I am the idiot child.

Hey remember before when I said I was heading to Edmonton on Saturday? Yeah, well, turns out I'm leaving tomorrow. I fucked up my booking and wouldn't have caught it but for the fact I sent my itinerary to the buddy who is picking me up and he noticed the date discrepancy. So thanks, G. You're a god among bros.

And I'll see you tomorrow.

Where to now, my idiot child?

Last post before the holidays and, in all probability, 2008. Seems like a good time to do a year- ender.

Music: Not a great year. As I'm sure I've said before, I'm old and jaded, so finding the latest new shit isn't a huge priority for me. Too much out there and too much of it is crap. Usually, the critics would be a good way to separate the wheat from the chaff, but much of this year's crop of critical favourites can be summed up in one word: "unlistenable." See: Battles, Justice, Panda Bear, Animal Collective, Patrick Wolf. This was also the year of letdowns. Radiohead put out another record and people continued to pretend to care, The Arcade Fire dropped a stinking deuce, The Shins's third record fizzled, The Shout Out Louds released a lukewarm record of Cure covers, The Hold Steady look like they're running out of ideas and Bloc Party put out a record that was jut kinda, sorta okay.

On the positive front, there were some gems. In no particular order my picks for this year are:

• Spoon- Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
• The Long Blondes-Someone To Drive You Home
• Electrelane-No Shouts, No Calls
• M.I.A.-Kala
• LCD Soundsystem-Sound of Silver
• The National-Boxer

Film: For me, this year was all about the films I didn't actually see. If it was critically acclaimed and/or arty, I probably missed it. "No Country for Old Men," "Juno," "Control," "I'm Not There," "Before The Devil Knows You're Dead," "Atonement," "Michael Clayton," "The Savages": missed 'em all. Of The few I did see and liked included:

• The Darjeeling Ltd
• Once
• Zodiac
• Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
• Knocked Up/Superbad

Books: Yeah, I didn't read much from this year. This looks like a good list to work from, though.

Life: Big year. New city, new job: really a whole new start. Shaking the dust from the old town has been nothing but good. In fact, it's the best thing I've ever done in my life and it showed me that taking a risk can pay off. That's something I hope to explore more in the new year.

I'm leave for Edmonton this Saturday, so have a great rest of 2007.

Schmoozy

I am not a good schmoozer. My girlfriend would disagree, but there's a difference between working a room full of people whom you know and pressing the flesh with total strangers.

I am shy.

By the time I'm drunk enough to walk up to a total stranger in hopes of striking up a conversation and possibly a connection, I'm too drunk to be coherent. This weekend, I a sauntered up to a sorta famous CBC radio host and stumbled through an awkward conversation about my record label. In this case, the chap looked drunker than I was, so the whole episode probably didn't register. Nonetheless, I walked away feeling pretty dopey. I am always very self-concious when I'm in an altered state. This is why I had such a lousy time of it with girls. Up until four years ago.

Four years. If you had told me then how things would be today, I don't know if I would have believed you. or even if I would have wanted it this way. But here and now, I know I do. It's great.

Welcome back Pisser.

The Virgins-Fernando Pando

Street spirit

It snowed this weekend. I did not see this coming, having moved out here in part to escape it, but there it was on Saturday morning: a thin white blanket of snow covering the green grass, still more tumbling down from the sky. Seemed like a good time to get into the Christmas spirit. A trip to Canadian Tire returned a cheap fake tree. With a box of decorations and mugs of eggnog-laced coffee in hand, with Elvis crooning on the stereo, we set to work...

The snow was all gone by the next day, washed away in a torrent of rain that also threatened to bring sludge and filth down from the mountains in what's apparently an annual Vancouver tradition: a boil water advisory. Speaking of brown water and sludge, I booked my flight back to Edmonton for the holidays last week. I expect it'll be the last time I head out for Christmas. Between the cost and the general hassle of traveling during that time of year, I figure there's no reason not to wait for a cheaper and quieter time to go home in future. Still, I am looking forward to seeing my family and friends, revisiting some old haunts and maybe finding some new ones.

I might even get around to posting again before then. Who knows?

"Don't you hate pants?!"

This guy does, at least when they're worn by embittered, man-hatin', bull-dyke feminazis (you can always spot them 'cause they wear pants.)

What's not sexy is feminism (not to be confused with femininity), which is directly responsible for the disappearance of our beloved dresses and the adoption of pants by the "new woman." Like all fashions, pants are symbolic of something - in this case masculinity - through their allowance of physical activity. Dresses, the antithesis of pants, symbolize femininity through grace and elegance. Men find elegance in women to be attractive, and dresses are a physical manifestation of femininity. The wearing of pants by women represents the masculinization of the fairer sex, which is not at all attractive.

I don't know about you, but this is exactly the kind of guy whom I'd look to when wondering "what is sexy?"

Of course he doesn't just hate uppity trouser bitches: in the comments, he makes it clear he doesn't like faggy dudes either:

If it helps, I think that men have a specified place in society, and I'm equally offended by men with tight pants, pink shirts, and long hair.

Oh, it helps. It helps a lot.

Sign 'o' the times

What's it say about me that I hear about the upcoming free Stars show (scroll down) and instantly think "Man, that'd be cool, but no way I'm lining up for hours to try and get in. Besides, Sunday's laundry day!"

And I used to really like music.

Week in brief

Went to this:



Watched this:



Going to this.

That's about it.

These days I seem to think a lot about the things that I forgot to do.

Update time!


My first autumn (or "fall") on the west coast has been quite pleasant. Unlike home, where fall typically consists of two weeks in mid-October, we've had two months of clear, blue skies, crisp air and glorious gold and red colours. I understand this is a bit unusual, as this time of year is generally a lot greyer and damper. But I'm not complaining.

