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Evite youself

Well, it's official:

Party at BOBTown on Saturday, March 10th.

The Evite has been sent, but since this is my first grand co-hosting party (with this guy) and we're both novices, we kinda suck at the whole people assembling thing. So if we missed you (some of the people I'd normally have invited were left off the list due to being in other countries and stuff), leave a comment and you'll get an invitation to the hottest pad party in downtown Toronto.

Well, maybe not the hottest... it's kinda drafty.

It's back, for a limited time only

I'm four days into a new beard, which I've dubbed "the camping beard", for, you see, I'm going camping this weekend for four days. Doing the math, I'll have an 8-day beard growth (I CAN ADD!) and depending on how I feel about it, I may hang onto it for a few weeks more. It was a hit last time (as documented in the hair category to some length previously) for the most part, and since summer seems to be winding down (blessedly...I like sweaterweather better, so much so that I conjoin the two words into one big one), it's not too hot to have one.

As for camping, yeah, it's my first foray into "real" camping, meaning actually abandoning the car and its various stores of equipment and clothing and supplies and putting everything into packs. I've done some camping in the past, mind you, but it was always car camping or some other form of not-quite-rustic. The last dash was in 2003 where I did a slew of city-park camping or drive-site camping... each time setting up the tent beside or near the car and showers and such were always available. When I was younger, dad would drag me out (yes, drag, as a sullen, housebound teen I didn't want anything to do with the out-of-doors) fishing with him into the wilds of Northwestern Ontario, but we would still wind up sleeping in a camper mounted on the back of the truck (these days my dad even has like satellite and dvd hooked up in there), so hardly "leaving it all behind".

But tomorrow, in the midst of some scattered showers, we'll be canoeing into a campsite, leaving much of the technological world behind, sleeping on stones and cooking with fire. I'm surprisingly looking forward to it. I've had to gear up a bit, mainly a new rain jacket and some footwear meant for surfaces that curve more than a sidewalk curb, so I've taken a hit, but it's all useful stuff which can be appropriated into other wearable situations (for biking or hiking for example). Thankfully the special lady and her friends have been doing the camping thing for some time and have a vast collections of camping gear, wear, and utilities, as well as knowledge... I, meanwhile, have watched a tonne of Survivorman. Oh, Les Stroud, I miss you.

The fate of the world (or at least my dinner)

It was tonight over a steak dinner with some delightful friends/coworker company that I realized that I cannot, in fact, remember the last time I cooked myself a meal at home. While I'm certain it was something simplistic like spaghetti with sauce (or olive oil and parmesean), I still can't remember when it was, and actually counting the days back I get about two weeks in before my memory starts getting fuzzy. Hot damn. This can't be good on the wallet. Not to mention that tomorrow the gang is taking a jaunt to the Sultan's Tent (which, judging from the reaction of this evenings crowd upon its mention, should prove a delightful dining/belly dancing experience).

I don't even remember the last time I bought groceries. My mother actually picked up the last round that I can recall, and Rooms has been stocking the cupboards and fridge with various comestibles, but I've been pretty regimental in my cereal in the morning and eat-out-at-all-other-times diet. Not good.

Saturday I'm finally taking a day off from social calls (I hope), catching up on reviews (keep an eye on the Ent.Etc.... it'll be packed full of new stuff... I hope) and doing some reading (I hope). I've actually got three books on the go. One, "the DiVinci Code", I'm completely unenthralled by, another, "Those Who Walk Away" (by Patricia Highsmith who wrote "Strangers on a Train" and the Tom Ripley novels) is quite sharp, and the third, "Eats, Shoots and Leaves", is all about punctuation which I've certainly been letting slip as of late. Sunday, meanwhile, I'm off to Stratford to witness Coriolanus, which stars Canadian acting god Colm Feore. I've really dug Feore's work for years (even his cornier stuff, like "Chronicles of Riddick" or "The Wrong Guy") and I know absolutely nothing about Coriolanus, plus this is my first visit to Stratford, so I'm really excited. Half-price tickets made the car rental decision a lot easier too.

So yeah, busy bee, and exhausted by it.

Tyyyyylerrrrrrr

Ach! Busy! A journey into the failed efforts of trying to get weekend work done.

Friday!
9am - 6pm: work
6pm - 9pm: dinner/coffee with the gang
9pm - 11:30pm: Gig...
11:30pm - contemplate the Diableros midnight set, opt for sleep instead, obtuse to the fact that I could have caught Novillero's midnight set (d'oh)
11:30pm - 12am: streetcar... and standup comedy on the iPod.
12am+: sleep.

Saturday!
8am: awaken by holy terror that lives upstairs. It's politically incorrect to hate children... but I don't hate children. I hate child (singular). Spare bear traps anyone?
8am - 10:30am: catch up on comics reading in prep for Sunday reviews
10:30am - contemplate catching up on reviews, opt for shower instead.
10:30am - 11am: shower and beautifying.
11am - 11:30 am: breakfast, chat with the roommate
11:30am - 12:30pm: watching DVD, realize I was running late for lunch meeting
12:30pm - 1pm: transit, Duotang on the iPod
1pm - 4pm: big ol' gorging of seafood at Rodney's with my boss and work team. Fully social, incredibly fun.
BACKTRACK: 3:45pm: phonecall from Toast. They're stopping by the Ronces "a little later" for dinner
4pm - 4:45pm: pick up Wolf Parade tickets, walk halfway home.
4:45pm - 5:00pm:streetcar! still Duotang on the iPod
5:00pm - 5:03pm: fight off drowsiness. Fail.
5:03pm - 5:30pm: Naptime
5:30pm - 5:40pm: Talk to sister on phone, reminds me she's coming in for Woofstock on Sunday. I tell her I can't come because of the backlog of concert/comic/cd/movie reviews that need to be done.
5:41pm: doorbell
5:42pm - 6:00pm: Toast and Marmy visit and we concoct a plan of action for the evening, realizing that Amy Millan show is an early show, doors at 7pm
6:00pm - 6:15pm: Streetcar!
6:15pm - 7:30pm: Dinner at the Brass Taps. I'm not hungry but later glad I ate anyway.
7:30pm - 10:04pm: Amy Millan w/ the Fembots. Someone passed out! Crazy.
10:04pm - 10:40pm: Walk home.
10:40pm - 10:41pm: consider sitting down and writing reviews. Brain goes on strike.
10:41pm - 12something: Pop in disc 2 of Season 4 Kids in the Hall, select "play all"
12something+: fall asleep while watching.

Sunday!
10:40am: Wake up. Oddly feel hungover (odd since I only had a few glasses of wine at lunch day previous)
10:41am: Phonecall from parents. They're passing through and stopping by.
10:42am - 11:45am: Get cracking on reviews. Don't get very far, distracted by doing research.
11:45am: doorbell
11:45am - 12:30pm: entertaining the folks, make grocery list for mom
12:30pm: doorbell!
12:30pm - 1pm: the family is all together
1pm: everyone (but me) leaves for Woofstock.
1:01pm - 4:04pm: Get cracking on reviews. Get partway through.
4:05pm: doorbell. Q: are you done your reviews yet? A: Not even close
4:06pm - 5:00pm: attempting reviews with puppy distracting me.
5:00pm - 6:30pm: dinner and clean up. Saying goodbye.
6:30pm - 7:30pm: more reviewing. Brain craps out.
7:30pm - 8:00pm: begin looking for phone card, find Escape from LA instead.
8:00pm - 8:40pm: continue cleaning up (sort of) looking for phone card, eating snacks, contemplate movie.
8:41pm: pop movie in, continue to look for phone card.
8:42pm - 10:15pm: get engrossed in movie (yes, like Randy BachmanNewman, I love (Escape from) LA)
10:15pm: attempt reviews again
10:16pm - 12:40pm: need to do research, somehow wind up on Dr. Who page on Wikipedia. My evening slips away from me.
12:40pm - 1:30am: some comic book reading.
1:30am+: sleep

Monday!
Plan of action: go to work, do some reviews at work AFTER work, go to standup comedy show at Riv.
Actuality: 3:30 phonecall from GAK. Immediate realization that today is his layover day between Thunder Bay and Halifax. Rush home at 5:00.... GAK nowhere to be seen. Mow lawn, clean up hole mess, chat with neighbour kids, call GAK, head to the Gate to meet up with him. Drink and eat for 6 hours, chatting with one another, the barkeep and the locals. Late: expose GAK to Patience and Imagination episodes of Wonder Showzen.
Crash!

snivilization

After a fairly full 10 days dogsitting (man, being a single uncle of an 11 month old lab is a lot of work) and trying to keep on top of work at the same time, I was a tired lad when the family returned from Phoenix today. Canada already had three goals against Sweden so I pretty much let my brain die. Fatigued, a little dizzy, and kind of itching to get back to normalcy, I spent a few more hours with the folks/siblings/dog before coming back. In my uncomfortable state, I had expected to pull a nap on the busride home, with the premonition that I would sit next to a really cute girl and that I'd embarass myself by drooling in my sleep.

Well, let's just say only one of those two happened, and it didn't involve a cute girl. Nothing like waking up with your chin buried in your collarbone and a drooly mcwetspot on your belly. Sexy.
Thankfully it was dark and I believed nobody noticed.

slo-mo lo-blow

Having just obtained the "family stereo" (that would be the stereo system that I grew up with, likely older than I am) I now have the means to listen to records. Can I humbly request a "what what" for outdated technology?

I also have the means to output the audio to my computer and record it, so expect some random out-of-print comedy selections coming your way to mp3.
Hoofa!

The Poopsmith

After yesterday's storm (started with thunder and lightning, then freezing rain, hail, snow, sleet, blizzard, whiteouts etc etc and sunshine late in the afternoon), it took only two hours this morning to clear off my sister's driveway. Okay, 4/5 of the drive were cleared in about half an hour, it was the foot of the drive (where the city plow had left a two foot bank of dense, heavy, ice-filled snow) that took forever. Quite the workout though. And wouldn't you know it, just as I finish... it bloody fookin started snowing again.

I don't actually recall the last time I've had to shovel a driveway, having not lived anywhere with a driveway since 2001, and methinks I'm glad.

Waits and Measures

I don't have a scale at home, so I rarely know my exact weight. I always just assume I'm floating around the buck-sixty mark, and I usually am. That's been my stable weight for just over four years. Before that, since, oh, the late 80's, I'd been hovering around the 150 lbs. point. It was all the routine biking that I did in Toronto that packed on the additional ten, five per leg.

When I got to Barrie last week, I checked myself out on the bathroom scale, and as I expected I was 161 lbs. Since then I've noticed a slow but steady increase over the past week to today's 165.5 lbs., which is a new high for me. Is it all the bad food I've been eating (and I've been bored so I've eaten a lot) or is it all the exercise I've been doing (long walks with the dog, situps on the inversion table, chinups on the basement I-beam, the 30 minute jogs, and the 2 hour shovel)? A combo of both.

