making thunder since 1980.

years back, i had started a "bio" page consisting of memories of my childhood and how i actually experiences them at the time. i haven't added to it in a long while, but it's still quite relevant in my mind. as far as a true bio goes, i'll get around to it. for a summary, i went to school for art, which was something that was always going to happen. i then became hugely inspired by a slovenian filmmaker, started creating nature films and photography, moved to manchester and got engaged to a mancunian, moved back to new jersey and got married to said mancunian. now i make little films, work as a photographer, drum some drums, own a 'reject' lionhead rabbit with a mullet, and watch a crapload of Star Trek Original Series/Next Generation and Doctor Who. i also have a tv crush on Grissom from CSI.

back to the archives:

Born cross-eyed as a Leo in the Year of the Monkey, I was quickly picked up and adopted by my parents. I soon overcame my slurred vision and became much cuter. During the first few years of my life I acquired a sister. I also developed and affection for He-Men and enjoyed chewing off their appendages.

For Halloween, I remember being the following: a Cabbage Patch Kid, Megatron (the Decepticon Leader of the Transformers), Beetlejuice, an old man, a California Raisin, a Pound Puppy, the Grim Reaper, Eliot complete w/E.T, and most recently, Blix the Goblin. Most folks dream about going to school naked, I dreamt about not having a costume on Halloween. And a giant that continuously stepped on my house. And Freddy Kreuger.

I still have my He-Men, mangled hands and all. Some toys were just meant for chewing on. I've been told that the Thundercats' Panthro came with some decadent numchucks. My old Luke Skywalker figure has no face anymore. Well, he does, but he now looks more like Eric Stoltz from 'Mask' (with Cher) then Luke Skywalker. Barbie's feet had some nice resistance to them, but it took a lot of initial chewing to soften them up to a good standard. That's what I did with my Barbies. Everyone else made them have sex. I crippled them.

There was once a toy called Sweet Secrets. They were small, plastic, pastel-coloured animals and people with big bright jewels on their stomachs. Their whole 'secret' is that they turn into jewelry. I walked into a Rite Aid when I was six (on my way to CCD-a catholic night school thing) and while no one was looking, I opened up the package and slipped a blue dog into my coat. I believe it transformed into a necklace. Soon thereafter I realized that I'd rather just stick to more exciting things...like robots that transfer into Brontosauruseseses.

In third grade, we moved from one township to another. During the time my current home was being built, we stayed in a townhouse which had a really awesome backyard. There was a huge tree with branches reaching from the ground all the way up. I climbed this tree everyday and tried to spy on my neighbors, but all they ever did was mow the lawn or walk in and out of the house. I would give most anything to have a great climbing tree like that again. Most people trim the branches all the way up to the top now, because it looks better not having all that pesky 'nature' in the way of their pink flamingoes and lawn dwarves.

I used to have a habit of biting my nails (I'm over it...I swear...really...) and in kindergarten, I chewed one too far down and needed a band-aid. I couldn't find my teacher...I think it might have been class picture day, so everyone was everywhere, and someone else told me to go to the nurse and get one. Now, I was a little kid, and little kids are insane, distracted, and have an odd sense of direction. How was I supposed to go find this Nurse that I've never seen, or even fathomed existence, all by myself? I ended up walking up and down three floors to no avail, and somehow made it back home at the end of the day.

Now that I look back on my pre-2nd grade years, I realize that I was very confused about how school worked and what the hell I was supposed to be doing. In preschool, I went during the morning and my mom picked me up in the afternoon...I think. I only remember one day from that time in my life, and I was looking for my lunch. Have you ever seen one of those annoyingly wholesome Family Circus comic strips? If so, have you seen the ones with Billy being asked to do a specific task and then walking all over the place to get there? Well, that's what I did on that day. I walked all around the classroom, outside and all around the playground, into the coat room, back out into a cafeteria and then out to the parking lot, where I found my mom. I don't know to this day, why I was looking for my lunch, because I didn't eat lunch there...ever. I climbed into my mom's car and hid in the backseat until we went home. I don't remember ever previously being at that school before that day or even after. As far as my memory is concerned, I was at that preschool for one day and I spent the entire time in a futile attempt at searching for my nonexistent lunch.

In 1st grade, a boy in a higher grade hung himself. I think maybe his name was Paul. We were all given the assignment of making cards for his family. It was a very surreal experience (I guess childhood, in its entirety is) because we were all exchanging rumours as to how he killed himself and who found him and such. Before that, I don't think any of us ever even knew what suicide was. I ended up making a very generic card saying that I was very sorry for what had happened. I just think it's strange to spend an entire day making cards for a suicide victim's family that none of us even knew. All we experienced was a very slow and unusually quiet day in which we had to write that we were sorry for something that we didn't even understand.