Halloween was yesterday and I'm quite shocked at how into it people are out here. I went for a bike ride around the 'hood after diner and I've never seen so many trick-or-treaters. I suppose that's because, unlike home, its more fun to trick-or-treat when there's not a foot of snow on the ground. Oh and people here love fireworks. there were little crackers going off everywhere all night and some folks were even setting off big Roman candles on their front lawns. I would have tried to get a pic, but my camera batteries died. Suffice to say, it was neat, though a bit like being in Baghdad.

Speaking of bikes, I just bought a new one:




Don't get me wrong: I still love my trust Raleigh, Wintson, but the damn thing is made of steel, which makes it tough to ride and impossible to stop in wet conditions. The new bike is aluminum so it's surprisingly light for its size. It's a dream to ride. Problem is, I'm super paranoid about it getting nicked, being in crackhead central and all.

Beyond that, the last month or two have been pretty uneventful. We've mostly settled into a new routine, which despite being in a new city, is a lot like the old routine. Still, it's nice to have options to pass on for a change.

Big Exit

Well if you gotta go, you might as well go out hogtied and wearing two complete wet suits, a face mask, diving gloves, slippers, rubberized underwear, with a dildo up your ass.

Though I must say from a pure comic standpoint, the Christian fundamentalist angle is a bit of a gilded lily.

Stuff

This site has it.

Observations

• Vancouverites sure do complain a lot. The housing prices, the rampant poverty, the winters (more on that in a bit), the transit system, the architecture, the (admittedly annoying) civic strike, the new Canucks jerseys, the Canada Line, the Olympics, the gun crime…it’s one gripe after another with these people. I even heard people bitching about The Economist naming Vancouver the world's best place to live. Now, that’s not so say there aren’t perfectly legitimate grievances out there, but really.

• The one thing worse than the incessant complaining is the following formula: ‘Vancouver’s great, where else can you ________ in the morning and _________ in the afternoon?” (for example: “ski” and “kayak”). This was a running joke between my brothers and I before I moved out here, but I’ve actually heard it said.

• Vancouver people seem to take perverse pride in their winters, to the point where virtually every time I’ve met someone and mentioned that I’m from Edmonton, they’ve been compelled to warn me about the fact that it rains a lot during winter here. Now, I’m sure that probably sucks, but I’m from Edmonton, people! Do you know what winters are like in that place? Incidentally, the only people I’ve met who don’t complain about the winters in their city are horrible douchebags from Calgary who act as though the chinook is borne over the Rockies by the very breath of the Holy Christ Child.

• The gigs don’t stop coming. Since my last post on the subject, I’ve tagged three more must-see gigs: Bella at the Railway Club on October 4, the Long Blondes at Richard’s on November 2, Small Sins at the Media Club on Remembrance Day and Les Savy Fav at Richard's on December 1.

Colours and colours and colours of colours.

Orange...



And yellow...



And green and red.

Think of England

Roses, Empress Hotel, Victoria B.C. July 2007.

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?

It's been another long dry spell here I see. Posting has been light since the Big Move, so I think a brief recap is in order.

Some time ago, the missus and I started kicking around the idea of getting the hell out of Edmonton. She always hated it there and I had started to sour on the place as it became more apparent that the flood of oil money was not exactly doing wonders for the quality of life. Also, I had recently turned 30 and figured if ever there was a time to escape the 50-kilometre radius in which I had spent my entire existence, it was now. She wanted to go back to school, and I just wanted a change of scenery. We wanted a large, cosmopolitan city, (which ruled out Calgary *spits), and so, after considering our options (which were, due to my status as a unilingual Anglophone, pretty much limited to Toronto and Vancouver), we decided to try our luck on Canada’s west coast. Of course, picking up one’s life and moving is never simple. Most of my family and friends are in Edmonton, and I had a cushy government job that paid me a bundle and placed few demands on me beyond showing up on time and relatively sober. But, as the saying goes, fortune favours the bold, and so I chucked the job that was slowly grinding me down, said goodbye to the grey lady on the North Saskatchewan and set out for (literally) greener pastures.

And it’s been great. We managed to quickly find a pretty nice little place in a cute neighbourhood for a decent rent (though it came to light later that our landlords, who live directly below us, are of a rare species of nocturnal troll that subsist solely on cigarettes smoked between the hours of 10 p.m. and 2 a.m.). The missus was accepted into school and managed to find a job to help defray the cost of a liberal arts education. And I scored a communications gig at a large not-for-profit that pays me better than my old cushy government job. Except here I actually do work, which turns out to be far more rewarding than surfing the internet for seven hours a day.



We’re getting to know our neighbourhood (no easy task given the fact it’s currently being torn apart by the construction of Vancouver’s new rapid rail transit line; see above) and other parts of the city (hopefully I’ll get around to posting about our favorite spots soon).

We bought a very decent couch. We’ve been going to lots of gigs.



In short, we’re settling in and rather enjoying the process.

So there’s your backstory.

What’s next? Not sure. I do know that, between the demands on my time by my job and social life (such as it is) and competition from Facebook and Flickr, this blog probably won’t get all that much attention. But I’ll try to keep the snark coming while also using this space for some of my favorite photos. Here's one now, from a recent saunter down by the waterfront at Coal Harbour:



Later.

The morons are winning

The band is The Awkward Stage, a delightful Vancouver pop outfit we caught at the Media Club on the weekend. If you like jangly shit like Belle and Sebastian, the New Pornographers (for whom they'll be opening at the Commodore in late September) or the Smiths, you'll probably like them.