I know once I return to Toronto and my usual diet of late breakfast, small lunch, and lazy supper, not to forget my routine 10-6 intertness, I'll be back to my normal weight in no time.

Tonight, woah oh

because i'm snowed in in barrie and kind of alone:

1) mixed myself an Iron Butterfly (kaluha, baileys, vodka neat)

2) plugged the ipod into computer speakers. on random have lucked into a nice mix of downtempo so far... some de la soul, local rabbits, black moth super rainbow, mc solaar, skalpel

3) discovered a bag of turtles hidden away. ate them all.

4) sat down and actually started editing the novel (working in reverse from last chapter to the first...) got through three chapters before i got antsy

5) ran an excessively hot bath with an excess of eucalyptus bubbles

6) hopped in with a glass of water, sweating profusely (damn hot)

7) read the first issue to paul pope's batman: year 100. still trying to figure out my reaction to it

8) ran the jets in the tub until the bubbles got a little too thick and heady.

9) stood up and began fashioning myself bubble clothes.

10) eventually got bored of constructing new foamy wardrobes, deciding that large tubs and bubble baths are really best suited for lovers, and as much as i like whistler, you know, it's platonic. the whole man-on-dog thing just aint my scene

11) rinsed off, partially clothed myself, let the dog out for a bathroom retreat, polished off the iron butterfly, find myself in an 'i'm bored so i blog' state again. think it's time for samurai jack. perhaps another cointard. or not.

The Cointard

Wnoodle writes in response to yesterday's post:

Mustard and Cointreau: I DARE YOU! I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU!

You asked for it.

The familiars.

The mustard first, a healthy dropping.

The Coinreau filling the rest of the shot.

The plastic fork, official stirring tool of the soon to be stirring tools.

The cheers, y'all. Pretty drink, floaty mustard bits and all.

The glug. Tastes kinda like burning oranges.
I'm an idiot.
Welcome to it.

A Sat...that makes no sense

Feeling better, almost at 100% health now, although I'm still down a few hit points, and my flegm situation is a little worse than normal. I'm heading out to see my family today and maybe sell some old cds beforehand, and beforehand that, get some reviews done.

on kids

I really like kids. I enjoy their spirit, their energy and am amazed at their capacity for learning. They're smart and able to pick up on subtleties that are lost to most adults, and I find their developmental process rather fascinating.

Children are the greatest resource humanity has, and these days we're squandering it with parental selfishness instead of selflessness. That's the universal "we" and not you, dear reader, and I... unless you have kids of mine that I don't know about.

That said, is it wrong of me to want to set some bear traps upstairs for little miss stompsalot?

Breakin'fast

I've been diggin' on Creme of Wheat a lot lately. It's definitly one for the comfort food category

Aims of the sicky-head

Felt it coming on Monday (probably as a result of my non-food eating/3-hour journey through gribblies-central Ikea on Sunday) and tried to stave it off with the echinacia and vitamins and copious amounts of tea and water, alas, the bug got me and I took yesterday away. The day was spent chilling out, drinking pots of tea, watching The Flash and Calimari Wrestler on DVD (reviews to come), monitoring the work I was missing for emergency situations, and playing some City of Heroes. I always feel guilty for taking sick days, but today I feel better for it, although I'm still drinking way too much and peeing all the time.

I also got a massive case of the munchies last night, and spent the majority of the hour between 11pm and 12am munching down on cheese (mmm chevre) and crackers. Odd that.

Ellis don

Warren Ellis is a grumpy old man in training, a cantankerous old fart waiting in the wings. He's also one of the comic mediums best and most prominent writers, and he's obtained and maintained a huge on-line following through is various web efforts like the old "Warren Ellis Forum" and the current The Engine. He's also got a plus-sized mailing list of tens of thousands where he writes nuggets of surl like this:

Doesn't Stephen Harper look like the kind of actor a US or US-but- produced-in-Canada TV show uses as the bad guy when they can't afford a British actor?

(Which, when David Warner is still working, is kind of unimaginable. But still.)

You know the kind of guy. Grey hair, so white you can practically see through his skin into his circulatory system, with the kind of unblinking half-glower that let's you know that no matter what he's talking about, he's actually thinking about shoving pregnant lesbians tits-first into a woodchipper. He's the white guy in the suit whose last job was sitting behind a big desk condemning Tia Carrere to death in an episode of RELIC HUNTER.

Paul Martin should never have let on that he was desperate. And now he's in the bin and you're ruled by the guy who plays Creepy Vice-President in Sci-Fi Channel shows.

He's crotchity, but I still like him. Go buy his books. "Nextwave" and "Blackgas" both debut on stands today. The first issue of "Book3: Ultimate Extinction" came out last week (both Book1: Ultimate Nightmare, and Book2: Ultimate Secret are out in trade). "Fell" and "Desolation Jones" come out often enough and his Apparat Singles Collection came out two weeks ago. His infamous "Transmetropolitan" is still available in 10 handy collected editions.

blog tv

The loverly Freakgirl has entered into the realm of multimedia anti-star, as a snippet of her blog was turned into a, erm, blipvert (to steal from Max Headroom and for lack of a better term) on CBC's Zed TV (enter in "freakgirl" in the search string, click on "watch" and violin! there you are).

Congrats!

dateup

The basement is still a mess, no word on when the drywall people are coming in. Colour me frustrated.

serenity

This morning as I was walking into work I saw two pigeons standing on a manhole cover drinking from the shallow pool of water it held, their heads slightly touching. It was very cute.

silly things to do

by me - 25.01.06

find a pen, stick it in your ear, but not too far. Just far enough that it stays in.
Find another pen... well, what do you know, you have another ear. Two more pens will fit nicely up each nostril too. Now take great care not to trip or fall onto anything or else you'll wind up hurting yourself. For the coup de gras, shower yourself with eraser shavings (you may have to make your own eraser shavings, and it's simple... find an eraser, and start erasing until the eraser is all gone or else your fingers are cramped and bleeding). Science is fun.

the zone

When I woke up Monday I had $40 in my wallet and a bank account brimming with moneys. But the moneys quickly went away as rent and bills had to be paid. With excessive December expendatures for setting up the apartment, a "mostly business" trip to New York, and an abundance of holiday cheer with friends, I've pretty much maxed out the credit (and if I didn't max it out, the interest handled the rest) and thus was left with the cash in hand and a shocking $25 left in the bank.

So it was crunch time. $65 to last me two weeks until next payday and NYC travel reimbursement and rent from the J-roomie and perhaps that 2004 income tax refund, at which point everything will be quite all right... but damn...

The $40 in wallet went immediately to food. That's three meals a day for two weeks. Can it be done? Yes. But ouch yes. Meatstuffs, breadstuffs, vegetable stuffs, sandwich stuffs. $40 = *poof* gone. And I'm left with $25 in the bank.

But inspiration hits and I recall that I have $10 in Toonies and Loonies in my Superpiggy bank, which is enough to get me to and from work this week. Oh shit. Transportation to and from work... I had forgotten. And there goes another $20 for next week.

Yup. That's some smarts I gots there.
I havn't been this hard up since I was unemployed back in '02 (when I started blogging actually), and even then I was actually managing okay. And I said to myself I'd never get to this point again... well surprise bucko, here you are. You've made your bed (after purchasing and assembling), now you lay in it.

It is a comfortable bed though. Totally worth it.

Silly Things To Do

by me - 05.01.06

You know when you get money every so often from your place of employment or the government or what have you? Well, take that money and give it to establishments in exchange for goods and services, particularly those which aren't of essence. Don't just give a little, give a lot. That new bath robe or "Complete Calvin and Hobbes" won't buy itself, you know. Give it all, preferrably in one day, and then starve, feasting on terrycloth and glossy paper while anxiously awaiting the arrival of the next injection of temporary monetary sustinance.

I get more done by ten PM than I usually do all day

Things to do, things to do today. Got a big day ahead of me, several things to do. Gotta keep on top of my life, gotta keep on top of my life. I have seven things to do. Number one: Banking. Number two: Pick up dry cleaning. [He walks into an old lady and knocks her down.] Okay, ya just knocked over an old lady, keep moving, ya got seven things to do!

Today's list of seven:
1) 2004 Tax return (check!) - Refund! SO GOOD!
2) Dishes (check!)
3) Laundry (check!)
4) Rent & Bills paid (check!)
5) Groceries (check!) - Graig needsum eatsum!
6) Spices dispensed into jars (check) - need to tally what spices are missing
7) Reviews (booo) - I still have 4 hours... time to get to work I guess.

BONUS!
Dinner is prepped for tomorrow (porkchops are marinaded)
Banking (I'm broken for the next two weeks, boo!)
I sorted my socks! (woah, the adventure continues!)

SILLY THINGS TO DO

Oatmeal.

Lost it

The timeline:

Monday, December 26, 1:30 pm(ish) - Found Lost on "Boxing Day" sale at Zellers while purchasing vitamins and lightbulbs and stuff. This was my only impulse/Boxing Day special purchase.

Tuesday, December 27, 8:00 pm(ish) - Waiting for dough to rise while baking bread, pop Lost in to kill an hour (so I say). I'm instantly addicted and wade through 6 episodes while also watching my bread rise, talking on phone, doing laundry, AND breathing. That's multi-tasking.

Wednesday, December 28, 6:00 pm(ish) - Get home from work, ignore dinner until 9pm, and watch 9 episodes of Lost until...erm... around 12:30am (I don't really recall actually).

Friday, December 30, 12:05 am(ish) - Get home from the karaoke party, feel tired but not ready for sleep. Two episodes of Lost didn't help inspire the drowsy any but I resisted temptation and went to sleep.

5:00 pm(ish) - Back from work and have a marathon of the remaining 7 episodes until 11:15 pm(ish). I feel... unsatisfied with the 90 minute (aka 2-hour) conclusion to the first season.
Want. More. Now.
Feel. Lost. Without. Lost

Dammit, I knew this would happen.

pirouette

Sunday:
Sitting in Laguardia airport with GAK, watching the planes land and the ground crew do their work. Three of the little carts that pull the luggage around move snake-like across the tarmac, with a rhythmic motion that looks practically choreographed.

Me - It looks like a dance
GAK - A Busby-Berkeley musical
Me - We just need a song

And literally seconds later from behind the terminal appears a plane adorned with green striping and on its tail fin is emblazoned the word "SONG", which is Delta's discount airline (I think).

Life is so curious sometimes.

---

Speaking of songs:
On an express subway to Grand Central Station, it stops at a station and four men get on. The automated voice states "Stand clear of the doors, please" and a PING sounds. The doors close and as if on cue, the four men, all adorned in some traditional mexican garb of some sort (one with a colourful poncho, another with a rather small sombrero on his head), burst into a boisterous, upbeat, somewhat traditional Spanish song, drowning out the noise of the train as it rolls over the tracks.

