Showing posts with label Blah Blah Blah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blah Blah Blah. Show all posts

Friday, January 14, 2011

Let's call censorship "a nice throw blanket" instead.

So we have all heard by now that the book, Huckleberry Finn has been stripped of its truth by a publishing company who is playing God with our history as of late. The very people whose role it is to protect words and ensure that they are distributed by demand are now taking up their own agenda and removing the offensive words from the pages of a book written by an author long since dead. They do this to protect who? Me? I don't remember asking for this. Apparently this will make it more friendly to people in the 21st century. Wha-wha...huh?

People have been fighting to keep censors from our history for ages and now they're losing? What??? Just like that? What right does a publisher have to decide if I am too fragile to read certain phrases. Even if they are disgusting and provoke horror, terrible connotations and worst of all: offense. They have their work cut out if this is their new itinerary

Most of us find the word removed from Huck Finn to be a completely repugnant and cringe-worthy one. The n-word (among others) is a terrible word. It's vile. However, these terrible words are critically important words. They are words that we have only just begun to move away from in our culture. They are words that society in general has just started to understand and be ashamed of- but we must remember why we are moving away from them. We must remember why we are ashamed of them. We have got to feel the shame when we read them, particularly in the context presented in Huck Finn. We have to talk about them.

We must remember them the same way we have to remember the horrors committed by human beings in our wars and struggles. What else will we pretend did not happen if we allow ourselves this? These are not nice memories, but there they are. These are the ghosts of things that humans have done and said to one another. Should we forget, we are in peril of allowing history to repeat, which might sound affected, but avalanches begin with pebbles. We owe it to humanity to preserve even our ugliness, not erase it and be afraid to look it in the face.

We have been in the unfortunate habit of pretending that we are without fault. Now we've come so far as to begin to destroy the evidence. What is the purpose of this? To fool future generations into believing their history is unflawed? Censoring and 'nicing up' literature and changing the way our past is perceived is highly dangerous and borderline propaganda. To what end?

I find it repellent, particularly since this book was written during a time in which sadly, the word was used an an every day part of speech.... and yet recent titles by authors such as Chuck Palahniuk can use the very same word in his books for pure shock value. Should this be allowed?

Yes.

It has to be allowed. It does not, however, have to be acceptable. It is up to the person reading to decide right from wrong, to learn from the context, to allow themselves to feel the political climate of the book. To know what ideas people are putting out and compare them to the world around us now. If we allow others to think for us and paint history with a prettier paintbrush, will we be surprised when reality hits us square in the face with its ugliness?

Removing the uncomfortable words from books is robbing the people who have worked so hard to put an end to bigotry of their victory- because in 300 years, when all the books have been made nicer, our children's children will not know why it was so wrong to use the n-word, after all- there are no records of it being wrong. I fear that this is the easing in of future censorship to come. This sets a precedent and our complacency about it is what will dictate the outcome of this. I thought we knew better.

Friday, November 26, 2010

The Thrill is Not Gone.

My grainy iphone photo of Lucille.


I saw BB King perform live and in person last week. Smallish venue, sold out. This is something that I am relieved to have done as there was a definite finality to the show. BB KING is still touring at the age of 85, and surely not for very much longer. That sounds morbid, as I fully believe he'll live for another 20 years, however the touring & performing is definitely winding down.

When he came out on stage, I didn't know what to expect. I mean, I've seen him on TV, wailing on his beloved guitar, Lucille, however many of those clips are from years ago. At his age, I wasn't really sure how strongly the man could perform any more. He was helped onto the stage and to his chair on a carpet in the center beside Lucille, because his knees have gone on him. He started out modestly, with the band providing the bulk of the music and I kind of settled into the idea that he would just be joining in here and there. He has lost weight, he seems fragile, it was ethereal. It was like seeing my Grandfather, to be honest, in his last year. Seeing someone who is larger than life in their vulnerability is unsettling.

He didn't seem so vulnerable for very long, though. These old fellas are tight. I mean, playing together for 1000 years tight, and what struck me is how they genuinely seem to love performing. They've seen half of the world together for over 60 years and they laugh and joke, it's almost like spying on buddies in their basement on band night- and they are not bored with this. This has been their entire life and it will clearly continue to be the rest of their lives. They love this, or fooled me into thinking so.

When BB began to play Lucille, he went up in smoke and congealed again when his part was over. The guitar is an annex of himself, he uses it to sing, he uses it to cry, he uses it to yell. He excites it and then calms it down again, and so effortlessly that he actually wiped his brow with a towel in the middle of playing a solo without so much as a seam in the music.

After a while, and after introducing the band, he opened his mouth and sang, "I need you" and I think I swallowed my heart. I was not expecting that he could still sing directly out of his soul, with clarity and startling strength:



Like this.