I simply can't get over the number of gigs that are coming up in this town. So far, we've tickets for Fujiya and Miaygi, The National, Tokyo Police Club and Art Brut. Other upcoming gigs include Au Revoir Simone/Oh No! Oh My!, Girl Talk/The Blow/Thunderheist, The Thermals, Spoon, Shout Out Louds, Klaxons, Stars, the Russian Futurists, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, Office, Chad VanGaalen, Justice and the Spice Girls.

Obviously I don't have the cash or energy to make it to all of them, but gosh its nice to have choices.

Weekends and bleak days

bought a digital camera this week, so the self-indulgence level on this blog is about to go through the roof. Lucky for y'all, I haven't figured out how to use it yet.

It would have been handy to have last night when we went to the Spanish Banks for a picnic on the beach. It's a spectacular setting with glorious vistas of the ocean, mountains, and the distant glass towers of downtown, as well as the most amazing view of the sunset imaginable. Since I didn't take any photos, here's an artist's impression:



Seriously, living in this town is enough to give one awe fatigue, but I can’t complain. Beats having one’s soul worn down by banal landscapes and grotesque architecture (hi Edmonton!)

Still, there’s a part of me that will always hold affection for the 780, which is why I’m giving the old girl some love this weekend. I’m planning on checking out this gig poster exhibition that’s being put on by (ex?) Edmontonian Kristen Cheung of Vanity Productions, and featuring works by Browntowners Lyle Bell and Field Marshal Raymond Biesinger. It’s all ages, which should be interesting, as I’ve no idea what “the kids” are into out here. I wonder if they are as awkwardly fashion-and-self-conscious and irritating as the kids back home. I dunno if such a thing is possible, but we’ll see.

LOLocaust

We have a fruit fly problem in our new apartment. I came across the following suggestion for dealing with the infestation on the internet:

Make an oven trap:
1. Remove all available food from kitchen. Clean the dishes, place open items in ziplock bags or the fridge.

2.Open the door of your oven and place a piece of fruit (banana or kiwi peels) in there overnight.

3. Wake up early the next morning and quietly close the oven door.

4. Turn on the oven to 400ºF/200ºC for about 10-15 minutes and majority of your fruit flies will be gone.

5. Clean the oven thoroughly.

I want to try this, but only if I get to tape a sign above the oven door that reads "Arbeit macht fly."

I'm a horrible person.

Dear hipster

Why, hipster? Why are you growing that ratty little moustache? Oh I know: the same reason you do any damn thing. Irony. Or is it post-modernism? I’m not sure. I am sure of this: it’s time you took a good, hard look at yourself. Son, I’m sorry to break this to you, but you are just not Moustache Material.

Before you opt to spare the patch of frizzy, pube-like growth on your upper lip from the ministrations of your Mach 3, ask yourself a question: am I a Moustache Man? If you do not know what makes a Moustache Man, you have no right to wear a moustache. But since I am doing this as a public service, I will give you some hints: Bert Reynolds. Tom Selleck. Friedrich Nietzsche. Joseph Stalin. Do you truly believe your name can be uttered in the same breath as those paragons of pogonotrophy? No.

Here’s the thing: you’re a pussy. A dork. A gaywad. A wimp. You are the kind of guy who would get shoved into lockers and garbage cans by guys who had grubby little ‘staches way back in Grade 9. Do you think your liberal arts degree and “career” as DJ-cum-American Apparel sales associate makes you less of a faggot* today? Do you think growing a moustache now will give you the same air of pre-teen menace as your middle school tormenters? It does not. You weigh 103 pounds and you are wearing girl pants.

I will not dither any further, but ask you this: please shave. Now. If not now, as soon as possible. Don’t make me hold you down and drop a loogie into your mouth or something. Shave, and then we’ll talk about pulling your goddamn pants up.


*Ironically, burly homosexuals are among the only true Moustache Men around. Bless ‘em.

I'll give you laid back.

Yes, I know that I've been remiss in making with the updates and the ha ha. Which is odd, given all that's happened over the last little while (including, but not limited to moving to a new city and starting a brand new job) provides ample blog fodder. Normally, I could chalk that up to being lazy (though out here on the west coast I can at least pass that off as "laid back"), but the fact is, I've been busy.

But I promise, lil' blog buddy, that I'll spend more time with you. Wanna go to the beach?

Hello sunshine.

In the course of the last three weeks, I've moved from here:

To here:

Trust me when I say: it's better.

Is this it?

After four years in the same fucking job, today I am free. It's a good feeling. I can't say I'll miss it all that much. Aside from the paycheque, that is.

It's time.

Knee deep in the hoopla.

I've been seeing a lot of hula hoops lately. I first spotted them on the ferry to Vancouver Island a couple of weeks ago and later saw some hiptards carrying them around Vancouver proper. Then, on Saturday night, I saw some dirty hippies hula-hooping their brains out in the parking lot next to the Black Dog. I'm wondering: is it all a coincidence, or are hula hoops, like, the new hipster "thing?" If the latter, can we nip this in the bud right now, please? I'm a pretty angry guy as it is; you dinks aren't making my life any easier with your stupid shenanigans. Just do me a favour and fucking cut it out, alright? Put down the hula hoop, the oversized glasses, the big ball cap, the headband, the bin Laden neckerchief, the gold lamé tights and grow up already. Oh yeah: and wash your hair, you look like something the cat threw up.

Christ. I need a nap.

Odd

I woke up this morning on my sofa with no recollection whatsoever of leaving my bed, going into the living room and lying down and without the faintest idea of how long I was lying there.

Hey! (Hey!) You! (You!) I don't like your hometown!

Time for another Edmonton rant (gee, can you tell I don't like it here?)