The song lasts almost precisely the duration from one station to the next, and after collecting some change in a cowboy hat they move onto the next car on the train just before it begins to move again. There's an absense when the subway gets rolling this time, as our time with the troubadors was all too brief.

This time the distance between stops is a little less, and after the train stops and the doors open I can hear the men, mid-song, belting out their tune, the sounds echoing in the station.

The whole thing was very surreal. A New York moment.

---

As we took the shuttle bus ($12.50) from Grand Central to Laguardia, I noticed the sign by the front door of the bus that said "IN THIS COUNTRY IT IS CUSTOMARY TO REWARD GOOD SERVICE WITH TIPS" with little gratuitous use of dollar signs both at the top and bottom of the sheet of paper.

When I got off the bus and retreived my bag from the bus' undercarriage, I politely said thank you to the driver and went to go on my way. He said "What, no tip?"

I said "I'm sorry, but I've given all my money away at this point," and asked GAK if he had any small bills. What I meant to say was, "A tip for what? Opening the door? For handing me my bag? For not crashing the bus? It cost 12.50 for a 20 minute ride to the airport. Give me a break."

But I'm Canadian. We're so polite on the outside.

---

Did you know it's illegal to put your feet up on the seats of the subway in New York?

---

I took the city transit shuttle from the airport in Toronto to the subway line ($2.50, thank you very much, with no cost to transfer onto the train), along with about a dozen other people. When we got to Kipling station there was a train waiting dormant. I get onto an empty car somewhere near the middle. I then notice one of the other passengers from the bus carrying his luggage also steps onto the same car. He's followed in by two girls who were also on the bus, but they aren't with him. And then a few more people step into our car, 11 people in total. All of them were on the bus from the airport. Only the driver and one other person from the bus didn't get on the same car as myself.

How odd.

---

As I noted yesterday I'm planning on only buying comedy cds and kids music (as well as vinyl records) in 2006, which means I'm going to be in public places laughing my ass off for seemingly no reason in particular, and making people around me very uncomfortable.
People stare and stare curiously if you start laughing (and laughing hard enough to snort in one instance) and they aren't in on the joke. On the aeroplane I was listening to the genius that is Mitch Hedberg (RIP), and on the streetcar it was Aziz Azaria that got me going (box turtle indeed).

---

More randomness tomorrow. For now:
SILLY THINGS TO DO (I forgot to do this yesterday!)
by me, 21.12.2005

Entertain your family and friends by making a fashionable suit out of festive tinsel and doing your Tony Orlando/Liza Minelli impersonation. Then get drunk off eggnog, destroy the Christmas tree and burst through the living room bay window. They'll demand an encore... or leave you to sleep it off in the snow...

Back in the 'da, (the 'nada?)

Made it back safely from NYC none the worse for wear, and perhaps even a little more enriched (like Wonder Bread). Still no internet at home (hence the lack of blog additions), but the new modem needed to make it all work is coming tomorrow, I hope.

---

I've got about 400 pages of comic book reading to do before Wednesday, on an extended deadline for the next comic column, and I didn't get started until Sunday night. Hopefully my brain is up to the task, and I don't go all Flaming Carrot on y'all. (Obscure reference, I know)

---

XMas cards have trickled in, and maybe if I'm lucky I'll get a few out before the new year, because I'm timely like that.

---

I forgot some stuff in NYC, including some token gifts for a few folks. It'll either get shipped down this week or taken to Thunder Bay and brought down in February. Nobody better be anxious. In fact, I'd say don't expect anything at all. It's the only way not to be disappointed.

---

I've decided to give two middle fingers to music in 2006. That's right, screw you indie hipster music scene, I'm not going to actively participate next year. Nope, in 2006 I'm buying comedy albums, kids music and records (vinyl). If you're not funny, youthful or on an antiquated format, you won't be entering into my music roster until at least 2007 (unless either someone buys it for me or I download songs off some blog of some sort).
And I'm serious too.
Indie music is going to be about $1500 poorer next year.

---

Random notes were to go here but both journals within which said radom notes were written were left elsewhere. Deal with it, suckaz.

Avenue Q review to come
Also the Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada review coming soon
And probably Grizzly Man and The Life And Hard Times Of Guy Terrifico which I'll be attending a double feature of tomorrow (which means I better get cracking on those comic reviews tonight).

Camltoe

It's Friday.
I'm in New York.
'twas a balmy 54 degrees Fahrenheit when I woke up this morning which equals... something above freezing in Celcius. It's about 45 degrees F now, which equals... something above freezing but less warm than this morning in Celcius.

The looming transit strike didn't really happen, not yet at least, and the Union has decided to do a systemic shut-down starting with privately owned bus services within the union. It looks like I should escape the city on the weekend before all hell breaks loose. I've been following the strike info closely, and I'll probably still keep up on it, especially if a strike goes through because a shutdown of a 7million passenger-per-day trasit system has got to be fascinating, and the scenarios of what could happen in such situation where traffic is gridlocked 24 hours a day and everyone's ire is raised just get my creative brain juices movin'.

But, really, I'm just happy I'll be able to escape the city without having to endure any real hardships. Because I'm self-centered like that.

In the events of the past few days, I managed to get most of the info I came to New York to collect so, I say, sucessful trip all around. Good show, old boy. On Wednesday after Spamelot (review on sidebar), I strolled 8th avenue and picked up a legendary New York Black and White Cookie (aka "the harmony cookie"). The light side was overly saccharine and the dark side was a bit too fudgy. And the cookie itself was like not-stale biscotti. Yeah.

Was at work until 7:30 last night (for one reason or another), and then went uptown to the Other Music for some local music cd color, said hi to the East Village for Joan, and had a late dinner at an Indian resto before rushing back in the warm rain to catch a train before a strike that didn't happen was supposed to happen.

And then there's today.

SILLY THINGS TO DO

The New York Edition, by me - 16.12.05

Before travelling next, buy a new pair of boots that feel fine when you try them on but later you discover that the way one of the seams is formed hits you right on a nerve at the top of your foot making your big toe go numb after prolonged wearing, and enventually cause extreme discomfort and/or pain. Once you have found these boots, make sure they are your only pair of footwear when away from home for a week.

Lotaspam

Ahhh, New York in December is certainly a lot colder than New York in November, but also less rainy, which I guess makes this a much better trip (plus the fact that I'm meeting some great people in the office and I'm not paying for most of the trip is also pretty cool).

While yesterday was pretty much a wash (woke up at 3:45 am to catch a 6:30 plane so my brain was fuzz much of the day), I still had a pretty full afternoon and even evening. While none of the objectives for the purpose for my visit were accomplished yesterday, I still had copious amounts of work to get done, and I didn't manage to vacate the offices until nearly 7pm.

My temporary home is the oober-mod Hudson Hotel, which kind of reminds me of the Drake in T.O. only a lot bigger and more cramped, but stylin' nonetheless. (Pictures to come).

Armed with GAK's knowledge of the city and another Torontoite coworker (whom I saw on the plane in and is staying two doors down from me at the Hud) we steaked out (literally) Gallagher's Steak House and treated ourselfs to the rich man's life for an evening. When in Gallagher's Steak House, do as the Gallagher's Steak Housians do... eat steak, and free bread. If you're still hungry, then get a potato side dish.

I returned to the Hud around 11pm, chilled like the Fudgscicles in my freezer back home, so I had a hot shower, turned on the heat and crashed. I woke up again at 4:30 to realize that the heater had pumped the degrees up to 88 which, well, is insane unless you're living on the equator. I was up roughly every hour after that for no specific reason except I was a little anxious (oh and about 6:30 I realized that the alarm was set incorrectly).

Today's been much more successful at work and I've managed to snag an affordable, same-day ticked for Spamalot which mark my first Broadway exposure, to be followed by Friday's Avenue Q, so it's going to be a great trip regardless of what else goes on.

Of course, the "what else goes on" is the almost guaranteed NYC transit strike which will, quite literally, cripple the city. T'will be a fun weekend.

A little something for my Narutards out there... there's an actual shushi restaurant ("Koodo Sushi") with a "Naruto Roll" on the menu. Sorry for the crappy quality of the pic...you can't even read the ingredients properly, but here it is off their website

Tuna, Salmon, Yellow Tail, Avocado, Masago wrapped with sliced cucumber with chef''s special sauce on the side

SILLY THINGS TO DO

The New York edition, by me - 12.14.05

Go to New York with no hard currency in your pocket, and make sure you are unable to get any cash out of the bank machines. Good times to follow.

point four

- off to New York tomorrow, way, waaay too early in the morning

- potential transit strike in NYC, deadline Thursday, may give me an extra couple days vacation (yeah, right)

- discovered last night I left my passport in a bag in Barrie, must leave work early to retrieve

- I was switched out of a hotel which has a notoriously bad reputation (bed bugs!), thank God, to a place on the South end of Central Park (how posh).

- will be taking one, perhaps two Broadway events while I'm there (Avenue Q, definitely, Spamalot, maybe)

- spending the weekend with my holmes GAK... looking forward to a grilled cornmeal muffin (DAYUM!)

SILLY THINGS TO DO

For the next 30 days, introduce everyone as "my furry pal __their name here__".
So, say you're out with your girlfriend Jaycee, and you run into a friend from work, Jorge, you wild introduce them as so: "Jorge, this is my furry pal Jaycee. Jaycee, this is my furry pal Jorge."
Don't question it.

Walking in a winter woderouslessness land

I spent the past weekend dogsitting the nephew up in "beautiful" Barrie, Ontario (I used the word beautiful because it's alliterative, and I put it in quotes because I'm being sarcastic). Now if you don't understand the term "dogsitting the nephew", it's not a euphamism for anything, it just means that I'm "Uncle Graig" to my sister's 9month old black lab, Whistler.

Barrie had a nice coating of snow when I arrived on Friday afternoon. It was really quite weird driving up from cold, windy and wet Toronto into cold, windy and white Barrie. I almost got that Christmas buzz for a second, which is probably the reason why I kept myself inside the rest of the evening.

I had an uber lazy weekend, hopping into the tub and having a long-hot soak Friday night. I relaxed to the point where I fell asleep and nearly dropped my graphic novel into the water. It's not often I get the chance to sit fully submerged in hot, sudsy water (my sister's place has a long and deep tub, with spray jets and everything), so I stayed in it for close to two hours.

After the tub (instead of "taking a bath", I've noticed I've starting saying "having a tub" for no explicable reason whatsoever) I snuggled up with the pup and watched 12 episodes of Sex and the City season 4 on DVD. I hadn't intended to but the nap in the tub kept me from sleeping until 4am. I then polished off the rest of season 4 in the morning. I couldn't believe that I had only seen three episodes from that season previously. It must have aired in Canada during my cable blackout between summers of 2001 and 2002.

