted to talk about) The goat cheese appetizers and the salmon and the escargot and the other delicacies flow from sterling trays on the laid flat hands of the servers. It was an enviroment to get lost in, good company, good food, good being. Food and blood thinner came and went, and it was time to board our bus to the BBC International dinner.
Killer and I boarded our bus for two...hundred, and we were whisked westward. Once again at the Spring Hotel (I'm gonna have to scan a pic for y'all). I find myself in a swanky situation. This time I'm going in with a babe on my arm and confidence on my side. I look pretty dang good this night. (Hard to imagine I know, but I shopped before coming up here and got some new threads that don't entirely leave me out looking like a reject extra for a Ma and Pa Kettle film. We get our lamb and sirloin, our pasta and veggies, and yes oh yes, more of that fine Merlot, but of course.
We sit at a virgin table that had yet to be touched, and sat besides each other with eager anticipation of the would be diners at this the first BBC table in the door. We ate, a bit from each other's plates, sips of the wines, and soon Killer had more Banff Babes at my table. Mary Lou the gymnast with a heart of celluloid, brought forth yet more pastries of a fine assortment, while Killer brought more Merlot. Yes, this was an evening. Two Banff babes, pastries and Merlot. Oh how I love to taste of all three, but I'm on a diet, so I'll just munch on the pastries and sip the Merlot. Banff babes are high on the sweetness factor.
Then Miss Ice arives with powerful eyes and a demonic desire to bowl. We begin talking about everything that crosses our minds, tasting of each others foods, and drinking more wine. Pictures are taken, a wild erect to flaccid camera of Mary Lou's keeps all impressed, as she imitates a robotic beast from Flesh Gordon with here phallic photography instrument. She then does the Madonna point bra with it. She's a playful type. The sort of lady that you want to tickle.
Miss Ice touches my hands and loves the warmth they give to her icy touch, so I play Ron Perlman from CITY OF LOST CHILDREN and warm her chilled hands to the point where they once again are responsive to the world of feeling. By the way this is a very subtly erotic thing to do. Especially when beautiful crystal chandeliers hang over head and a twilight view of mountain ranges rages on in the background. Without a doubt a hot tub fantasy springs forth. That's when Miss Ice recommend to go to the Hot Springs together with me, Mary Lou and Killer. Personally I'm all for this idea, as it sounds about as good a fantasy as the one I have about the sexy female mounties I spied downtown. I mean they are women in uniforms that are MOUNT-IES. Wow.
Anyway, instead we head to a karioke place, I was less passionate about this option, but I head in back with Killer, and watch as Killer plays pool beating the competition hands down. Showing off here aerobocized killer buttocks in the short white mini. This is when zebra striped pants guy with the fuzzy poseable Elmo tie arrives on the scene, along with this guy in a REEFER MADNESS: THE MUSICAL t-shirt and the Indie Wire dude. The group enlarges. The people add on. We all decide to split the joint and head for Wild Bill's Bar. But instead we end up in a disco-tech sorta place playing the greatest hits of the eighties mixed with sporadic techno-pop and industrial. The place was dead when we arrived. But Killer, Zebra-Pants, Mary Lou and I take the dance floor and have fun. Soon I find myself dancing to such classic artists as AHA, PAT BENATAR, TEARS FOR FEARS, MARLYN MANSON, OLIVIA NEWTON JOHN, etc... The greats ya know..
Now I haven't danced since my accident. I have always felt that my balance might be too off to try it, but I was in the mood to dance a mile above sea level, on the edge of the top of the world. I soon had screwdrivers being placed in my hands to drink. The world began to ebb away into a kalidescopic vision of twirling lights, sweet smelling fog, chrome bars, writhing bodies, yelling conversation and state of elation. Mary Lou's body became an embodiment of motion as her body looked like a limber electrical experiment glistening with the sweaty performance she gave. Trying my best not to stumble and fall I looked like a parody of a white man (post Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire) dancing. Meanwhile she was upping the endorphines streaming into her brain alongside the scotch.
Meanwhile Killer was the embodiment of the word. She does this hip sway ripple thing that makes a males organ quiver with angst. Many non-dancing men quiver. Miss Ice, meanwhile, exists in her own moving world of images and color and weaves a tapestry of motion existing between the rays of light. The screwdrivers continued to flow, and as the hour was reaching 4am the sudden moment of clear thought brought forth the realization that I had a live radio showdown with CNN in 6 hours, and I thought for a second that perhaps a few hours in the world of rapid eye movement with the blinds down, might be just the thing I need.
So it was that I left the writhing women, the flowing liquor and headed back to the hotel, where sleep did not come. Instead I typed in the hopes of finding an outlet to get this to you.
On this day life was very good indeed.