Edmonton has a pothole problem. A bad one. Don't believe me? Take a look at what commuters and pedestrians have to deal with on a daily basis:


Whoops! That's not Edmonton, but a scene from the Battle of Paschendale. My mistake. But trust me when I say this: we gots us some big ol' potholes. In fact , bitching about potholes has become one of Edmonton's most popular pastimes, surpassing "bitching about gas prices," "bitching about tax hikes" and lagging behind "bitching about rents." The situation has become so critical that the City is planning on sinking an additional $17 million into road repairs this year, lest streets suddenly swallow entire school buses.

That's all well and good, I suppose. I can't fault the city for trying to address its basic infrastructure needs, especially after years of neglect from the provincial government. But there's part of me that wonders that maybe, just maybe, if the city hadn't pursued a development policy that allowed it to spread across the prairie in all directions like a malignant tumour, if it didn't enable the construction of far flung subdivisions requiring intensive infrastructure development, if they had focused their efforts on infill development and lifted a finger to promote alternate forms of transportation (bikes, transit, your fucking feet you fat, lazy fuck), then this pothole thing wouldn't be nearly such a big deal. But that's Edmonton for you: no foresight, no big-picture thinking. So my message for today to Edmontonians who complain about potholes (but balk at the tax hikes necessary to pay for things like paving the roads) is this: get out of your goddamn car.

Dear Vancouver chick with Chanel logo tattooed on her arm...

So, tell me: how does it feel to be a human knockoff?

How many Twix is that for you today?

Boy, did I call it or what? Hope you Pelle Lindbergh it this off season, fuckface.

That aside, long time, no blog, hey? I was off in Vancouver (or "the 'couve" as absolutely no-one calls it) looking for a place to live. I'm pleased to report that we found one.

Now I've got three weeks to settle my affairs here in Shitsburgh before loading up the truck and heading back west for my new life of unemployment and cheap, quality heroin. (Maybe the Bush picture should go here?-ed.)

Thing about Vancouver is people out there are ridiculously health conscious. Unlike Edmonton, those Botox'd up Paris wannabes in the Lululemon pants are actually going to yoga class. After their double tall, non-fat, no-whip, sugar-free, extra foam enema, of course. People exercise. And they consume shit like "vitamins" and "vegetables." So I thought I'd get a jump on things and try a one-day fast (or, as about 3/4 of the world's population call it "Another fucking Monday without a goddamn thing to eat.") At the risk of this sounding like a pro-ana blog, I've consumed but one cup of black coffee and a litre of water since waking up this morning. I may have some juice in a bit here, just to mix it up. I expect this whole experiment will go down the tubes by about 7 p.m. tonight. Or maybe I'll wait until nightfall before stuffing my face, like those crazy religious people with the funny hats always do. I sure as shit don't anticipate this kind of thing being a regular addition to my lifestyle, so as to spare you, dear reader, from future posts on the subject of the colour and consistency of my stool.

Fucking asshole.

Go Sens.

(Defaced Pronger photo idea from CinO, LOLcats pidgin from I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER? Enduring pain by Lauren)

Play-by-play call: "Waaaaahhhhhhh!"

I hope the demolition of the Buffalo Sabres makes Rick Jeanneret cry.

Friday funtime follies!!!1!!

Hey everybody! It's a baby fighting a cobra!



Have a great weekend!

This is the thrilling conversation you've been waiting for.

Going to Mexico was never high on my list of things to do before I die (heat? poverty? fat, disgusting Canadians lugging their Tim Horton's travel mugs to the cabana bar for maragritas? Sign me up!), but the recent flurry of attacks on tourists has made sunny Meh-hee-co sound about as appealling as a weekender in Baghdad. Then again, given what I know about the kind of people who choose Mexico over other infinitely more interesting travel destinations, maybe this is Darwinism in action.

Otherwise...fuck, I'm, at a loss for shit to write about of late. Pop culture? "Man that new Spideyman movie looks like a piece of garbage, eh? How about that Lohan? What a coked-up tramp!" Music? "Wow Coachella looked wicked. Man, I would have killed to see Rage Against The Machine continue to pad their bank accounts by peddling their bullshit pseudo-Marxist ideology to sunburned frat dudes. Yeah! 'Fuck you I won't do what you tell me...dad!'" Politics? "Man that clown George Dubya did it again. What a clown."

Could be worse, I suppose. Having nothing to say is far, far better than writing about, say, your feelings, your trivial little hobbies, or your medical problems. I'll take being beaten into a state of near-catatonia by the relentlessly deadening banality of my joyless, insipid life, thank you very much. Beats being beaten by Mexicans.

Creeping/creepy

Ew.

Brings all the boys to the yard.

Lest my last post give people the impression the internet is dumb, let me say that the 'nets is a treasure trove of really good shit. Without it, I never would have learned this:

Grimace's "official" role, according to McDonald's, continues to be representative of the chain's milkshakes. However, he does this out of love for the taste, and not because he is in any way a shake-based creature himself.

Give it up for the Information Superhighway!

I have urges in my arenas.

Arguing with people on the internet is a lot like the old expresion about putting pants on a pig: you just get muddy and the pig gets mad.

But the great hockey arena "debate" (to sum it up, the guys who own the Oilers want a new arena so they can make money and they've been using their house organ, the Edmonton Journal, to flog the populace into supporting a (inevitably) taxpayer-funded arena, likely to be situated downtown) has brought out the best in the hoser fanboys in the online Oilers-centric hockey community. To hear them tell it, downtown is a disgusting wasteland that is also awash in new development and opportunities; a new downtown "arena complex" would be just the bold, visionary project to spur development and economic growth. Basically. I think this bit from a post on HFBoards pretty much sums up the consensus view of the project:

People in this city are desperate for things to do and the current city structure really doesn't reflect the younger set of this city at all. You build a nice area in downtown with outdoor/indoor cafes, a promenade, maybe a stage theater for shows, some select retail space, a hockey arena, a high end hotel, and yes, a casino, and people will come out and support it. And you're getting additional revune {sic} streams and private investment to boot.