Stephen King's IT has had a very big impact on my life. I first saw the T.V. movie at my grandmother's house years ago while she was watching me and my sister (my parents had run off to Hong Kong for a vacation). Now I know this movie has scarred lots of people for life on the subject of clowns, and it had the same effect on me...BUT, I believe I have come to certain terms with Pennywise. I was haunted for years by nightmares of this clown chasing me with an axe, popping up from underneath my bed, and many other variations of the classic monster nightmares. But this monster was different. Not even Freddy Kreuger could touch him. Believe me, I watched them fight it out one night...Freddy got his arse kicked. I had also read the book IT, and had loved it. It is still one of my favourites, although the graphic horrific nature of the novel did not help the fact that I could not sleep at night. I had so many terrible nights dealing with this damn clown that I guess I subconsciously put my foot down. I occasionally have REM visits from him, but I can deal with them now, and have accepted clowns back into my life.

I used to have a wooden swingset in my backyard, and this is were I spent much of my days of youth. There were trees all around, so when I swung, I tried to touch them with my feet. This was pretty near impossible, though, because the trees were stories tall and meters across the yard. When I sat on my designated swing, the treetops formed a crude circle through which I could see the sky. I named this the Dream Circle, and convinced myself and others that if you swung your hardest and highest, that you could gain access to a different dimension...one where all your dreams would come to life. As we swung back and forth almost uncontrollably, pointing our toes towards the open space in the trees and leaves, we would shout out what we most wished. And in a way, it all came true. If it was dark and stormy out, the nightmares would have a good chance of coming to life, so we needed to bond our dreams together and fight off the evil thoughts and fears. The Dream Circle is still there in my backyard, but the swingset was passed over to the neighbor's children. They have it facing a different direction, alas, their children will never know about my other world. The dreams of my life have changed, but I still remember what I shouted for way back then, and I know that I still have access to that other dimension whenever I wish it.

My family has been going to the ocean for years. We usually trek on down during the summer months like typical tourists, and stay in a house on the beach. I try to spend most of my time floating on a bodyboard far beyond where the waves crash overtop the small children and large women. At one point, I found that a gathering of dolphins had come upon me and were playing and jumping everywhere. They were just beyond reach, and I watched them for ten minutes or so until they swam off. I always find myself staring into the endless horizon at passing clouds and sailboats, wondering how far out I could swim before being swallowed by the endless expanse of chaotic blue.

They told me Scott died of cancer, which might have been partially true, but I didn't realize until a few years later, when my Uncle Mike was dying, that they had both had AIDS. I didn't really know what 'gay' was when I was younger because it wasn't brought up in my household. It's funny, because I grew up around it without even knowing. At Christmas, Scott would always be there, and he was just like family. There were no questions in my mind as to why he was there. It was only natural. Then he died, and we were all very sad. A few years later, Uncle Mike got sick, and by then, I was old enough to understand HIV and what it meant. I then connected the events with Scott to that of my Uncle's. I remember him coming over wearing a maroon baseball cap during his last days...he wore that cap a lot. I wish I had known them better...I was young and too wrapped up in myself to realize their time was short. I expect I shall come upon them, eventually, when I'm done with the Earth and then we'll have time to talk. When I attended the film seminar earlier this June 2001, we watched a film called Blue by Derek Jarman. It was 79 minutes of a pure blue screen with the director's narration over it. He documented his life with AIDS and everything he was feeling and experiencing. I felt myself transported back to the time that I had missed out upon. I felt like I had been given a chance to hear what they went through and finally understand what went on. When it was over, I couldn't speak about it to anyone without getting choked up, for I had just been given the knowledge I had been seeking for years.

When they were more readily available and aplenty, I enjoyed finding open fields at night and spinning and spinning and spinning around and around with my arms whipping wildly and my head thrown back staring up at the sparkling night sky. I remember last doing this about 4 years ago. It's been far too long, and it's so much more fun doing it with someone else. You both collapse to the ground, inner-ears totally off-balance, alone together in your own world. I could spend a whole fecking night doing that...I could spend my life doing that.