After taking the pup for a walk, I sat down to season 5 of the show, finishing the first disc (hmm, hadn't seen those four episodes either) then having some dinner. I decided to take a S&tC break and watch something else, but my sister's satellite programming is pretty basic (ie. nothing on) so I popped in the Incredibles and promptly fell asleep. I woke up to catch the ending and the followed it up with Constantine (I enjoy it, and I don't feel guilty in the least for saying so). I polished off Season 5 before falling asleep.

I hadn't intended to, but boredom forced me to devour Season 6 volume 1 (12 episodes) before 1pm, by which time I was all Sexed and Citied out. Plus, the second half of season six was pretty dull so I didn't really feel any desire to watch anymore. 19 hours of Sex & The City in one weekend is almost the equivalent of putting one's brain in a blender and setting to puree (I say "almost" having never actually put my brain in a blender and set to "puree"... I used "chop" instead).

So my sleeping habits were severly messed up this weekend, but it was good hanging with the nephew, despite his nasty farting and his coprophagic tendencies (the latter of which I'm sure impacted the former).

SILLY THINGS TO DO

Buy four action figures and name them Steve, Eddie, Tibor and Jimbo. Take them on a long road trip with you as travelling companions and take pictures of them standing on the dashboard or riding on a ski-lift. When you arrive at your destination leave your four little friends in the car, but crack a window for them.

Going mad going mod

Anyone know where in T.O. to get a good mod (two button jacket, flat front pants)suit for around $400 or less?

I want a new suit, something a bit more on the casual side, but I really don't want to spend a grand doing so. Tom's Place got pretty scoffy at me for even suggesting such a thing. I really don't care about designer names. They mean nothing to me. Just give me a good suit at a good price, and keep the ego.

Bus To Beelzebub... and back again

Spending a few days at my sisters place in Barrie (appx 80km north of Toronto) requires a bit of extra time getting to work...

6:25 am - Wake up (normal wake up time: 8:25am)
6:27 am - Get out of bed, shower, brush
6:40 am - Get into the car with my sister's partner
6:48 am - Sit in commuter parking lot, waiting for other commuters to arrive
6:55 am - they don't show, we head down towards Newmarket (where he works)
7:38 am - purchase a ticket for Go bus down to Finch Station ($5.50)
7:50 am - bus leaves terminal, I start to read Wigfield (already in progress)
8:30 am (appx) - Arrive at Finch station (North-South line), board waiting train
8:50 am (appx) - Arrive at Bloor station (East-West line), board waiting train, finish reading "Wigfield", realize I left iPod at sister's house dammit.
9:00 am (appx) - Arrive at Spadina station, wait in very long line for Streetcar
9:01 am (appx) - Spot my friend Glen in line and figure out a way to attract his attention without attracting too much attention to myself, decide shoving my way through a few people to be the appropriate response
9:04 am - Glen tells me what time it is, streetcar leaves the station.
9:17 am - Get off the streetcar a few blocks north of the office, walk with Glen
9:25 am - Arrive at my desk

Quite literally 3 hours from waking to arriving at my desk, 2.75 of those in transit. One more day of that tomorrow, and hopefully I don't need to do it again...

updated October 14

The ride home, while less transfery (trans-furry? ew) actually took longer.

4:05 pm - Left work, walk to University/Dundas subway
4:19 pm - Board train to Yorkdale
4:44 pm - Arrive at Yorkdale, buy ticket for GO up to Barrie
5:10 pm - Leave terminal for Newmarket
5:43 pm - Arrive at Newmarket terminal, wait and wait and wait
6:20 pm - Bus *finally* leaves for Barrie
7:25 pm - Bus *finally* arrives in Barrie
8:02 pm - Sister *finally* arrives to pick me up

If I were in a car, driving north from work, I would hit Barrie in just about 1 hour and in four hour I'd pass through Sudbury... ew.

Today wasn't so bad. Commuting in to Newmarket, direct bus to Yorkdale and the University subway straight to Dundas took a little over 2 hours. About 25 minutes less than yesterday. Sucks, but not as bad.

Sundee Shenanegans

Woken up bright and early by some highly irritating quasi-"music" on CBC radio. Too tired to roll over and turn it off I left it to play for about 20 minutes before somehow I managed to muster a slapping of the "snooze" button. 9 minutes later and CBC has managed to find something even more annoying than before. I shut it off with rampageous (I made that up) action, and stewed in my dopey sleep juices (ew, forget I said that) for a few minutes and then, just after 9am rolled around, trucked my ass out of bed.
I have an 11:00 meeting with WNoodle, and another deadline to meet.

Through groggy eyes I feebly attempt to edit my Thor's Comic Column reviews which I wrote in a fit of uninspiration during Mythbusters at midnight the night before. I had another review to write and my brain wasn't ready for thinking... it wasn't ready for much, except perhaps more sleep. I ploughed through the review in about an hour (and it's decent but not great) and popped up to the shower, cleaned myself up and got myself pretty for some Pacific Mall fun.

A quick chat with Emma, whom like so many others, is having massive ragweed reactions right now, and I was out the door. I passed the neighbours briefly, exchanged cordialities before rushing off to the streetcar stop to wait ten minutes. Noods was sitting in his car in front of his apartment, waiting patiently. I was only ten minutes late. We zipped over to Toast and Marmy's place but first stopped off at a Mac's for a morning dose of wakeup we call Red Bull (mine was sugar free, Noods went all out).

With Toast and Marmy loaded into the car we jetted (well, Golfed) on up to Fairview, an expansive mall out in 'burbialand where everything is oh so generic. We waited in Fairview's awkwardly arranged food court for Metrogeek, and in the process decided feeding our bellies wasn't a bad idea. I opted for a cranberry MMmmmmuffin, while the power trio opted for 5 Taco Bell tacos for $3, a tremendous bargain which I'm sure their bowels thanked them for later.

Metro showed up in due time, and decided to have an Arby's snack while we were in Rome. He came back with a surprise on his tray...
Me...
"I didn't know you were a model," he says, and I give him a querying look. He nods and looks down, drawing my eyes down to his tray liner...
Witness:

"Holy crap!" I say tactfully, snatching the paper out from under his sammich. Turning it right side up, and it immediately looks nothing like me, but upside down... it's fuckin' me!

"I didn't know I enjoyed curly fries that much."
"And I don't think your teeth are that white," Marmy adds.

But the likeness is outstanding.

photo by photojunkie

I think he's officially become my Adversary... the Nerd.Inc. to my geek.ent. if you will.

Anywho, the five of us piled up into Metro's VW and jetta'd on over to Pacific Mall where we (Hail Mary) found a parking spot immediately. We spent the day roaming its aisles looking for, well, very little in particular, except perhaps a quality pirate of Seven Swords which Noods had just seen at the Toronto International Film Festival and said rocked his socks sock-rockin' style. Well, the only available copy had no English subtitles so we crapped out on that one, but we managed some delectible treats from one of Pacific's many fine imported confectioners (I got 3 bags of "W Taste" - which is like a Tootsie Roll covered in coffee powder - so I was happy, and I found a copy of Wing Chun with Michelle Yeoh, which made me *very* happy).

From there we went to "All Star Wings" or some such up in Buttonville? (Markham somewhere) Yeah, they have 80 flavours of wings, which really I think is just too many. We ordered 50 (three different flavours) plust 10 extra, which went down waay to fast, so we opted for another 50 and after I gnawed off 28 I was kaput. The flavours were okay, but I've still yet to find a place that can top On Deck's marvelous wings in Thunder Bay. Their cajun wings are the best wings I've ever had.

Good company mowing down of piles of deep fried bird parts seems like a nice capper to the day, but nope, we still had to drive back to Fairview and then back into urban life again. I got home about 7:30, just in time to recall that although I had finished my reviews I had yet to send them off. A final scan, and yes, they're kind of crappy this week, and phoof, not my problem anymore. I had two hours of television time before I needed to head out yet again for the National concert, which I've been looking forward to since early this year.

I again made my peace with Emma and forged off into the forbidden lands of Toronto's night, the glow of the backlight on my iPod my only warmth. I sautered back over to the streetcar stop, the same as this morning, and leaned against the pole and settled in to a nice game of Solitare. So enraptured was I that I completely missed a streetcar which I didn't notice until it had already taken off. I felt like a dork, but fair is fair, he didn't tap his horn or ring his bell at all, and my headphones weren't on very loud. So ten minutes later I was finally on my way.

The National rocked ass.

More on the sideblog later about the band, however, one thing really pissed me off about the gig had nothing at all to do with the band, but rather the two skanks that were in attendance. Yes, I said skanks.

You ever see that movie the Banger Sisters? Me neither, but these two girls did and took it as gospel for how they wanted to live their life. They proceeded to yell loudly at each other during the National's quieter moments, their conversation pretty much of the effect of "which one do you want to fuck tonight". I was about one row back from the stage, and halfway through the set these two squawking birds decided to rush the stage and try and get the bands attention. They were total old school skanks.
The clothes, the hair, the makeup... for Christsake they were even drinking "50". That's the total skank/old man drink. At one point one of the skanks noticed the object of her affection, the bass player, was drinking Stella and she smacked herself on the head (literally) and said to her skank friend "I should have gotten a Stella." Because, yeah, then that will give you something in common with the bass player, because, you like totally both like Stella. And it's not like you have the music in common, because it could have been some shit raggae fusion punk band and you still would have been doing that skank dance that you both do.

And then, when the band was leaving the stage after their set, the girls... and I'm not making this up... jumped up and down flapping their arms waving at the band to try and get their attention. Bloody bikes.

Anyway, the band came back for an encore and the girls wouldn't shut up as they played one of their most precious, delicate, quietest songs. It was to the point that even the band members were looking at them cross (us bloody hipsters... none of us have it in us to tell the skanks that none of the band will fuck 'em if they don't shut the hell up). The band left after the encore and the skanks went a-huntin' to try and track them down. Then the band came back, a few of us intentionally filled the space in front of the stage to try to keep the skanks at bay, but those skanks are pushy skanks and they even elbowed me saying "we were like here before so..." and I just ignored them.
Skanks should be banned, I swear.
"50". Sheesh.

The evening ended with a trip on the supway where I scared the piss out of Ms. Luminescent who hasn't seen me since my hair was, well, like it is in the above picture. Current pictures, were there any, would reveal a mop of hair that, well, resembles a mop. There's plenty of it. It took about 20 seconds before the seed of recognition set in but Ms. L finally realized I wasn't just some creepy arse, but in fact a creepy arse she knows! RAH!
We talked on our way to our mutual subway destination, as Ms. L now lives in our area (in fact on a street I once lived on). I came home and decided that, with the amount of Red Bull and W Taste in me (as well as various green tea products consumed throughout the day) that wasting two hours blogging this would be better than the caffinated struggle to get to sleep.