Got that? We're not talking about a mere rinky-dink 20,000 seat hockey rink, buddy. We're talking about a goddamn total entertainment experience! Theatres! Retail! A casino! And a hotel to house all high rollers! If the concept of bringing all these things together under one roof rings any bells for anyone, it should:

West Edmonton Mall (WEM), located in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada is the largest shopping mall in North America and fourth largest in the world.

It would be one thing if that was simply the plan as envisioned by some kid in his Millwoods basement. But that same scheme is also being trotted out by allegedly "in-the-know" members of the local EmEssEm:

...the ground level will involve retail space, restaurants, maybe some recreational or entertainment facilities, as well as a hotel.

I dunno about you, but that still spells M-A-L-L to me. That's right. The bold, revolutionary, new-paradigm establishing, out-of-the-box plan for Edmonton's new hockey rink-nay!-Edmonton's crown jewel is a mall. Kinda like the giant one we have. But downtown. But not like the current downtown mall. No sir. This would have more stuff.

Now, if I was so inclined, I would argue building a mall is decidedly not revolutionary urban design. In fact, it's positively old school. I could also point out examples of cities that have built livable neighbourhoods in their downtowns that are totally unencumbered by temples to the twin North American gods of shopping and pro sports. But I won't.

I'm just going to move.

Oh yeah: last night I had a scary ass dream where I was being chased down the street I grew up on by a gigantic, slobbering, savage, befang'd wolf/dog creature. Then I woke up and had to go to work. Interpret that how you will.

Woo-Hoo!

Balls out

Check it.

Yes.

Art imitates life again or something Vol. 2

White House Hosts pitiful lack of self-awareness Annual Easter Egg Roll

After her welcome, the first lady sat in one of the area's designated reading nooks and read "Duck for President," by Doreen Cronin. It's a story of a duck who gets sick of farm chores and decides to run for office - first for head of the farm, then governor and, finally, president. In the end he decides running the country is too much work and goes back to the farm.

And now he's dead: Kurt Vonnegut

I've never read any Vonnegut. A buddy's girlfriend spoke quite enthusiastically about him at a recent dinner party, but I've never felt compelled to check him out. I don't see that changing now that he's dead, but I did find it pretty interesting that he's credited with coining the extremely useful phrase:

“Go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut. Go take a flying fuck at the moon.”

So it goes.

Playoffs for some.

So the Habs joined the Oilers on the sidelines for the NHL's second season, which means I can probably spend my springtime learning to like baseball or some such (to that end, I've borrowed a buddy's entire set of Ken Burns' "Baseball" DVDs, but I'm not sure I'll make it. If the first episode I watched was any indicator, it's like an earnest, homey Nuremberg rally. Except, like, about baseball. ). But geography means it's all but impossible to avoid the playoffs, at least until the inevitably anticlimactic Stanley Cup Finals begin, so I'm putting my playoff picks here (as opposed to my other blog: the hockey specific one no one reads, including its proprietors). The twist here is I'm picking the teams I want to win, instead of the one's I think will win. As a result, some series will have no winners.

Western Conference
(1) Detroit vs. (8) Calgary
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Go Wings.

(2) Anaheim vs. (7) Minnesota
Anaheim has Chris Pronger and is still called the Ducks. The Wild also have a stupid name and have Jacques Lemaire, architect of The Trap, as coach. Bit of a toss up, but Minnesota's rich hockey heritage and kick-ass third jerseys earn them my blessing.

(3) Vancouver vs. (6) Dallas
Some people would tell me that, when your team is out, you should default to whatever Canadian teams are in the hunt. Those people are stupid. Since I began following hockey through the internet, it's become clear that Vancouver fans have a well-deserved reputation for being, for lack of a better word, dinks. Given the number of times the Oilers' play the 'nucks, the idea of those dinks lording a Cup win over the Oiler faithful for God knows how long makes me want to retch. But I hate Dallas too, so fuck 'em both. Make it a hard seven for the victor and a short stay in the second round.

(4) Nashville vs. (5) San Jose
The Predators, despite having a pretty decent team, regularly play in a half-empty building. They are based out of Nashville, the city that churns out an infinite number of vomit-inducing "country" acts. They have a sabre-toothed tiger as their crest for some reason. Go Sharks, I guess.

Eastern Conference
(1) Buffalo vs. (8)NYI
I'd be happy for Smyth if he went on, but this is my one pragmatic pick. The Buffaslug romps.

2) NJ vs. (7) Tampa Bay and (3) Atlanta vs. (6) NYR
I have zero interest in the outcomes of any of these. I might've mustered a 1/16th hearted cheer for the Rangers if they hadn't gone and picked up Sean Avery. My only real request is for the Devils to lose early and badly, but I really don't want to see any of these jokers in the final four. Moving on....

(4) Ottawa vs. (5) Pittsburgh
The marquee match up. Sid the Kid versus the Invisible Alfie. The young up and comers against the perennial chokers. Truthfully, I'd like to see the Pens mellow a bit, like cheese, before they get theirs. An Ottawa win would also drive the Leaf nation around the bend, so we'll go with them. But if the Crosby Kids go deep, I won't be too upset. A Pittsburgh/Buffalo semi would be awesome.

