If I do say so myself, I got some kickass photos today.
And won the Great Poutine Bet, although I should have known better than to bet with a tory with a tory judge presiding. Count your fingers after making THAT handshake deal.
Vodpod videos no longer available.
According to the one protester left to mind the placards and People’s Lovely Lending Library, about 300 people showed up, with the protesters only slightly outnumbering the media. After the obligatory speechifying (which I am glad to have missed) they then strode over to the viaduct into the port, where they were met by a count of 35 Vancouver police officers ranged across the bridge, completely blocking traffic, whether pedestrian or vehicular.
Here is Court, reporting from the scene:
Now, the Great Poutine Bet has everything to do with whether or not traffic was able to move into or out of the port, even though Dave doesn’t seem to think so. He and I had a bet: that if Occupy Vancouver shut down access to the port (and by that, what moron would think I meant completely sealing it off? We don’t have a geodesic dome big enough anymore!) on Monday the 12th, I’d win all the poutine I could eat, and if OV did not shut down access to the port, he would win all he could eat.
Is #FreedomCurds or is it not the best hashtag of all time? Thank you, it is.
Anyhoodle, Dave weaseled out of the bet as expected, even though FoodNotBombs shut down access via the Clark bridge in the morning, OV shut it down at Britannia in the afternoon, and in early evening another group of OV shut down the Clark onramp again. Shut down access to the port.
Five people were arrested at the second Clark occupation (well, five people left involuntarily in custody of the police, although police say only two were arrested) and later released without charges filed.
Oh well, one must be philosophical about such things. Once Dave tries my cooking, he’ll realize that there are many ways of winnning, and many ways of losing.
Well, my first choice for Jew Demonstrating Jewish Walking is a washout, alas, but it did turn me on to one of the greatest websites of all time: JewOrNotJew!
Note red carpet, velvet ropes, and soundtrack. Hmmm, is Kanye Jewish too?
Oh, and in reference to the title, if you want to know if Viggo‘s circumsized, you can get The Indian Runner, which has several seconds of full-frontal Viggo. Some frames of which have been moderately photoshopped.
Viggo with muppets by Michaelangelo okay not really.
The Greedy Eagle Casino Grand Opening by IndigFlygirl
We at the ol’ raincoaster blog salute our First Nations brothers and sisters of the West Village Band of Zuccotti Indians as they proudly reclaim their ancestral territory.
And promptly put a casino on it.
“Hit me!”
“No, that comes later.”
This may be the funniest, least PC thing I’ve ever posted. Should be good for at least one flamewar with some White Liberal Guilt-Having Vegan. Hey, don’t blame me, blame the 1491’s! Blaming the Natives: we should have perfected it by now!
UPDATE: you can add your own suggestions as YouTube videos in the comments: just leave the URL on its own line and walla! Instant video comment!
A wise man once said, or maybe it was me, that the only credible death threats at Occupy Vancouver are against the DJ, and anyone who’s heard the stuff he plays can understand why. It’s both hilarious and tragic that the Occupy movement has unhesitatingly ceded control of its soundscape to the person who owns the sound equipment on that basis alone. Ah, the 1% exist in any bellcurve, and it’s consistently appalling to me the way the 99% voluntarily subjugate themselves to it. Yes, the guy who owns the means of sound production is by default the DJ and it seems nobody has the power to eject him from this role, audible lack of talent notwithstanding. Minor keys and electronic drones; really, isn’t this the stuff they used to make Noriega surrender? I defy anyone NOT on psychoactive substances to actually assert that they enjoy this stuff. In fact, I don’t think there’s enough E in the world to make it fun, empowering, or uplifting. And not enough foam earplugs in the world to make it endurable; when you start praying for the drum circle to start, you KNOW something’s gone badly wrong.
So herewith are a few uplifting, enraging, inspiring, and even danceable tunes for Occupy Vancouver to assist in getting the dander (and other things) up, getting the blood (of the corporations) flowing, and drowning out that godforsaken DJ.
You’re welcome.
UPDATE: how could I forget the startlingly precocious Ta’kaiya Blaney from right here at Occupy Vancouver, singing her own composition, Earth Revolution? Corrected. This kid is performing this weekend at TEDxSFU, so I hear.
The gorgeous and shockingly talented Mylene Farmer, from Quebec and France, singing Fuck Them All(lyrics in the linked post):
That’s the song that generally starts my day. If that goth-femme empowerment anthem doesn’t quite do it for you, try something a little stronger, namely:
Rage Against the Machine doing Wake Up, with one of the best slideshow fan-made videos in all of YouTube. Yes, Anger is a gift.
I find it hilariously ironic that this video is, at 5 million plus views, so popular that it now has ads prefacing it.