I think I judged wrong on that one... what a boring post.

Skullcap

I'm wasting my days away, each day less memorable than the next... I think the longer my hair grows the more of my brains it pulls out with it.

Fits of nothing this weekend. A few hours spent gaming, polished off some DVDs, watched some telly (the TiVo *FINALLY* righted itself), did some yard work, made a rhubarb/blueberry/cranberry cobbler and pizza, wrote a half assed review, and cleaned up some cat puke.

Yup, envy me and my glorious lifestyle. It's approaching my birthday. I always get this way around this time.
Meh.

Dear Cynics, redux

Dear Cynics,

let me express my sincerest apologies, you were right, I was wrong.

Now, I'm not a big man, but I can concede defeat. I gave Lucas the benefit of the doubt and I was wrong in that, you had him pegged all along. I've seen pornos with better dialogue, and John William's should be ashamed.

I still like Star Wars, but you cynics will rightfully point a finger at Darth Vader's "Frankenstein" moment, amongst so many other laughable-but-not-meant-to-be scenes, and mock with just cause. The horrid, horrid dialogue put into the mouths of great, good and competent actors is a crime of Uwe Boll/Paul WS Anderson proportions. This was all *barely*(hardly?) tempered by fantastic lightsabre duelling sequences and... well... the fantastic lightsabre duelling sequences.

You were right cynics. Even though I enjoyed Attack of the Clones (with a few reservations) and the Phantom Menace isn't near the travesty everyone claims it is... Revenge of the Sith would have made a fine silent film in Fritz Lang fashion, and that's about as nice a compliment I can give it.

And though I'm apologizing for doubting you, dear cynics, I'm not sorry I didn't listen to you. I've come to my own conclusions on my own terms. I have happy memories with Star Wars and all the tinkering to the original trilogy, all the daft verbage Lucas has put down on paper since, all the commercialistic tendencies, etc. etc. can't ruin that for me.

Am I done with Star Wars? No way man. But, jeesus, that scream of "Nooooooooo" will haunt me for the rest of my waking days.

P.S. (As a movie, it's about 50/50 enjoyment to groan ratio, review coming soon)

Let me count the ways

why I love my TiVo

I can watch six hours of programming in an hour and a half, by fast forwarding through commercials and boring bits. I can also get away from stupid broadcast scheduling and watch what I want whenever I want to... provided I program it into the machine. Watching the previous evening's Daily Show at 6:30 is a lot better than killing time with Access Hollywood or whatever.

why I hate my TiVo (right now)

It's clock is off by 6 minutes and I can't figure out how to not make it off by 6 minutes and so I get all but the last couple minutes of any program, which kinda sucks when you're watching Macgyver or the Incredible Hulk and you don't get to find out how it ends.

what's being TiVo'd that I would never have taken the time to set up the VCR for?

- Sesame Street: the current format is strange, starting with 15 minutes of an acutal story/plot taking place on Sesame Street, then it's 30 minutes of all the random bits which are the best bits of the show (frequent random bits include Cookie Monster and the letter of the day, the Count and the number of the day, something with Grover, and the awful Big Bird in crappy graphics land "Journey To Ernie") capped off by 10 minutes of Elmo's World.

- Project Runway: The only reality TV show I'm watching right now. Fashion designers looking for a big break in your typical weekly elimination scenario. I don't know why I like it. It doesn't have the egos of America's Next Top Model or the over-the-top glitz and glam of American Idol. It's pretty reserved, and it's all about showcasing talent and skill, and each week is setting the desingers up with a project for a client. It's not as exploitative as the Apprentice and it's not featuring wanna-bes (these people are actually professional designers and dressmakers). Oh, and Heidi Klum hosts. Ahem.

- How It's Made: A Canadian program (sometimes hosed by former Olympic swimmer Mark Tewksbury of all people) that shows you how stuff is made. It's strictly processes with a voice over describing it. Basic, simple, and really quite amazing (my favourite is shopping carts, it's all metal rods, bending and welding).

- Ellen: it's totally a celebrity kiss-ass housewife show and I watch only about 6 minutes of any episode, but Ellen DeGeneres has always made me laugh. At one point in my teenage years I had a big crush on her. Funny women are always attractive.

Attaboy Dave

Dave Gorman gets the cover of this week's Now, which is wonderful, as this seems to be the first bit of promotion I've seen in T.dot since I first blogged about the Googlewhack Adventure's arrival back in Mid-march.

It's about time.

The other day I went on Amazon UK and picked up a couple copies of Gorman and Danny Wallace's "Are You Dave Gorman" (since my last copy got appropriated by a friend), and also a copy of the Googlewhack Adventure of Region 2 DVD (even though I don't have a region-free DVD player... I live life on the edge!), plus Wallace's new book "Random Acts of Kindness", the sequel to his "Join Me" book (Join Me is available in Canadian bookstores, as is "Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure" but not "Are You Dave Gorman" nor "Random Acts of Kindness")... I seem to be rambling.

Anyway, Now is frightfully neglectful of box office details, so here they are (my tickets are for the Sunday show, as the Friday and Saturday shows should be doing brisk business from the Johann-come-latelys).

April 14 - April 17, (8:30 pm each night)

The HarbourFront Centre.
Lakeside Terrace,
235 Queens Quay West,
Harbourfront Centre
Toronto, ON M5J 2G8

Box Office: 416 973-4000

Concert series

Eye.net has a sort of backhanded interview with Margaret Cho, who's Assassin tour comes to town tonight. Emm and I are congregating at Massey with the throngs of Cho's fans for what's certain to be a laugh-til-you-barf inducing evening.

More later.

Tomorrow I'm going to see the Inbreds at Lee's Palace, because damn, it'll be a rare experience. I'm going as much for Ry (who's in ThunderBay Lockdown right now) as I am for myself.

Hip hop revolution

Lord Quasimoto has a new album droppin', featuring the song Rappcats pt3, a complete namedropping song, giving propers to the old school/new school era of rappers. Even cooler is the Rappcats video which sightchecks even more hip-hop history (Maestro Fresh Wes even gets a drop). It makes me nostalgic for a more positive era of hiphophistory, when the message still mattered and before corporate sell outs and poseurs were acceptable.

I wish there was an all consciousness hip hop channel, because I can almost name every artist in the Rappcats video and I remember most of those videos. They used to make me giddy when they would pop up amidst Soundgarden and Weird Al videos back in the early '90's.

Toy Story 3

The Superman 3 (the trio of Superman action figures) on my desk at work have been rearranging themselves overnight for the last two nights. Yesterday I came in and they were in what Frecklestof deemed "Spirit Squad Formation"... yes, the Superman 3 were acting a-cheerleaderish.

Today, they're in a conga line... a very Boys Town conga line. Golden Age Superman seems a little too happy to have Frank Miller Superman's arms around him.

Dream a little dream of ... who?

Have you ever had an inapporpriate dream about a co-worker? The kind where you wake up embarassed and confused because it's so out of left-field that you really have no explanation for why it happened. Has it ever made you feel a little awkward around that coworker the following day even though it was just a silly dream (albeit with crazy Last Tango In Paris insinuations... that's enough to make anyone blush)?

No?
Me neither.

Doc Soup

Frecklestof alerted me to The End Of Suburbia, a documentary about how the oil crisis will fix the suburban dream and fix it good. I missed it's airing on Vision TV last night, but she tells me it's great. It's available now on DVD so I'm going ot ask my vid shoppe to bring it in. (I just noticed that the Film Buff is opening a second store out Queen East way (1300 block). If you're in the area watch for it.

GTAB = GO! Team Action Bloggers?

wNoodle has posted a group shot of our City of Heroes team, which I steal for my own use.

We'd like to theorize that TBIT is missing because he took the photo, but that would be a lie. Glitchy serverstuff kept our 5th memeber

...it's a clown on a unicycle, foo'

Mmmm, Old Dutch potato chips a taste of the west (as seen in the background on Corner Gas)
(*warning*, Old Dutch chips nor the flavouring from Old Dutch chips belongs in your eye... don't ask how I know)
Now if only I could find some persians in Toronto (and I don't mean people from Persia... okay, Iran)

P-A-R-T-A-Y

The moment I arrived at the GTA-B party at Accordion Guy's place, I encountered first the shout of my name ("GRAIG!" in case you were wondering) followed by "Gimme CDs".

It was Marmalade and Suburban Peril leading the cheer/demand, with a half dozen others looking on curiously.
So as I doled out these blogged-to-death compilations to them, others were saying "oh, might as well give me one too."

Gladly. Not one minute through the door and five were gone already. One minute later six more were on the floor, bits of dull plastic shrapnel scattered around (clumsy me). (btw, if you didn't receive a copy of the "best of comp", let me know. Second batch is going to be made next week, with new liner notes and maybe some additional stuffs... free delivery to anywhere... honest)

I saw tonnes of familar faces (some I havn't seen in months or years), received some warm hugs, and met some new, hopefully more familiar in the future, peeps from the blogging scene. The rapid-fire 15-minute convo with Joan and her mate Paco was a particular highlight. Geeking out over comics and dvds with anyone who'd listen was also pretty fun... and Marmy can make those blondies for me any damn time. Inferior cookies my ass.

Probably the most oft asked questions of the night were (to me mostly) "where's your nametag?" at which point I directed their attention to my "geekent" embroidered hoodie which then resulted in a "holy shit! where'd you get that". Sometimes I'd get the second question without the first.

For those curious, the responses were always snide and I developed a short story about how, in New York, there are guys that troll the internet looking for random blog names to put on street merchant clothing (kinda like the American Eagle Outfitters and the small Canadian city thing... "Thunder Bay Hockey Club" longsleeve t-shirts available now), and I just happened by my own. I actually had liz fooled, if only for a second.
(Rannie will have a picture of this infamous article of clothing... at some point. I'm too lazy to upload a picture myself.)
(more pics)
Anyway, the real story is this, a few months back my ex-pat amigo GAK sent me up a catalogue from the NY franchise Neighborhoodies, so I had months and months to plan what I wanted done when I finally got there.
When we finally made it there through the wind and rain on day 1, well, I completely blanked on any expressions or ideas I may have had (I should really keep a notebook on me at all times, which, considering how many of them I have, and the fact that Emma makes them, shouldn't be that difficult). So I went with the most obvious choice, my blog name.
At 'hoodies you pay per letter on what you want written. Different fabrics and fonts of lettering are different prices. I thought embroidered red lettering with a white "dropshadow"-type thing on a wine-coloured zip-up hoodie would be nice... the toughest decision was how to divide the lettering (gee-kent, or geek-ent... I went with the latter btw). There wasn't really prices on anything, or if there was I wasn't paying much attention, and the whole thing wound up costing just under $80USD (so, like, close to $100CAD).
Would I do it again?
Sure, but it would have been a tougher decision.
It compliments my $5 beige "Brooklyn" toque nicely though.
Repazent!