Art imitates life again or something

Back in the day, Denis Leary had a bit on drugs that culminated in this punchline:

I was reading an interview with Keith Richards in a magazine and in the interview Keith Richards intimated that kids should not do drugs. Keith Richards! Says that kids should not do drugs! Keith, we can't do any more drugs because you already fucking did them all, alright! There's none left! We have to wait 'till you die and smoke your ashes! Jesus Christ! Talk about the pot and the fuckin' kettle.

I told you that story to tell you this one:

Keith Richards has acknowledged consuming a raft of illegal substances in his time, but this may top them all. In comments published Tuesday, the 63-year-old Rolling Stones guitarist said he had snorted his father's ashes mixed with cocaine.
"The strangest thing I've tried to snort? My father. I snorted my father," Richards was quoted as saying by British music magazine NME.

Spamity spam, wonderful spam!

I cleaned out my offic ee-mail inbox today. I was blown away by how many completely retarded and useless e-mails I had knocking around in there. Stuff about people's birthdays anbd retirements. Social "team-building" shit. And, worst of all, responses to e-mails that I had sent that simply read "Thanks." Jesus, no wonder my fucking computer is groaning under the strain of it all.

Gross

Edmonton is a gross city. This time of year, when snowmelt has left muddy puddles on streets and sidewalks and the dirt and grime from a winter of sanding has caked every building and window with a grey-brown film, is the worst. In Edmonton, spring is grit in your teeth and dust in your nostrils. Lately, I've noticed something else: spit. I don't know if this is a new development brought on by our population boom (the majority of new arrivals in Edmonton are, as I've mentioned before, bums), but you can't take two strides anywhere without stepping in a puddle of gob some cocksucker has deposited on the sidewalk. Today, as I got off the bus I saw a high school girl who was waiting for hers let fly with a big fucking loogie. All class. I'm sure other cities have worse body fluid problems than ours (to say nothing of discarded needles or crack pipes), but come on. We need to get all Singapore up in this piece.

Singapore is beyond anal-retentive. Spitting is banned; first-time violators may be fined $611, while repeat offenders might find their picture published in the newspapers...Littering is also verboten ($611 or community service), as is smoking in public places ($611). The subway stations could pass for hospitals, and even restrooms are ranked by cleanliness; high marks go to Caltex gas stations. Remember to flush or, yes, you may get fined up to $92.

Sounds like heaven to me.

Thinking of you...

Should Auld aquaintance be forgot and n'er Brought to mind...

The downtown A&B Sound location is closing. I have pretty good memories of the nine or so months I worked there as a shipper/receiver/layabout. It was a good/alcoholic time of my life, I made some good friends there and got some awesome discounts (legitimate and otherwise) on CDs and shit. But, all things must pass and so Edmonton's downtown loses a retail fixture (albeit one that for years was saddled with a terrible location and craptacular building). Mostly, I'm sad that my request that I be allowed to take one last nap in the warehouse or throw up off the loading dock for old time's sake went ungranted.

Ugh.

What a week. I've been working my ass off for the record label trying to get things sorted for the next release (which is now-thank Christ-mostly in the bag) and the show we're putting on next week. Except I can't get a hold of the guy at the venue, so I'm not sure what's happening there. Also, my day-job has been extra shitty lately: no real story there, but trust me. Also, cash has been an issue, since I'm trying to save, which means tightening the belt, which means no fun. Then the fucking Oilers go and dump Ryan Smyth for a bag of pucks and a torn Shooter Tutor, which made me so upset that I ended up getting the heave-ho from my soccer game last night (two yellow cards for dangerous tackles, goddammit). Well, that's my excuse, anyway. (The other fun part of the Smyth deal is that it screws both of my teams: the Oilers lose their heart and soul and the Islanders gain a weapon to use against my Habs in the playoff race. Of course, both my teams haven't exactly been earning my affection, so maybe I'll just stick with cheering for their PS2 equivalents.)

Bah. Me grumpy. Me go away now. Fuck.

Travellin' at the speed of light...

Hey yo kids! (What's up?)
Remember when I used to be dope? (Yeah)
I owned a pocket full of fame (But look what you're doing now!)
Well, I know, I know
I lost touch with reality
Now my personality
Is an unwanted commodity...
...
You played yourself.

-De La Soul & Teenage Fanclub
Falling

Dear terrorists...

You're right, we're wrong. We totally have it coming.

Mugged by reality

I'm generally a pretty liberal (as in lefty) person. And I recognize that this province is in a pretty shitty place right now and no-one, least of all the government, seems to give a shit about "quality of life" issues like the lack of housing (our new-ish Premier recently popped out of his undisclosed location long enough to poo-poo the idea of slowing things down a bit to allow the province to get a handle on the stresses growth has caused. To say the very notion of-to use Eddie's words-"lowering the boom" on development is unpopular is an understatement: you'd have better luck talking people into eating a nice big hunk of roast baby.)

But of late my liberalism has been sorely tested by the profusion of bums. Recently I dragged my ass out of bed before noon on a Saturday (a rare achievement) to pop down to the bakery for some fresh-baked treats. Now, venturing out of the house on the weekend is trying enough on the best of Saturdays, as it takes a measure of dexterity to pick one's way through the many puddles of half-congealed and frozen vomit left over from the Friday night binge-drinkers. But it becomes infinitely worse when a simple visit to the Insta-teller for some croissant money entails interacting with a pair of hobos who've camped out in the lobby and who are well into their case of Alberta Genuine Draft and gutter smokes at 10:30 on a sunny weekend morn.