He is also so gracious, he does not demand to be the star of the show, although he might not be able to help it. It's difficult to take your eyes of him. He is so animated when he plays, but I don't think it's something that requires any effort. It's just who he is. Happiness shines out of him when he's telling a joke, when his story or song turns melancholy, his shoulders slump down and his face changes. However, he allows the other musicians to showcase themselves, complimenting their solos with his guitar magic, but not taking the spotlight away. I don't think I've ever seen a more finessed performance.

At the age of 85, and in the middle of a long tour, his weariness shows through on the edges. He is an old man who has been doing this for his entire life. He is full of stories and he is forgetful. His passion, however, does not waiver. He began the song, "Key to the Highway" more than three times before realizing he'd already played it, but to tell you the truth, I'd have listened to it more than 3 times if that's what he wanted to play. He is an extension of his band and when you're in the audience, he's an extension of you and you find yourself hypnotized. This man could be the pied piper, because I'd probably follow him over a cliff without noticing if that's where he led me. I felt like I was floating above my seat the entire time. When it was over, I crept down from my balcony seats and shook hands with his band members. BB King was wheeled off of the stage at the end of the show looking like a real king in his fedora, scarf & long brown jacket; clearly exhausted. I gave a little wolf whistle because I have now developed a crush on an 85 year old man. What.




I can only hope that at the age of 85, I will be a rockstar like BB King... Or at least eventually be senile enough to think I'm one.


I'm so glad that I got to go. Now, if only I could set him up on a date with my Granny.



Friday, November 5, 2010

In which I play plagued to save Christmas.


Today I join the ranks of cut-throat deal shoppers. The annual Warehouse toy sale is today. This means ridiculously cheap brand name toys and 23847293487293423428792873 shrewd and heartless Moms & Grammies.

Normally, I hate shopping (and don't get me wrong, I still hate shopping), however..... for the past few years, I've managed to get allllll the Christmas gifts for the kids for under $300. Thus, I have to do it. Biting this bullet ensures that I will not have to step foot in even one mall in December and THAT is a beautiful thing. This toy sale is brutes, though. SOMANYPEOPLE. You have to have a contingency plan, I've found. The year before last, waiting in the 3 hour line was like playing survivor. You have to choose the correct line & form alliances with other people so that you can go to the bathroom sometimes and be willing to step over people who have died, or you will never get out. The more friends you make in line, the faster you get to the cashier. You divide and conquer. I have a new strategy. I am ready.

I've put on my protective gear, practiced my contagious sounding cough and painted red around my eyes.. because nothing makes people back the #$%& off like a really contagious looking sale-crazed woman. "Um.. maybe we should come back later.." they'll say as I am writhing & drooling alkaseltzer bubbles from my mouth in front of the 2010 Holiday Barbies. What this conveys is, "Back off people, I'm going to be first in line here. If you want one of these Barbies, you'll have to go to your car and get your hand sanitizer first", leaving me a large enough window of time to get in, get my shiz and get. out. Or maybe they'll call the police. Who knows? You have to take risks if you want your holiday season to be truly wonderful. I need to find some way to spurt fake blood around.

K, gotta go do my warm ups.

____________________

UPDATE:




Monday, April 12, 2010

Sumo brother on the set of Titanic, bullets, pictures of barely legal cats, that sort of thing.

My favourite snapshot of my oldest brother from when he was a temp for Kate Winslet.

-I've been painting pictures of shoes. Nothing worthy to be seen as of yet. Or maybe ever.
-My tattoo feels like the world's largest mosquito bite. It will never stop being itchy. I must will it to be scratched. Or buy gold bold itching powder. Probably I won't do that.
-I cheese grated my thumbnail half off in my attempt to make perfect lasagne today. It wasn't supposed to be part of it. MmMmm bloody cheese...
-I am kind of blue lately. Not like Avatar, because then I'd be depressed. Just meh.
-I like it when I'm eating my McDonalds salad in the parking lot while waiting for my kids to get out of school and I slop salad dressing down the front of myself, only to discover that it all landed on the seat belt. SCORE! It's the little things, people.
-OoH also lookie! 100 subscribers! (Until one of you unsubscribe because this entry S U C K S.) Don't punish me, internet.
-Its my birthday in less than a month. Gross.

Don't unsubscribe! Here are some more erratic photos:Smarties the harlot kitty lookin' for a man-cat. Lookin' good, Smarties. Flaunt it while you got it. Because you're getting spayed. Buuuurn.

Funniest movie ever.

Some tapes in a junk store that I went into on the weekend. Every single one sucked.

The lasagna that I made for dinner tonight.

My older sister and I. About 1980.

Me on my tricycle with E.T. Rockin' the red pants. 1983/84ish

I tried random stranger chat. I think I failed. I guess I'll have to keep talking to real people who I actually know. *sigh* They always know when I'm lying about how I have my own bee-shooting gun. (It shoots bees at people. Especially bad guys.)

