The Bleak House of Blahs 90210

Months ago, I asked Bing Image Generator to craft a portrait of Ron, Allan, Carrie, and me mowing the lawn in front of the Bleak House of Blahs. I tried to describe our younger selves as accurately as possible, but Bing insisted in turning all of us into fitness models. Of course the faces are completely wrong, because I haven't modeled any of us; I need a far better computer for that, and of course even then I wouldn't without consent. 

That genie is probably out of the box, though. I'm sure it won't be long before anyone who's ever posted even a single photo of themselves on the internet will eventually find themselves artificially generated one way or another. Carrie herself, though, should be safe, as she's never had any social media presence. Good foresight! 

Note, too, how primitive these images seem compared to what generative AI is capable of now. The singularity approaches...

Meanwhile, on Jeff Shyluk's Visual Blog: Sim Bleak House

A couple of weeks ago I found an old CD-ROM with some of my friend Jeff's art, specifically, art he'd created to customize characters in popular sandbox computer simulation The Sims. Jeff and I had a brief e-mail exchange about the old files, and I wrote, in part:

"I'm sure you created these skins for either the first iteration of The Sims, or The Sims 2 at the latest - but I'm sure it was The Sims. I, too, recreated the Bleak House of Blahs to run SimEarl, SimCarrie, SimRon and SimAllan through their paces, and I can still feel the bruises from the belly laughs. Most disturbing was the misery the Sims endured, how perfectly it mirrored our early-20s ennui and angst. I loved it most when one or more of us peed our pants with a plaintive 'Poo poo pee dee!' I was happy to see your memories captured in your recent blog post."

To see 1990s me, Allan, Carrie and Ron brought to virtual life, check out Jeff's story on the subject. 

The Wrong Turn

Many years ago--sometime during the early-to-mid 1990s--I was out with my friends Jeff, Susan, Tony, Steven and Ron. Carrie and Allan may have been there too. We were out searching for films to play for our semi-regular bad movie night. Back in those halcyon days, we would visit video rental stores and pore over racks and racks of VHS cassettes. Sometimes the trip itself was as fun or more than the movies themselves.

In this particular instance, we spotted a video store in the Oliver district of Edmonton, in the strip mall that hosts a Brit's Fish & Chips now. We sauntered in and started browsing, and within a few minutes we all realized that the entire store consisted only of the porn section...it was, in fact, an adult video store, a fact that all of us somehow missed. We skittered out, tittering nervously, faces flushed with embarrassed laughter. We were all close, but not so close that we had any interest in perusing pornography together; we were not nearly so hip.

I don't recall if we regrouped to find another video store or if we wound up playing board games or something. It's funny how some memories stick, while others flutter off into invisibility. 

Starring Earl as Earl in Toilet Chase

As the video above explains, I'm playing the part of myself as I appeared in Toilet Chase, an unproduced screenplay from the early 1990s. I'm unsure, as of yet, how to critique my own performance, except to say that I need to keep Brendan Hunter's advice in mind: this is a more intimate performance format than some others, so I need to be cautious about overplaying some moments, as I feel I have here. I also noted some engineering issues - I clearly have to figure out how to properly set the microphone, my own position, and my own volume levels.

Even with the hiccups, this was a fun exercise. Wouldn't it be cool if Jeff, Ron, Susan and Allan recorded their parts? Then I could create a real radio play, and the dream of producing some version of Toilet Chase would be reality. Heck, Jeff could animate it! 

Last Day at the Bleak House of Blahs

When I started this blog, I called it The Bleak House of Blahgs in memory of my short but memorable time living with Ron, Allan and (briefly) Carrie in our ramshackle rented house at the corner of 107 and 107 in Edmonton, Alberta. We started called it the Bleak House of Blahs after Carrie moved out, for we were then all single, all unemployed or underemployed, and drowning in the angst of the twenty-something. If only we'd known how good we had it...

Here are a few seconds of video captured on my last day, featuring Susan and Ron. 

The Answering Machine Message

In the comments of my last blog post, Jeff Shyluk makes an oblique reference to an answering machine message I created that "somehow" got lost.

Here's the story. Anyone who's followed this blog for a while knows that shortly after university I moved into an old, beat-up house on the corner of 108th and 108th with Allan Sampson, Ron Briscoe and Carrie Humphrey. Carrie moved out after a month, and so we christened the house "The Bleak House of Blahs," for we were all underemployed or unemployed, had no girlfriends and no prospects of rectifying either shortfall. Plus, there was a double machete murder at the donut shop a block away a day or two after we moved in. It was a dark time.

However, it was also a time of great creative energy for all of us, and this energy often manifested itself in odd ways. One day, while shopping for something else altogether (probably comics at Warp One), I came across a keychain that had eight buttons. Each button would produce a Star Trek sound effect: the red alert siren, a photo torpedo firing, an intercom whistle, and so on.

"I could make a great answering machine message with this!" I thought, and so I scripted a mock battle in which Captain Woods (i.e., me) couldn't answer "your comm signal" because I was in the middle of a battle right now, thanks very much.

I wrote a script, then painstakingly recorded the message. I set up my record player (!) to play an authentic Star Trek music track (probably something by James Horner from Star Trek II or III), hit each keychain sound effect at the appropriate moment, and delivered my dialogue as melodramatically as I could. Coordinating the music, the sound effects and my own performance was quite a feat, and it took many takes to get everything just right, but in the end, I had produced what I felt was the ultimate Star Trek answering machine message. Now all I had to do was sit back and enjoy the astounded reactions of my callers.

I believe the first person to call was my mom, and to my recollection she didn't react to the message at all, just left her message as if her son were normal. I guess she'd developed an immune response to my eccentricity.

The next call was a wrong number, but at least it provoked a strong reaction. A group of drunken twentysomethings left me a message composed of mostly uproarious laughter. Success!

But then, the fatal error. Writers and wannabe performance artists love nothing more than audience approval, and so I invited all my friends to listen to my message and to the reaction it provoked. I went upstairs to get something, LEAVING JEFF ALONE WITH THE MACHINE. Jeff wanted to listen to the message again, but hit the wrong button just as I returned, and so these words, or something very near them, were recorded OVER my painstakingly crafted message:

EARL: Hey - wha - WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU FOOL!

JEFF: Oh no!

I was crushed. All that work...I didn't have the heart to recreate perfection. It would have been like Da Vinci painting the Mona Lisa again had it been lost in a fire. Instead, I allowed Jeff's re-recording to serve as the message for a while, then recorded something more conventional.

These days, the story of creation and loss is just as valuable to me, if not more so, than the actual message itself. All art is ephemeral in some sense, and without Jeff's accidental destruction, I wouldn't have this wonderful story about those crazy days at the Bleak House of Blahs.

Finger Puppet Star Trek

Way back in the early 90s, some members of the University of Alberta Star Trek Club got together to film their own version of Star Trek: The Motion Picture...with painted fingers and cardboard sets. This is the result.