That sort of thing, as well as the fact that I can't go 30 feet without getting asked for change, really singes my nuts. I want somebody to do something about this bum problem, stat. See, I, uh, just want to, uh, help these poor people. Yeah...help. The fact that getting them off the streets and out of the ATM lobby would significantly improve my quality of life as well is totally beside the point. I wonder how much it would cost to clean these hobos up and put them to work in the oilsands....

When stout-hearted men can stick togeth...wait...can I start again?

Every now and then, when I'm feeling down in the dumps, I like to scour the internet for stupid people saying stupid things. Today, I give you Janet LaRue. Now I hear you ask: "Who is she?" The answer, of course, is "who fucking cares?" All you need to know is she's getting paid by somebody to write really stupid shit. Let's go to the tape....

President George W. Bush released his 2008 budget on Monday, cashing in at
$2.9 trillion dollars. It includes $481 billion for defense costs, plus another
$142 billion to fight the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. There's another $313.4
million for the U.S. Department of Justice "to address violence against
children, including sexual exploitation through the Internet," according to the
White House Office of Management and Budget. More on that in Part II.
Our troops and their families who are sacrificing themselves to save us from
annihilation need and deserve all the moral support we can give them and all of
the resources our national budget can bear. For that reason, government
officials must make sure that none of our limited resources is spent in ways
that harms rather than helps our troops and their families.

Pretty standard right-wing boilerplate, right? First she lulls you into a false sense of security and then...WHANGO!

Many continue to cite abuses at the Abu Ghraib military prison in Iraq as an excuse to oppose the war. Certainly, the abuses at Abu Ghraib must not be repeated. But that requires a lot more than re-training guards and interrogators.
Much of what is depicted in the 279 photos and 19 videos taken at Abu Ghraib resembles behavior in hard-core pornography, which is readily available to our troops via the Internet, magazines and DVDs.

...

The Department of Defense (DOD) cannot effectively protect our military from
pornography and its copious adverse consequences by banning porn only in Muslim
countries. The DOD needs to understand why the troops at home are ordering the
"sexual purity kits" - they need homeland security from pornographers.

Yup. The problem with the troops in Iraq is that they can't stop beating off.

Important toe update!

The nail on my right big toe fell off last night. The nail of the left big toe is still hanging in there. Stay tuned for more important toe updates as they develop.

And baby I was raised on Prince, not crack, so I gotta let you hear it

This shitty article in a shitty student newspaper about this band has caused what can only be called a "kerfluffle." It was the talk of the show I was at last Friday (the drummer of one of the evening's bands, who also serves in that other band, took the time at the start and end of the show to take shots at the article's writer from the stage) and was the subject of no less than three letters in this week's edition of said shitty student newspaper.

Now, I'm inclined to defend the author for a couple of reasons. For one, I'm an asshole with a tendency to reflexively hate popular things. For another, I've bitched about the lack of honest criticism of Edmonton's music scene before. Finally, I'm on the record (in my younger, angrier days) as not being a fan of the band in question, though I am acquainted with several of its members and they all seem like good dudes. That said, I just can't get behind Ms. Ash's points.

The main problem is that she premises the whole whiny mess on the idea that SO Ox4's Juno nod was the result of some fluke unrelated to their work ethic. And that's just horseshit. I doubt there's a band in Edmonton, now or ever, that works as hard as they do at playing shows and playing the game. That's what you gotta do to make it, and regardless of your feelings on the band's sound, you can't pretend they haven't paid their dues.

She goes on to blow off their record as "drawn out, thin, unbelievably repetitive and just plain boring." Which is probably true: though I've not heard the record, that pretty much sums up my feelings about the band's output. Ash, however, thinks this disqualifies them from Juno-worthiness, as though the Junos actually award aesthetics. A look at the rest of the field puts that notion to bed with a quickness (Hedley?). Ash must know this: why else would she go on to describe a Juno nomination as "the ultimate handjob?" Because she a shitty writer, that's why.

Now it's readily apparent that I (who is only doing this because he likes to tear other people down) and those who wrote huffy letters have already put far more effort into our takedowns than Ash did in the writing, so I'll sum up the rest bullet-point style.

• "The rest of Edmonton’s music scene" is not, by and large, more talented or harder working than the SO Ox4. They are, for the most part, lazy hacks.
• That Edmontonians "giv(e) bands attention just for the sake of getting Edmonton’s name out there, not because they’re actually worthy of respect." is a fair point, but it comes too late and after too much stupid.
• No one in the band has "emo hair." Only one comes close, and his lack of a bad Loreal "Black Leather" dye-job and unfortunate piercings disqualifies him from such categorization. Do your fuckin' homework. (Thanks, D.)

To sum up: Edmonton does have an unfortunate tendency towards mindless cheerleading. And yeah, the band in question is not everyone's cup of tea, and much of their local following is made up of stupid teenagers whom I would like to lock in cages with man-eating tigers with Ebola. But at the end of the day, one party in our little saga is living the rock'n'roll dream, playing stages from Edmonton to NYC to Berlin, and have been recognized on the national level, something taht can only help the rest of Edmonton's music scene. The other party writes crappy articles for the Gateway. Need I say more?

Speaking of Shout Outs, handjobs and the Gateway (that's a segue, motherfuckers!), Gateway alumni Pleasure Motors gave yours truly a mention in a recent entry over at Covered in Oil. Just another example of the mighty vaunted Edmonton Domino Effect in action. And in a neat little bit of symmetry, the CinO entry in question also references hojos. Thus, the circle closes.

Better blogging

This is quickly becoming my new favourite blog, not just because it's pretty much my only source of Montreal Canadiens information (seeing as how Hockey Night in Toronto doesn't show Habs games), but because it's just great writing. This post here is a must-read for any sports fan, skewering as it does the old cliche of "yeah, X is a dirty sonofabitch chickenshit cheapshot artist...but you'd love to have him on your team." He also does a bang up job of conveying the deep pathos that is the constant companion of the contemporary Habs fan. Good stuff.