In my old house in Atco, New Jersey, my father had built a bar in the basement. My favourite part of this was the mini-freezer in which he kept trays of ice cubes. I used to sneak back there to eat the ice (ice was still a snack in my mind, back then) and I'd forget to re-fill the trays with new water, so I would inevitably get caught. Eventually I got wise to that and was constantly watering the trays. It was in this same basement where I would watch and listen to Michael Jackson's Thriller. When Vincent Price's rap came up, I'd hide behind the couch because it scared me silly. At one point, I was eating ice and listening to Thriller simultaneously and got so scared of the Poe-esque actor that I started choking. At this point it was the early 80's and ice cubes were just that. Cubes. And they were also rather large. I ended up coughing up the blasted thing and remember that my throat had really hurt. That certainly deterred any extensive disappearances from the ice trays for a long time. I still listen to Thriller.

All basements have their own spooky connotations in a child's mind. I used to run from the werewolves under the stairs and have a near-heart attack as I slammed the door shut at the top. I still do. But this isn't a story about scares...more of mystery. The werewolves live in my current home. This is another tale of my Atco dwelling. Half of the basement was made up into a television room and bar, as mentioned in the Vincent Price story above, but the other half was a regular storage area. It had cold floors and concrete walls. I never usually passed through the door between the two worlds, but when I did, I became lost. I have my theories now, that my old basement was a wormhole of sorts, and knowing Atco, New Jersey, I wouldn't doubt it too much. Anyway, my mother used to have birds when I was young, or so I somewhat remember. She kept these birds in the back room of the basement, which was actually ground level towards the back (our house was built into a hill of sorts). This small area was the laundry room. I would venture back there maybe once every 2 years. I have no idea why I didn't go back there more often. I think there were things back there I did not want to know, or was not ready for. Not just boxes of treasured junk, but somewhat dimensional secrets. I remember the birds being alive in those cages, but looking back on these memories, I don't see any birds in the cages. All is silent, and dust and stillness float through the breathless air. The cages sit empty and lifeless, though I know those animals were there. I must have imagined this, or have seen through into a different place. This is why I rarely ventured back there...things would happen that I could not differentiate from reality, and my mind would wander aimlessly. I would stand there for minutes (hours?) staring off into the wire and wooden perches, watching those birds watch me...inviting me into their universe, asking me to stay awhile, the warm and motionless air standing still in my lungs. I did not breath, I did not blink. I was gone. I found my way back, but I do wonder if a piece of me remains there, in that very place where worlds mingled seamlessly and wonderfully.

My mother relayed a story to me the other day. Aside from continuously relieving our salt shakers from their burden (in turn, rapidly depleting our supply of sodium chloride and forcing her to hide it from me), I once removed all of our dry goods from the pantry (i.e. pasta, flour, sugar...) and one by one, dumped them over the side railing onto the unsuspecting basement floor below. I give myself a huge amount credit for my wonderfully Galileo-esque experiment and my indifference towards carbohydrates. Though, I'm sure I did receive a wooden spoon to the rear.

My obsession with trees and forests began in the first few years of my life. My parents built their first home in Atco together. They also took the initiative to cover it in some wild orange and brown late-70's/early-80's Tupperware-worthy decor. Included in this were the basement walls, covered in wallpaper of a full-scale forest. No repeated design here, just trees, leaves, some sunlight poking through here and there. It seemed so normal to me to have that growing up, even though now I realize I never came upon it anywhere else. I vowed to have the same type wallpaper in my home (if not an actual forest). The walls are included in the inner workings of old basement memories (recorded here, as well) a decade of Christmas, and the backdrop for hours of eating ice cubes, watching Thriller, and bouncing from couch to couch. I did all of this in the (faux) presence of nature.

When I was in eighth grade, I joined an intramural softball league. We were split into teams and played a regular season of softball after school (I believe it was everyday or every other day). Anyway, my team was of course, the team of misfits and artists and no one really expected us to go far. But we completely ripped apart the other teams. We were awesome. We actually made it to the final championship game against the biggest athletes in...well, in eighth grade. At that point all that made them athletes was that they hit their growth spurts first and had those boyish mustaches. It was the bottom on the ninth and the Athletes were up - two outs, bases not entirely loaded. I was somewhere between first and second base. Like a confused shortstop. The biggest and most egomaniacal guy in the school was up. The pitch - he hit - right to me. I stuck me glove out like a reflex and - BAM. I caught the ball. I had no idea that I had done it until the entire team hoisted me up on their shoulders, including the softball teacher who I think was bewildered at the fact that I (quite possibly the only girl left in the league) had caught the last (and rapidly coming towards my head) out of the season.