Okay, whaaaaaa?

As I was walking through Chinatown the otherday, one of the vendors had the radio blaring outside. Walking past I heard "Hey, this is Bret 'the Hitman' Hart inviting you to come see Aladdin: The Musical, playing at the Elgin Theatre..."

This was so surprising, I started laughing hysterically in public. The throngs of Asian immagrents normally busy yelling at each other and shoving to get to the best produce at the Chinese grocer actually stopped for the briefest of seconds and stared at me, giggling as I broke my stride, nearly tripping on the sidewalk cracks.

Why on Earth would former wrestling legend Bret Hart be promoting a musical play. Of all the celebrities a radio advertisor could get to pimp some tritely commercial stage performance, why would they pick someone as random as Brett Hart?
Is it possible that he's performing in this play? Nah.
Well, actually,
YAH!

As I was walking around the neighbourhood today (writing "neighbourhood" the American way in "Neighborhoodies" has been quite frustrating, but also I noticed that Montreal's Arcade Fire spelled it the American way on their album "Funeral". For shame) and I saw a billboard atop a building across the street promoting Aladdin at the Elgin theatre... and, by gum, that surely looks like Bret Hart in those djinn robes.
And a quick search on the 'net confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt. And if you don't believe me, eat it:

70-year old white dude down with hip-hop, not a kitschy rappin' grampy

I came across Galt MacDermot's music recently, an odd couple of tracks from random mp3 blogs. They sounded eerily familiar, when I realized one was the foundation to a Prince Paul track and the other was one from a Busta Rhymes joint (yes, I said "joint"... I'm happenin').

Anyway, his website has about thirty tracks you can download (flipping between the yearly categories) and an fairly lengthy (by web standards) bio page which details in the end how he's become heavily integrated into the crate-digging dj/ hip-hop producer world in the past decade, and how his music is gaining a whole different level of credibility (aside from being the guy who wrote "Hair").

The free downloadable songs range from amazing to cringe inducing, but they compile together as an interesting and enlightening retrospective of a 40+ year career of a guy you've likely heard, but never heard of. Reading about his history, his DIY record label and his very prolific carreer are really quite inspiring, and it seems he's hardly done yet.

wonk?

I vaguely remember it but there was discussion about geek vs wonk vs nerd vs cool and some sort of mathematelogical axis charting plot-graphing of one's self on that axis.
Apparently, according to she of sass postmodern (you'd almost think she didn't have a good time through all that textual vitriol postmodernism, but, perhaps despite herself, she is quite congenial in person :P), I should be a wonkent, instead of a geekent, but you take what yo mamma gives you.

But I'm still not sure what a "wonk" is so I looked it up in the Urban Dictionary...
and by and large I have to be pleased with what it says, despite how off-the-mark it is:

(1) Noun - An expert in a field, typically someone who is fairly young and very intelligent.

Of course she could be using it in this context:

(3) 'effeminate,' or a male homosexual. It wasn't until 1962, in the December issue of Sports Illustrated Magazine--of all places--that we find the word meaning

or perhaps, like a shivering chihuahua, I'm

(1)nervous or upset (a nautical term)

or maybe she just meant the Australian slang for, well,

(2)'White person.'

which I guess is true, but I know she can't possibly mean:

A secret swear word for pro-spammers on forums that have censorship.

cause, really, I loathe SPAM (in both it's electronic and [barely] edible formats)

I can't believe I consulted the "urban dictionary". Guh.

the Val Kilmer tags explained

Seen all those floating Val Kilmer heads slapped onto walls and windows and billboards (they're everywhere in Chinatown)...
well, apparently, here's the deal
via the rusty robot and an email from GAK.

Graig, meet life.... Graig?

I blazed through Buffy Season 3 in five days. That's 22 episodes in one concentrated dose. I would say that was a tremedous accomplishment, but I actually made it through Season 2 in less time.
In a blog entry from June 23, 2002 I state

Season 2 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD... I watched 16 episodes in 24 hours... now, that doesn't equal 16 hours of straight Buffy watching (not only because I fell asleep for 7 of them, but because they're only 44 minutes long so it's really only more like 12 hours... that makes me feel better)

Now to be fair, I was unemployed at the time, and a practicing shut-in.
I don't know what my excuse is now.
I actually repeated this great feat of 16 episodes within 24 hours this past Sunday/Monday, and I polished off the rest on Wednesday. I finished off the rest of season 2 on June 24, 2002.

All I can say is the Buffster is a damn addictive show, and the legion of fans already know what I'm talking about. But there are those that shun Buffy for one reason or another, people like Emma, who came downstairs and said "You're actually watching this?" to which I replied "Yep" and she snickered and went back upstairs.
A few days later I was saying to her that it was the same creator as "Firefly", which she really enjoyed.
"I know," she said, but she still wasn't interested.
"I've dated two types of guys," she said "those who play hockey, and those who watch Buffy." She was being dismissive of the show and I'm not sure if she was insulting me or not... I guess what she was saying is that other guys have tried to get her to watch the show before and that she hadn't caved yet... either that or she'd rather play hockey. I dunno.
If it's for the "cute girl" factor - which I imagine is why most women whose boyfriends try to get them watch the show would be turned off by it - I really don't find Sarah Michelle Gellar all that attractive. But Allison Hannigan... she's awesome, major crushage there.

Granted, it's a silly show... but it's an incredibly well done silly show. The acting is note perfect, and the writing is sharp. I have some problems with it, notably:

• 1) the action sequences - the obvious cut-to-stunt-double action sequences are tough to swallow at times. I'm proud of the actors on Alias who go as far as they can to do all of their own action work, the duke out between Buffy and Faith was a really great fight made awful by cheesy deceptive editing. And, notice, in almost every major fight sequence somebody's going through the glass (window or door it don't matter).
  
• 2) the implausabilities - don't any other students use the library? All that death and nobody really questions it (they do an okay job of touching upon this in Season 3, but it's still hard resolve in my rationalogical brain how people can just ignore all the weird stuff that happens (like zombies trashing a party or vampires taking over the Bronze) and go back to regular life. Really, Buffy and Willow and Xander should have had an army of help long before Graduation Day.
  
• 3) Is it just me or is Angle able to tolerate sunlight a lot better than most vampires (except maybe Spike).
  
• 4) The final episode of season 3 was the worst episode of Buffy yet. The action was lame, the effects were weak, the direction was awful, the drama was cheesy (and that's the thing they always get right) and the comedy was obvious (the other thing they always get right)... and for all the build up, it seemed to end rather easily, very anti-climactic... it stank of TV show production values. And this was a Whedon episode...!
  

All that aside, as I said, they get so much right, the comedy and the dramatic aspects... the soap operaticness of it works so well, and its addictive nature is scarcely replicated. Six Feet Under would be the only show currently running that comes close to the same level of "oh God I can't wait for the next episode... I just can't.." feeling (although Desperate Housewives is certainly trying but it's not quite as intriguing and the characters aren't as well developed).

Season 4 would make a nice Xmas gift........

and in other realms

I was watching the second disc of Lexx season 4.
I know a lot of people can't stand this show because of its flagrant and open use of double entendres and the perpetual sexual gutter it finds itself in... not to mention the budget special effects and some pretty bad acting from not-so-good-on-the-English German actors (Lexx was a co-financed Canadian/German production). I always found this to be rather endearing. Though formulaic in its own right Lexx really broke all the Star Trek wandering-spaceship conventions, mostly through mass destruction and gratuitous sexuality. Subtlety not a strong suit of the show, but that's its whole point. It brings out the more basic human qualities to contrast against the less obvious ones.

Season four brings the crew of the Lexx to Earth, an alternative Earth to ours, but barely any different. The president is a sham president (hmm, sound familiar) being controlled by a more malicious, evil party (hmmm?). The planet is obsessed with celebrity and entertainment (no way!) and everybody's just a little less likeable than they would be on our real planet (the planet was infected with the tortured souls of the Fire planet at the end of season 3).

Episode five kicked off this disk was a Survivor parody (perhaps one of the first) where 10 burly guys (okay, 9 burly men and Stan) competed for a chance to sex up Xev. Of course things don't go smoothly as the island is infested with robotic alien carrots
Episode six dropped the gang in Newfoundland, which earlier in the season the sham President had given Stan the lordship over. The rock finds not only Stanley's evil double, but Father Pickle portrayed by Frank Kelly (he played Father Jack on "Father Ted"). In the end, Newfoundland is nuked by the President, let the nihilism continue.
Episode seven and eight round out the second disk with Kai dragging the gang to Transylvania. Here they naturally get involved in dispelling the legend of Dracula, which the writers wrap up nicely into the Lexx folklore... and really kick the piss out of goths along the way.

what are you?

I was never a routine follower of the Batman cartoon from the early 90's. Oh, I liked it all right, and I would have watched it on a regular basis if it ever aired when I could watch it on a regular basis. Without access to the WB, the only venue I had for the show was either YTV or the local TBT (Thunder Bay Television) station - I don't remember which - and they aired it during school hours. I was in high school back then so it was a little more difficult to skip class than it had been in university... oh, and our VCR at the time really sucked on reliability.
I've probably only ever caught two dozen episodes of the show, but I was always floored by it. Solid storytelling, amazing visuals, great score... it was a mature show that kids could enjoy, and it treated the characters with respect.
Now, thanks to DVD I can start at the beginning (not that it really matters where I start as the show had no overt continuity). And I have... actually, only watched the first episode.
It surprises me how different the first episode was compared to the rest of the series. Reminding me more of 1940's animation, with muted colours and a fluid, if rushed, character movement, the story was told in a very noirish fashion. Very much inspired by the Fleisher Superman animation, the sensibilities come through. It has a vintage feel to it in every respect, almost like watching a half-century old unearthed treasure from the Warner Brothers' vault.

The voice actor for Batman/Bruce Wayne (Kevin Conroy) is so perfect, and is so entrenched with the character after almost 15 years that not only do I find it hard to accept another person as Batman, but Conroy is Batman (even in a recent Justice League Unlimited episode where Batman belts out a beautiful tune to save Wonder Woman's life, I believed it, because the voice is key). He does a great shift from Bats to Bruce Wayne, from husky to chipper without effort. That's acting. The characters of Bullock and Gordon don't seem as properly defined as I know they will be later in the series, but the voices are already there, no rough growing pains like the first season of the Simpsons or the first few episodes of King of the Hill. The same can't be said of the voice actor for Alfred, as he's snide and annoying here instead of sarcastic but sincere as he is for the remainder of the show.

One of the most amazing things is the show kicks off assuming that the audience knows Batman. They don't need to explain him, they don't need an origin story, they just hop right into the adventure. This is how comic-book characters to other media should be. We know the story, give us something new.