Tangential Answers to Rhetorical Questions

Q. If the "Mainstream Media" is liberal-biased, if not actually with the terrorists, how come all I see on the tee vee is angry, white, male, right-wing assholes like Glenn Beck and Lou Dobbs banging on about how lazy Mexicans are and how the terroRists are soon to be in our citiez, killing our doodz?

A. You should probably be doing less cardio.

This has been "Tangential Answers to Rhetorical Questions."

They say that, in comedy, timing is everything

CaN anyone tell me where sexy went in the first place?

Heavy

This weekend, I caught a show on CBC Newsworld showcasing the winners of the 2006 Rory Peck Awards for photojournalism. It was both uplifting and crushing: the former because it's good to know there are people who are willing to risk everything to tell the stories of some of the worst places on earths, and crushing because such places exist.

Say what you will about the tenets of National Socialism, dude, but those motherfuckers sure dressed sharp.

I ran across this rather exhaustive deconstruction of the political philosophy of modern conservatism qua David Frum today. It's an interesting read, and I tip my hat to anyone who not only has the intestinal fortitude to read David Frum, but to also legitimacy his "ideas" by devoting such attention to them. But the best part for me was the hypothetical exchange between Bearded Guy and Frum and the coining of the phrase "sartorauthoritarianism."

Meetiquette

Question: is it cool to schedule a meeting right at the end of the day? I've one today that's suppossed to go until 4:30. Now, usually, 4:30 hits and I'm sliding down that fuckin' brontosaurus tail. If I'm still sitting in there at 4:31, I'm-a gonna be pissed.

Hitlerphobia!

I just spent 15 minutes making this:



You know: for kids.

The first rule of food court Chinese is "do not eat food court Chinese."

If you fail to abide by that rule, the second rule of food court Chinese is "never get the fried rice."

Today I saw a bike courier give a motorist the finger for turning into an intersection and enroaching on his (the courier's) space. Trouble is, the dipshit fuckface courier was riding through the crosswalk at the time and, after flipping the bird, he zipped off down the sidewalk at a pretty good clip. Times like that, I really wish I had a poking stick. The spectacle of one of those assholes sailing through the air and getting impromptu sidewalk dental work would sure have brightened my shitty day.

le Cinéma

I dunno if it's cause it's Oscar time, but there's a lot of decent-looking films popping up in theatres at the moment. I'm dying to see Pan's Labyrinth, for starters. The Idi Amin biopic The Last King of Scotland looks solid, as does Letters from Iwo Jima (though I didn't particularly care for its companion piece Flags of Our Fathers). Even The Queen looks interesting, though you probably couldn't pay me to see Volver (I can think of few directors more overrated than Pedro Almodóvar). I see today that the Algerian/French war film Indigenes is up for a Best Foreign Film Oscar. That one was everywhere when I was in Paris this past fall so I'm looking forward to it's North American release.

Sadly, summer looks like it will be pretty rank: Spiderman 3, Fantastic Four 2 and Transformers are notable turds in the bowl. 300, based on the Frank Miller graphic novel, could be interesting, especially if they steer clear of themisogynyy that marred Sin City.

Carry on.

Say...

Anybody ever hear of this band? I picked their album (I think it's their first) up from the library and it's very good. They seem quite young, as well. Anybody?

Curio

To continue today's theme of weirdness, I give you: random penguins.

I'm thinking "marketing catchphrase"

Currently listening to: inane office chatter.

Current Mood: Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's Arby's

Gymkata!

There's a man at my gym that bears a stunning resemblance to an erect penis. Seriously: he's all bald and veiny. If he was a superhero, he would be the Human Cock.

*Remember that movie or television program? Me neither.

"The most ridiculous thing..."

So I turned of last night's incredibly zany Oilers game at exactly the point where this YouTube clip at BoA picks it up. Unbefuckingliveable.

Hey, kids: do you like the stupid?

If so, then this should satisfy you for, oh, pretty much always.

Hey man, you've got the real bum's eye for clothes.

I'm very puzzled by the new trend among mainly young females to dress like dirty fucking homeless people. The other day I was looking for some new shoes at the local overpriced hip shoe boutique and noticed everyone working there looked like they hadn't changed clothes or showered for a solid week. Then, late night, I was out for a couple of pints and a platoon of teenaged girls trooped in, all decked out in their best bag lady outfits, including badly torn jeans, oversize sweatshirts, greasy hair and sunken eyes. One was wearing fucking ludicrous Sally Jessy Raphael spectacles.

As hapens so often with these things, someone else got there firstest with the mostest.

There is a crisis no one is talking about, an inconvenient fashion truth. Hipsters have been mining vintage shops, thrift stores and resale outlets, tapping the ’80s vein at an alarming rate. If the trend continues, there will be no skinny jeans, no Care Bear T-shirts or even pastel bangles left in our lifetime.

They have their solution....

But there is hope for our ’80s fashion supply. To save it and leave some for our children, we need to do something drastic. We’re not saying we should all stop looking ugly, we just need to get our ugly from an alternative trend source. We need to bring back... grunge.

I have mine.

Justice at last.

It gladdens my heart to see an nasty person get their just desserts for once.

What? You thought maybe I was talking about this?

Whazza...hooza?

So that was Chrsitmas? This was the first X-Mastide I spent outside of the 20 mile radius around Edmonton. We went to Vancouver Island. It was wet. And bone-chilling. But green and oceany, which was swell. I drank some very good scotch and read some very good books. And now it's a new year. This could be a big one.