Stay out of this tiny, concrete, hundred year old culvert/drainage pipe, Everyone.


Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Rollins Reduced, Reused, Recycled and Recovered. Well not really reduced. The opposite of that.

Alright, this was supposed to just be my project 365 photo, but it kind of turned into a good blog entry... so I'm pasting it over here with bonus information; I generally like to keep 365 succinct- except this once. Not all of you follow my 365 (BASTARDS! I mean, hey- that's okay, you have a lot of blogs to visit. I totally understand. *teeth grind*), so I thought I'd talk about it here. Plus here, I can post the ridiculous photo I took of Henry Rollins because it's not against my weird personal 365 rules that are forever changing and making me paranoid.

Photobucket

Breakfast! Also, you will notice a stamp on my lovely manhand (probably, there won't be offers of hand modeling gigs pouring in after this) from the Henry Rollins spoken word tour, a show that I went to yesterday thanks to friends, Janet & Steffan! (Who I now owe a sock beast) It was fantastic. Ironically, Ann Coulter was speaking at another event in town. OH to have those two in a room together! It's the only way I'd pay to see Ann Coulter, the she-devil (unless is was a mean spirited roast or public head-shaving, I'd totally go to that). Anyhow, I got a message to be AT the venue immediately if I wanted to go, and I did my best to materialize on the spot with zero speeding tickets. HENRY ROLLINS? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME??!?!

The show was 3 hours, spoken word. Kind of like a motivational sermon from an Icon of Punk. And he was really great, very interesting, outspoken and dammit, he was right about things. I was particularly impressed with his story about the time he walked directly up to Than Shwe's Limo and flipped him the bird, 5 inches from his face for being a conniving and cruel despot. It was so brilliantly American and reminiscent about why we like having our neighbors to the south. Props, Americans!

The message: Feed your own mind, question what you're told and don't be a jerk to people, mixed in with some colorful anecdotes and opinions. It was an eclectic potpourri of his ideas that ranged from football/people watching parties at William Shatner's house to human rights and filesharing music with remote teenaged Sri Lankans, self education and why it's okay for him to teach your children to shove beans into their sinuses, the internal struggle that stemmed from his guest judging RuPaul's drag race and the fact that every nation is full of the same humanity & vulnerability and we don't have to be afraid of badguys all the time- but don't take his word for it, go see for yourself. A well rounded show, is what I'm saying.



I took one super crappy picture that made Mr Rollins look like one of those Halloween-Leaf-Bag people doing the robot... from which you could argue that it was a setup and that I didn't see Mr Rollins at ALL because clearly I went to see a bag of leaves with a tape recorder in it.. or that I am just crazy, so I opted for a hand-stamp photo instead for my photo of the day. We can't have anyone questioning my sanity now, can we? No questions about it; it's questionable. >:D That's how I like to keep it... But I still like the hand stamp picture better.

The stamp reads, "Spectra Sonic". I kind of wish it was a tattoo.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Some of my thoughts, each in 140 characters or less from this week. A summary.

Weekends are slow, what with all of you having such exciting things to do... so why not lazy out with a twitter summary?

  • I .have. a. typewriter. in. my. possession. HAPPY DAY!
  • So I burned an actual hole in the ceramic top of my stove. It doesn't mean I can't cook.
  • Dear Cadbury Mini Eggs, Get in my belly.
  • Saw 2 accidents, a woman laying in the middle of the street, gave away a typewriter and paid for a stranger's parking. Weird day.
  • Why don't convenience stores deliver? Hm? Sounds like inconvenience stores to me.
  • My son is pretending he's a big ball of armpit hair.
  • I found a raspberry seed in my hair. This after a lice notice from the school. Nothing is scarier than the idea of having lice. *jeebity*
  • I dreamed that I fell into the ocean and nearly drowned because I wouldn't let go of my iron & it pulled me down. IRON? Do I even own one?
  • Also, I took a huge risk today and waxed my own eyebrows. Both remain intact! Success.
  • I've rolled up 4 rims and not won a thing. WHY DO YOU MOCK ME, TIM HORTON'S????
  • Whatsherface in the blue bikini looks like a 3 day old mozzarella cheese stick. #survivor
  • Toddlers are not very good at taking care of laptops.
  • Saw STOMP. Was pretty awesome. I want to break my garbage cans.
  • Wait... I DID break my garbage cans already. With my car. Stomp never did THAT. I rule
  • Apparently we're going to be watching, "Manswers."
  • Why do I want to see hot tub time machine so badly?
  • I'm pretty confident that Kevin James will be getting that Oscar for his inspiring portrayal of Paul Blart, Mall Cop..
  • I don't understand what makes a grown person start a twitter account for their cat... and then pretend to BE the cat.. and they are serious.
  • It enrages me. The End.
  • If my cat ever starts a blog, it'll be about being a total whore.
  • ZOIKS. See? Every time I rant about something, 22 people come out of the closet of their own weirdness.
  • I would be getting a tattoo right now but the shop is closed???