It's going to be interesting watching as the show transitions out from it's 40's influence to how it regularly presented itself... I'm curious to see how long it takes. Still, it's easily one of the best and most accessable cartoons ever.

there'll be no more nappin'

I realized while watching the second episode of Pee Wee's Playhouse on DVD that Michael Jackson was trying to transform himeslf into this man-child/human cartoon.
Pee Wee is the modern-day Peter Pan, the boy that never grows old, he's too child-minded to discriminate and he's friendly to everyone, even those he doesn't like.
He's got all the toys a boy could want and he knows how to have fun, the show is one big allegory for imagination. Claymation brings to life the contents of the freezer, the window and the chair can talk, and there's a giant beat box robot that spits out the secret word of the day. Visitors are cowboys and beauty queens and kings of cartoons, and a trio of multi-culture pals who come to play and watch the dinosaurs that live in the mouse hole.
There's something so completely non-threatening about Pee Wee's Playhouse. The theme song invites you in and you're glad to be there amidst all the wacky characters that turn up. Claymation, puppetry, computers and cel animation breathe character into everything, and Paul Reubens is as rubbery and herky-jerky as everything else around him.

I loved this show a tremendous deal as a kid, and watching it again for the first time in easily 15 years, I still love it. It's as vibrant and active and visually enjoyable as it ever was. Though the 1980's beatbox robot threatens to firmly place it in that era, the 1950's beehive hairdo, the old west cowboy, the vintage cartoons, the '60's beatnik jazz band and really everything about it put the Playhouse firmly into the spectrum of time. Pee Wee is as much a pop culture icon as Alf or Crockett and Tubbs, the only difference is the Playhouse which planted him in the world isn't quite so dateable. Pee Wee's Playhouse didn't try to do anything cutting edge in terms of television and visual technology, instead it relied on well worn, old fashioned technologies and an innovative sensibility to forge its ways into annals of great children's programming.

Though hardly the same as heavily marketed kidstuffs like Blue's Clues, these Pee Wee episodes I'm sure could still engage and entertain kids. The attitude is right and the visuals are still unique even by today's standards.

Whie it would truly be a bit overwhelming to take in a marathon's worth of the show, I'm looking forward to slowly watching the 50 or so episodes (5 seasons in two boxed sets) over the next few months. I seem to wake up perkier the next day having watched an episode the night before, arising with Cindy Lauper's theme song gleefully bouncing around in my brain.

BANJO!!!

Though still relatively unknown in Canada, the Adult Swim lineup of 15-minute zonko cartoons and imported Anime is a huge deal amongst the indie/college crowd in the US.
We're just beginning to get some Aqua Teen Hunger Force here, and Harvey Birdman and the Brak Show pop up from time to time, but the concept of 15 minutes of surreal animation still hasn't caught hold. But for those that get it, that have jumped on board the Sealab 2021 repurposed animation bandwagon Space Ghost: Coast To Coast was the first to take animation from old cartoons and resequence them with some new animation to make wonderfully fresh and strangely compelly cartoon comedies. Only Space Ghost went a little further, and became the first ever cartoon talk show host... to interview real people.

I've been hip to the SG:C2C vibe since I was given a third generation videotape from a friend of a friend back in '98. This was some grand stuff, b-list (and below) celebrities like Adam West and Bobcat Goldthwaite sitting down for heavily edited interviews with a cartoon character. It blew my mind.

A handful of years later, it still does. I've been following the show and it's spawn since then and it's still impresses me, and entertains me like few other shows do. The DVD sets that are coming out every four months are allowing me to get reaquainted with all these show on a larger screen, as up until now I've only watched them as crappy .mov or .avi files on my computer downloaded through a half dozen different sources.

I just polished off Space Ghost: Coast to Coast volume 2, which really shows the progression of the series. Whereas volume 1 presents, for the most part, the idea of "cartoon talk show", volume 2 expands upon that, adding character and chronology to it, as well as in many cases, a bit of a storyline (such as "Jacksonville", a delirious spoof on 1970's tv action dramas... "Space Ghost... I think I'm pregnant"). The odd throwback to a previous show may escape the casual viewer but to the faithful they're highly amusing, and some of the most rewarding aspects. Like any bit of pop culture, SG:C2C is infinitely quotable, the type of thing that gets people in the know snickering when you drop a reference.

This volume set features a bit more spoofing, kicking off with a 2001 inspired episode where a gigantic computer takes over Moltar's producer as host of the show. Another episode "Late Show" is a direct riff on the David Letterman show of the same name (actually written by two Late Show staff writers). As enjoyable as these are, it's when the show gets off kilter with its own inspired mania that it gets really good, such as "Woody Allen's Fall Project" where a team of amateur actors in costumes reenact favourite interviews from Space Ghost's past, and they do it shot for shot.

And then sometimes it's the guests that make the episode great. Jonathan Richman gives a delightfully obtuse interview which was so odd it got it's own full episode... and television history was made when master chef and tv pitchman Martin Yan "relaxes a chicken" (it has to be seen to be believed).

If you've been curious about Space Ghost, but aren't interested in the growing pains, volume 2 is the place to start. While all the bugs aren't worked out yet, the groundwork has already been laid so the cast and crew seem freed to do more and more crazy things (episodes don't stick to any format and they rarely stick to any time restrictions). This sets up SG: C2C volume 3, coming summer of 2005, which will present the 1997 season of Space Ghost when Cartoon Network gave a mandatory 26 episode directive where they really get their foothold into the format and deliver the perfect mix of story and interview. Plus, as the years wore on, Space Ghost's infamy spread and bigger and better guest stars were booked, and available to do more interesting things.

The audio commentaries here are a vast improvement over volume 1 as well, with guest stars, some tomfoolery, and a good group dynamic, as well as some real insight into the technical difficulties of producing a live-action/cheaply animated cross. There's never been anything like this.

Mr. Wendell

There are only a handfull of truly great shows on network tv and very few of those are comedies. Really great comedy isn't usually appreciated by the masses. Great comedy provokes and questions, it's deceptive and defies expectations. We get stuck with what are called sit-coms... situation comedies where the same thing happens over and over again only in different degrees of severity. This can work, but more often it's regurgatative tripe that doesn't really amuse anyone but the laugh track (you don't hear a lot of "...was filmed before a live studio audience" these days anymore for good reason).
There are shows that arise from time to time that spoof the formulaic tendencies of sit-com land, like Chris Elliott's "Get A Life" or Parker and Stone's "That's My Bush", but these fail because most people don't get the joke and they don't last.

Sitcoms are tired because they stick with a status quo. They don't progress at all and every episode is a new start. But if that's your structure, you can have fun with it. The Simpsons and Seinfeld were the first to really explore the concept that you can put your characters through the ringer every episode and then start afresh the next week as if nothing happened (then gain comedy and confusion by adding nuggets of continuity via throwback comments to previous episodes).

On the other side, you can have an ongoing drama within the comedy, bringing in relationships and storylines that carried over a season. Cheers was the first sitcom to establish this, making next week's episode a must-watch to see what happens with Sam and Diane. As funny as it was, and still is, in retrospect it's not as well done as they are today by other shows. Friends picked up where Cheers left off and generated a formula for friend-and-romance comedies that we're going to suffer with for another decade at least.

The best comedies on tv pick up and advance the concepts Cheers and the Simpsons brought to life (oddly enough Fraser fell back into old-school sitcom patterns, and Simpsons has become a tired imitation of itself).
Malcom In The Middle was the first live action family-sitcom to take the Simpsons challenge. It could not only separate each of the characters from the situation in the situation-comedy but it could tear them apart without consequences in the next episode. While I stopped watching the show a couple years ago, I did really quite enjoy it. It's the first American show I can recall that made use of the quick sidestep... you know when a character mentions something that happened in the past (not an old episode) and it quickly flashes back to show you what they mean, usually some insanely goofy thing the character did, provoking a "what the?" kind of laugh. Corner Gas also works using this technique and is the first Canadian sit-com to do so.
Scrubs grabbed onto this technique and has mastered it. Not only do they do the asides, but they also have narration, which isn't the easiest thing to do in comedy - the last successful narrated network tv comedy was Doogie Howser M.D. - but Sex and the City made it work and so does Scrubs.

And then there's Arrested Development, which is the next step up from Scrubs, taking the narration and the sidesteps one step further, as and serialized family sit-com with a storyline and continuity. Each episode segues into the next and yet they remarkably stand on their own. Each character gets their spotlight, every couple of episodes, and the show is smart enough to realize it doesn't need to have each key player in every episode. This is one fearless program that's not afraid to mess with convention.
It's everything television should be, provocative and insightful, equal parts educated and ignorant. It bursts out of the stereotypical comedic character molds (the slut, the dumb guy, the smart one, the sarcastic one) and instead plays with their nuances, bringing out aspects of greed and fear and joy and reservation and any and every emotion that will be useful for the situation. These characters don't feel trapped by the situation but instead they feel trapped by their own character.

The cast of AD is note perfect, and they seemed to have their incisors in the flesh of their roles from the first episode. Jason Bateman is an easy leading man, and has familiarity on his side... even though he's hardly been on tv for a decade. He's the everyman amidst a house of fools. Jeffry Tambor is always a delight, stepping into the dual role of twin brother, one incarcerated for corporate fraud, the other a shifty hippie. And then there's scenery chewing guest stars like Carl Weathers as a thrifty parody of himself and Liza Minelli as the chief rival and mirror image of the mother of the clan.
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There are no growing pains from episode 1 to episode 20. The first episode is just as funny as episode 12, and they're all as consistently equal to each other. They smartly know it's not the situation you throw at them that's funny but how they react.

The DVD is a wonderful collection of the complete first season, with some deleted and extended scenes which I can only imagine were cut for time and story issues, as they're just as funny as the rest of the episode. There are some commentaries which I haven't had the chance to explore, but if the ensemble interview is anything it just seems everyone is extremely happy to be working on such a great show.

The only downside to releasing season 1 on DVD so soon after it wrapped was waiting for season 2 to start, and then realizing you'd have to get your dose of AD on a week-by-week basis instead of whenever you want.

and finally

from TVShowsOnDVD

The third and fourth season sets of Six Feet Under are being prepared for DVD release next year as the fifth season of that series debuts. That final season will be released within a year of its debut.

Like mean butter bean brown ham-hocks...

I started doing some spring cleaning... finally.
Yeah I know it's the late weeks of September, but well, better late than never.
I woke up Saturday and took to the storage room like Bobby Fisher took to chess. Yeah, I mastered that beeyotch, spending a good four hours making the back room more spacious and capable of holding lots more stuff. Amongst the glut of crap that I guess by default belongs to the landlord (but most likely belonged to someone else... really who knows) I found a couple hundered posters from between 1998 and 2002, and some postcards from a former tenant/owner dating between 1980 and 1984. It's kind of weird to step into the past like that, with postcards from a stranger's travels.

