When we went to Tanzania to make a documentary about music culture and street youth, I never imagined it would help sexy ebony singles connect.

Last month I watched Stewart Butterfield [founder of flickr.com] give a keynote address at the Northern Voice Conference in Vancouver, which I also spoke at. I really enjoyed his talk, The Internet 1992-2009, A Love Story, which chronicled his long courtship with the internet over a number of years.

Although I loved the talk, I couldn’t relate. My romance with the internet was more like a happenstance of us standing side by side when the ugly lights went on at 2am. We were hammered, and went home with one another because the other’s pants fit nice and snug.

At breakfast in the morning there was a lot of, “This will never work… I’m so analog, you’re so digital.” But the damage was done; we’d tasted one another. We were in love.

So, when I saw Brett Gaylor’s film, RiP: A Remix Manifesto, last night, I stared at the screen with that starry look in my eyes that only happens when you glance at something that you love and remember exactly why you fell in love in the first place. The film is a meticulously chaotic survey of remix culture and its implications on art, commerce and law. What’s a remix? Something re-structured or a combination two or more things to create something new.

So what? For me, the moment where I truly realized what the internet was 26 months ago was when I took a couple of viral emails (script), two good electronic songs (score), and shot some crude digital video with Leah. I went back to Michigan and we bounced the file back and forth via email, remixing each other’s work… which was a remix to begin with. We threw it out to the internet to give it back to where we took it from. The video we made, How to Shower: Men Vs Women, went all over the place. Somebody even re-shot it in Portuguese. That was it - we quit our jobs and decided to be full time content creators, mixing and remixing content to make new stuff that’s better, worse, different.. or all three.

Go see this film. It might just change the way you think about stuff. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to start remixing everything; I’m gonna poop standing up, wear white after Labour Day…. All in the name of art.

On the weekend, Leah and I had a chance to speak at the Northern Voice Conference about Bongo, our in-the-works film project. If you’re interested in the talk, you can see a loose transcription including slides here on the Giant Ant Media blog.

Here’s a preview that we put together to give you all a taste of the project.

You know that I like giving the gift of gift giving ideas. And these are just for you, to get you through Valentines Day.



Cinna Minimes

Know an Austin Powers enthusiast? Give the gift of B-level comedy (the kind everyone likes) in the form of B-level sweets. Come on, you remember Cinnamon Toast Crunch right? It was a breakfast cereal box office smash! And I know that some of you watched Gold Member and thought, “That Minime… I could just eat him.”

CocoYoko Ono

Still pissed at Yoko for ruining your life when she broke up the Beatles? Lord knows I am [*shakes fist in the air, angrily screaming "Yooooookooooo, you've won this battle but the war has just begun!*]. Well, it’s time to get back at that beeeotch. Eat her head, melt her down and pour her on strawberries [did you know that she HATES strawberries? Why do you think she broke the Beatles up? It was that Strawberry Fields Forever song... she never forgave Paul]. There’s nothing more loco than eating a coco Yoko.

This is war, Yoko! And I know how much you hate that!

Bachs of Chocolate

Need a highbrow treat for a symphony enthusiast? Look no further! Bachs of Chocolate are the answer. Let them close their eyes and listen to the celebrated Toccata and Fugue in D Minor while nibbling Bach’s white chocolate ear. Allow me to suggest a pairing of the Cello Suites with dark chocolate, and perhaps the Sonatas and Partitas for violin solo with milk chocolate Bach.

Please treat lightly while listening to St. Matthew Passion. I won’t be held responsible for any unexpected Bachgasms.