Come on, although ya try to discredit
Ya still never edit
The needle, I’ll thread it
Radically poetic
Standin’ with the fury that they had in ’66
And like E-Double I’m mad
Still knee-deep in the system’s shit
Hoover, he was a body remover
I’ll give ya a dose
But it’ll never come close
To the rage built up inside of me
Fist in the air, in the land of hypocrisy
Movements come and movements go
Leaders speak, movements cease
When their heads are flown
‘Cause all these punks
Got bullets in their heads
Departments of police, the judges, the feds
Networks at work, keepin’ people calm
You know they went after King
When he spoke out on Vietnam
He turned the power to the have-nots
And then came the shot
Yeah!
Yeah, back in this…
Wit’ poetry, my mind I flex
Flip like Wilson, vocals never lackin’ dat finesse
Whadda I got to, whadda I got to do to wake ya up
To shake ya up, to break the structure up
‘Cause blood still flows in the gutter
I’m like takin’ photos
Mad boy kicks open the shutter
Set the groove
Then stick and move like I was Cassius
Rep the stutter step
Then bomb a left upon the fascists
Yea, the several federal men
Who pulled schemes on the dream
And put it to an end
Ya better beware
Of retribution with mind war
20/20 visions and murals with metaphors
Networks at work, keepin’ people calm
Ya know they murdered X
And tried to blame it on Islam
He turned the power to the have-nots
And then came the shot
Uggh!
What was the price on his head?
What was the price on his head!
I think I heard a shot
I think I heard a shot
I think I heard a shot
I think I heard a shot
I think I heard a shot
I think I heard, I think I heard a shot
‘He may be a real contender for this position should he
abandon his supposed obediance to white liberal doctrine
of non-violence…and embrace black nationalism’
‘Through counter-intelligence it should be possible to
pinpoint potential trouble-makers…And neutralize them,
neutralize them, neutralize them’
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
How long? Not long, cause what you reap is what you sow
All woken up now? Great! Do you feel like working off some of that energy in a holistic, non-violent way? Good for you. Now is the time at #OccupyVancouver when we dance…with Tina Arena!
Yes, it’s cute and poppy, but peppy Aussie Tina Arena‘s hit Now I Can Dance is also an empowering anthem that all marginalized people can identify with (especially if they like to dance with trombone hats on their heads). It’s for anyone who’s transcended the box that the world has tried to put them in. We are all the anti-Maru!
So I hope this finds you well
Sun is shining down eastern valley ways
There’s some news I need to tell you
Give my Mother a kiss
Tell her I’m ok
I recall her words
“If it’s too easy
It never lasts
I have compromised
But I’m finally free of the past
Now I can dance
Clouds have all disappeared
Freedom
I hold so dear
Cause nobody knows me here
Though I can only imagine the sadness
In your eyes
Please understand
Now I can dance
All alone the other night
I came to realise we’d be friends for life
It was always meant to be
For some people the heavens can get it so right
Like an angel you see
You have graciously offered a hand
You’d be so proud of me
Now I’m finally taking a stand
Now I can dance
Clouds have all disappeared
Freedom
I hope so dear
Cause nobody knows me here
Though I can only imagine the sadness
In your eyes
Please understand
Now I can dance
Now I can dance
Now I can dance
Clouds have all disappeared
Freedom
I hope so dear
Cause nobody knows me here
Though I can only imagine the sadness
you eyes
Please understand
Now I can dance
Though I can only imagine the sadness
In your eyes
Please understand
Now I can dance
So I hope this finds you well
Sun is shining down eastern valley ways
So good
Be free
Can dance and laugh and just be me
So good
Be free
The clouds above have disappeared
God knows, I’m allergic to hipsters and hipster music (this is what hobbits would sound like if they could wrap their legs around a cello without splitting in two), but a true movement must be truly Of Its Time, and this version of the Clash’s Guns of Brixton by Canadian hipster band Arcade Fire is a uniquely 21st Century fusion of classic revolutionary ideas, a violent revolutionary anthem, and contemporary understated resistance, an iron hand in the velvet fingerless glove.
this particular iteration of this particular song is the great protest anthem of our time. We’re not as raw as The Clash, but our riots aren’t just Quiet: they’re silent, but for the clicking of keys on an iMac. Vaguely apologetic but inexorable, conscious of the past and very much aware of this moment in history, twee, precious, metrosexual but somehow effective nonetheless; yup, this is us, right here, right now.
When they kick out your front door
How you gonna come?
With your hands on your head
Or on the trigger of your gun
When the law break in
How you gonna go?