After rearranging the back room, I started working in the recroom, moving things into storage and unpacking some things that have just been sitting around for a too long. I progressed to tacking the dishes and an arm-load of water bottles (why do we have so many, and yet, we can never find one when we need one?). The litter box beconed with malevolent odours, so it deserved a much needed cleaning. Following that the tub got a cleaning, then the bedroom took a-changin'. I started the laundry and decided to shower, with the expectation of having an evening out. As I stepped out of the steam, it sounded like the dryer had stopped. After dressing and going down to fold clothes I realized that the dryer hadn't stopped, the barrel just wasn't turning anymore (but the heat was still being pumped).
Grabbing the screwdriver I began to dismantle the dryer... it took a while to figure out how to get into where I needed to get into. The back plate only revealed the venting system, but not the motor which is where the problem most definitely was. As I tossed the dryer around, I could hear things clunking inside, Using a flashlight and glancing through holes I could see the dryer belt flopping around inside. I managed to pry the frame apart and get at the motor, and yeah, the belt was the only thing gone.
I was exhausted as was Emma. I cooked up some burgers on the BBQ, and we spent the evening watching the home decorating lineup on TLC instead of going to the movies (we did take a jaunt out for ice cream though, rambling through the small town cheesy carnival that Roncesvalles becomes during its "Harvest Festival").
The show Clean Sweep really hits home with us, as Emma and I both have a tendency to clutter. Emma's particularly frustrated with her office/bookbinding space, so today I took the aggressive Australian role (aka Peter Walsh) and Emma took the giggly homeowner role and we opted to take the challenge of demessifying the front room.
I left her to sort through her books (with the objective of cleaning off one of the two IKEA 4x4 bookshelves) while I took off to the renovation ghetto (up at St. Claire and Keele where Home Depot, Rona, and Canadian Tire are all withing shoe tossing of each other) to look for a dryer belt. I kind of thought I wouldn't find something that would be so specialized but I didn't want to deal with the Sears parts center after the aggrivating the last time with the washing machine.
However, upon coming home and calling, they had my belt (for $12) which they're shipping to the Sears in the Eaton's Center some time this week. So, easy peasy. Good.
Coming home I took the air conditioner out and put the storm windows back up, and I continued pushing Emma to clean up her workspace, until we finally dismantled one of the bookshelves (I've since re-mantled it in the basement but modifying it into an unsturdy 4x2). I finally subsided with the cleaning binge by vacuuming the increasingly dirtyfied rug in the basement (we're going to have to toss that puppy in the industrial washer down the street soon).
I relaxed on the couch to watch some kickass wheelchair Paralymics basketball (it's more fluid than regular basketball, and more aggressive than hockey, and more fun to watch than both) alternating with the World Poker Tour (who would have thought poker would be so much fun to watch?).

And now... now I look at my computer, and everything grinds to a halt. Hello life. How are ya?

There's a sorry shell of a man...

Hey everyone! The blog stalker is back, although perhaps I should call him the "blog skulker". There is a small circle of us webloggers - mostly from Toronto - that have been feeling the scorn of an unidentified "assailant" as it were. He (and we do know it's a he, although sometimes it's his girlfriend, but anyway) pops in at random from his Bell Sympatico account and leaves anonymous comments such as this one, from my previous post, which I've deleted because, well, the guy is a dink and my patience for dinks is wearing rather thin:

Congradulations: you are a cross between The Self-Important Moron and The Town Crier. http://mama.indstate.edu/users/bones/WhyIHateWebLogs.html#why

I have to thank this "mystery man" (who signed his name as the "Congradulator") for providing the above link, which is a roughly 2-year-old diatribe on the inanity of weblogging, and much of what is said in the essay is correct. Much of what is said is also self-relative to the writer of the essay so not much more has to be said about it. Afterall, he speaks to his detractors at the bottom, beating them to the punch (a tactic I often use, and it works nicely. Point out your own flaws before someone else does).
The irony of someone who hates weblogs linking to an article about hating weblogs in the comments of a weblog is rather amusing though.

In the previous post I received from our "mystery man" he referred to himself as "Careless" saying, insightfully:

Who cares?

Apparently you do, my man, if you feel justified enough to a) leave a comment on my blog and b) disguise your identity. You obviously care that we don't know who you are (but we do anyway) and your deep seeded envy of us is, well painfully obvious.
I don't feel the need to justify my blog, and I'm not going to defend it either. I write, generally, for myself (but sometimes for my friends) and if anyone wants to read it -like you dear blog skulker- well, that's just lovely.
Thanks for your patronage, and I look forward to deleting your comments in the future.

note, I didn't even menton the "congradulations"/congratulations thing, because I get caught by that grammatical error all too often myself. No point being hypocritical like our anonymous friend there.
And yeah, I don't know why I'm giving him all this attention either, because I'm sure that's exactly what he wants... ah well. Enjoy your 15 minutes of obscurity lad

Uh oh

I got out before I even started.

Weboggle could be very dangerous, causing shifts in time such that one would not know where it had gone.
(from She Speaks Good English)

Elsewhile

Ryan has a goes-down-smooth essay about the state of the world as masqued by television and music commentary and unusual allegories, prompted by an unexpected dosage of Claire Danes circa 1995.

head games

my hair is at that bristly length where it's still too short to do anything with, and yet long enough that my bike helmet makes a permanent (and noticeable) impression in it

The Friday Fish-Wrap (better late than never)

oh, the boozmanity!

The plan started as an after-work soiree, an anyone-can-come get together at some joint called Schmooze. As we left our building seven strong with more to join later, words were being bandied about to the effect of "we're not going to get in" (I'm not sure the exact words because invariably when I walk in a mob of any larger than two I somehow get cut..err.. cut myself out of the conversation and only catch sporadic words). Along the way I tried querying what the concerns were, but my questions were met by blank responses of people equally out of the loop in the convo.
By the time we were ten steps away from the door I figured, oh, line-up, they were afraid we weren't going to get in amidst all the people. Of course, the line-up was metered by a suited fell with a hand permanently attached to the end of a velvet rope.
"Schmooze"
I didn't like the place already.
We were all dressed relatively casual, but none of us looking frumpy. Clean cut kids we were, although I had my custom Superman courier bag strapped to my back, which some losers may think is less than business casual.
Anyway the guard took one look at the leader of our pack, a finely coiffed and manicured (and stylish) fella, and said, "you're not going in there with those shoes" (or somesuch, again, not exactly in the forefront of the conversation).
The shoes? A pair of skater-boi type black faux-suede looking things. Not quite sneakers, but not quite nice enough for this place.
I looked over the head of one of my compatriots to a sign that said "Age Restriction In Effect/25 Years or Older/(except 23 for the ladies)"
As everyone was debating about what to do (the reason we were there? $7 cover and $2.50 drinks) I said "I'm don't want to go into this place... it's not my scene, cats, just totally not my bag" (or somesuch...again I wasn't exactly privy to my own conversation) and let them discuss from there.
After much deliberation we decided to go to "My Apartment", no cover and $2.25 drinks. When you can buy a round of drinks for a half dozen people an have it cost less than a yuppie food stamp (ie a $20) you know you're going to get drunk quick, and cheap.
45 minutes later I was already running late and I was four, maybe five drinks to the wind. Good god, but I had to start walking. I needed food in my belly and I had to meet some folks.

but god did I have to piss

So I stopped for pizza along the way and had a tinkle and moved along.

slopping squee

I made it as far as Rotate This without getting distracted, but the animal magnetism the attracts payday to the cd stores was hard to resists. I came out five cd's plus and about $90 down, but music needs to be had, you know?

Following this venture I was on my way to the JPP to visit the lass when, once again, my bladder informed me it wasn't a camel hump and could not retain fluidous nutrients for my body to enjoy at a later date. Luckily there's a Starbucks along the way with a staff that don't really care if you just use the washroom or not (as long as you dress the part I'm sure). For the kindness of their facilities I purchased an overpriced dessert-type object of the peanut butter and chocolate variety (but it weren't no peanut butter cup)... good stuff.

The JPP was hoppin' and Emma was busy so it was "hi, bye" and I was off to the Magic Pony for the Forests Have Feelings Too gallery opening.

Weeping willow, squishy fishy

By the time I got there I was stone sober and Frecklestof and TEL were already in line. Yeah, in line.
I've been to most of the MP gallery openings since the store opened and there's never been a line up before, nevermind of 50+ people. Crazy baby.

Float and Ground Glass arrived shortly thereafter. wNoodle bailed to to ill will, but Chromewaves joined us as a nice surprise. Even the Photojunkie popped his head in for a little bit. (No, we don't all refer to each other by our blog titles in public, fyi)

The show was spectacular, and if you recall correctly, a few of those of us mentioned above had jellyfish on display.
I took a photo of each and every jellyfish and will soon display them on a separate page.
For a preview, here are some massive shots of the complete set of jelly fishies:
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

the glowing sign said "SECRET SWING RIGHT HERE" [ironic]

Between the Pony and the Horseshoe, we saw the secret swing...

The Parkas, Frontier Index, and a bunch of losers

In the interest of getting this fucking post done, heres a quick synopsis of the gig on Friday night (also joined by tripledoubleyou and toast boy)

The Frontier Index : Four alt.country boys with stupendous harmonies and way too mellow of a set. The first two-thirds of the set was quite downtempo and the latter one-third was jammin' uptempo. It all sounds good though, but they need more of a balance between. A gang to look out for.

Stirling : [1] they are not Pulp nor the Cure, [2] they should be billed with the not U2 or the Cure group Hotel, [3]sometimes you just wish you could fast forward your life (as I wished whilst they were playing so incredibly loud) [4] Frank said "there are things that are good, that was not one of them" to which I replied "I've had spoiled mayonnaise that was better than that"

The Parkas : it's no secret that I love the Parkas, and I was sad to hear that they had lost a member of their band. I was a little nervous about the set on Friday, thinking there would be some growing pains again with the new trial members, but I'd say that Tony Addario and Stewart Heyduk did an amazing job. Not only were they filling in but they were filling out the sound and it was tight (with a few awkward moments in the first song but solid after that), and the entertainment and energy level was unbelievably high.
Frontman Mike Brown, to put is bluntly, is a big damn rock star. Bassist (and now keyboard, backing vox and harmonica added to his repetoir) Mark Rhyno busted some breakdancing moves and kept the audience pumped.
Surprisingly one of their most active and enjoyable shows.

More pictures, all of them quite dark.

Also coming soon, Saturday, and Sunday recaps.

Circumspect

Isn't it awful that I'm totally looking forward to the sure to be stupendously awful Next Action Star movie, with the oh so suckalicious title of "Bet Your Life".

I'm guessing it's an actionified version of the old game show "You Bet Your Life" because bringing old tv series to film is so hot these days.

Know what's really sad is the intent was for this reality series to be a really big hit and the talent they find to be so incredibly good that the movie they were going to make was to