Shot down on the pavement
Or waiting in death row
You can crush us
You can bruise us
But you’ll have to answer to
Oh, Guns of Brixton
The money feels good
And your life you like it well
But surely your time will come
As in heaven, as in hell
You see, he feels like Ivan
Born under the Brixton sun
His game is called survivin’
At the end of the harder they come
You know it means no mercy
They caught him with a gun
No need for the Black Maria
Goodbye to the Brixton sun
You can crush us
You can bruise us
But you’ll have to answer to
Oh-the guns of Brixton
When they kick out your front door
How you gonna come?
With your hands on your head
Or on the trigger of your gun
You can crush us
You can bruise us
And even shoot us
But oh- the guns of Brixton
Shot down on the pavement
Waiting in death row
His game was survivin’
As in heaven as in hell
You can crush us
You can bruise us
But you’ll have to answer to
Oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton
And now that we’re in a mellower mood, here’s a pretty little thing for the anti-vivisectionists who I know have a strong presence at Occupy Vancouver: Mylene Farmer again (can you ever get enough of the Madonna of Europe?) doing Si j’avais au moins.
Qui n’a connu
Douleur immense
N’aura qu’un aperçu
Du temps
L’aiguille lente
Qu’il neige ou vente
L’omniprésente
Souligne ton absence
Partout
Who has not experienced
Immense pain
Will only have a glimpse
Of time
The slow needle
Whether it snows or is windy
The omnipresent
Emphasizes your abscence
Everywhere
Qui n’a connu
L’instable règne
Qui n’a perdu
Ne sait la peine
Plus de réserve, du tout
Ni dieu, ni haine, s’en fout
Plus de superbe, j’ai tout
D’une peine…
Un enténèbrement
Who hasn’t known
The unstable reign
Who hasn’t lost
Doesn’t know sorrow
No more reserves, at all
Neither God nor hatred gives a damn
More superb
I have everything from sorrow
A darkening
Si j’avais au moins
Revu ton visage
Entrevu au loin
Le moindre nuage
Mais c’est à ceux
Qui se lèvent
Qu’on somme « d’espoir »
Dont on dit qu’ils saignent
Sans un au revoir, de croire
Et moi pourquoi j’existe
Quand l’autre dit je meurs
Pourquoi plus rien n’agite
Ton cœur …
If I had at least
Seen your face again
Glimpsed in the distance
The lesser cloud
But it belongs to those who are raised
As we summon some “hope”
Of which we say that they’re bleeding
Without a “goodbye” to believe
And why do I exist
When the other says I’m dying
Why does nothing more trouble
Your heart…
Tous mes démons
Les plus hostiles
Brisent les voix
Les plus fragiles
De tous mes anges
Les plus dévoués
Et moi l’étrange paumée
Fiancée à l’enténèbrement…
All my Demons, the most hostile
Breaking voices, the most fragile
Of all my Angels
The most devout,
And I, the lost stranger
Betrothed to gloom
And let’s not forget our roots; the people who invented Occupy: no, not Adbusters! They weren’t on this until July! I’m talking about those masked men and women, the wearers of the black suit and tie… not that guy.
This guy.
United as one divided by zero
Note that even Miss Manners now recognizes “Guys” as unisex, so this is not only inclusive but technically correct. It matters. FACT.
And what enjoyable, uplifting musical interlude suitable to popping, locking, and/or protesting can possibly be brought to you by the world’s most famous, best-dressed Hive Mind? I’ll give you a choice of two!
I am a Vancouver Mayoral Candidate. I have a stuffed lobster. Hail our Crustacean overlords!
As I’ve said before, Oh Vancouver, never change.
After Suzanne Anton’s failed Nixonian move, it looks like she’s out of the running. Even the Success KoolAid marketing networker drones would be embarrassed to be publicly seen advocating for someone who leaves a motion till it’s too late to vote on, attempts to have it passed anyway, and then goes dark, presumably because even she knows we’ve all had enough of her.
How long must we remain a marginalized minority? How long must we take the scraps off the tables of the rich? Wait. We ARE the scraps!
“I’m going to be the only homeless candidate in this election,” Zimmerman told me.
He likes waving around a toy lobster to highlight Vision Vancouver councillor Heather Deal’s decision to tweet a photo of leftovers from a lobster feast at a Federation of Canadian Municipalities meeting in Halifax.
I, personally, am less offended by the lavish dinner than by the fact that they paid $2300 and drank out of plastic cups. BRANDED plastic cups.
That’s it. I’ve made up my mind how to vote.
Cthulhu for president DESPAIR ALL YE WHO ENTER VOTING BOOTHS
, which has several seconds of full-frontal Viggo. Some frames of which have been moderately photoshopped.
raincoaster 