**Also, Readers, Kirstie Alley talked to me because I told her that she was funny because nothing she says makes sense 96% of the time. Then she tried to explain something she had said. I dunno what she was getting at, but that makes me pretty much the best supporting actress in "Look Who's Talking". Not to mention that yesterday, we looked over into the car next to us in traffic and there was Don Cherry. For real. He was even wearing the cartoon tuxedo that he always wears to games. Now I can say that celebrities swarm me all the time. Back off, celebrities. I need my space. Concentrate on your jobs.


Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Just... Zombie Movies *sad violin music*


I broke up with my coffee maker last night. We had a huge fight and I kicked it out. It was not living up to its end of our arrangement where it would make coffee for me every day and I would drink it all. Well, I feel a little guilty leaving it now, as it had become terribly incontinent- but this could have all been avoided if it had just done its coffee maker kegels regularly like I kept telling it. I even gave it literature to read on the importance of coffee maker kegels, and I ran a white vinegar wash with a double water rinse through it regularly to keep it in tip top condition but it was lazy & ungrateful, so all that precious silken sunshine coffee was just spilling all over the floor, wasted. Such a shame for such a young coffee maker with so much potential. We both cried and I agreed to let it take Neil's favourite office chair and some of the canned goods so it could make a good go of it. I wished it bonne chance and told it that I was sure that the garbage men would take it home. It was a kind lie.

So I'm in market for a new coffee maker. I'm on the fence over whether I want a ye oldie percolator (best coffee possible, but a pain in the arse) or maybe the kind that you set a timer for and coffee is already made when you get up in the morning, or maybe a tassimo... nah, those are too fancy. Orrr, do you know if there is a coffee machine called the super-pneumonic-coffee-O-tron? If so, point me that-a-way. I'm looking to move on up.


Friday, October 2, 2009

Some things.


  1. If I do not see Zombieland straight away, I might lose the ability to breathe. Zombies AND rollercoasters??? *heave* My only issue is that they did not make it in 3D. This must be remedied, You hear me, Columbia Pictures??? Hop to it. I'll be waiting with my 3D glasses on.
  2. I love froot loops so very much.
  3. My ipod touch is taking way too long to update. Blast!! It is also not allowing me to use my itunes giftcard. I have $14.01 in riches to fritter away spend on important business application upgrades and such. *UPDATE* after reading the stupid fine print on the stupid giftcard, I've found out that I can't buy applications with it. I feel irrationally angry about this.
  4. The Lovesong of J.Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot still makes me weep like a little pantywaist (which technically I am, seeing as I always wear them. Ladies do). It also makes me want to roll up my trousers (and start calling pants, 'trousers'... or start calling panties, 'trouserettes' because hey- awesome new word. That would make me a trouserettewaist, which sounds a little like tourette's. Tourette'swaist sounds edgier.. like don't mess with THAT chick. See what I'm talking about? No Self, don't delete that last bit. It was solid blogging gold!). It also makes me want to paint the cat yellow.



Sunday, June 28, 2009

Seeing Beer Dogs for the Criminally Insane.

You know what gives me a red rump? There is no bud light lime in any of the stores in Ottawa anywhere. Everyone is sold out. Which one of you is buying it all??? Huh? Get some help, eh? Stop using up all my beers. Sure- I only looked in one store and then just went home, but I'm just going to go ahead and assume by the condescending smirk the beer store clerk gave me when I asked if they had any while pointing at their giant poster of it, that nobody has any. Nobody. Well maybe the french do, but Gatineau is alllLLLllllll the way over there. Also, I am not pleased that the Canadian beer geniuses haven't come up with a Canadian version of lime infused beer, or if they have, they've forgotten to send me a registered notice about it in the mail. It had better not be Kokanee, either. Ew. Not that I would normally touch a regular budweiser with a million bazillion foot pole. The lime kind is A-OK. The only thing more depressing than this whole scenario is reading Post Secrets.




All this after spending the afternoon at the Canadian seeing eye dog farm. I'm not joking. We went for a tour because hey, free donuts and water! Also educational stuff for the kiddies. But it was blistering hot out and all I could focus on was all the bud lite lime I was going to purchase on my way home. The dogs were pretty nice, though. I thought about putting one in my vehicle, because hey... it's not like anyone would see anyway, right? Plus they said that the dogs are totally free, and I think only giving them to the blind is discrimination against the visually unimpaired. Oh man. That was kind of a tactless joke, eh? I'm a jerk. Sorry visually impaired people. If it makes you feel better, I owe money on my taxes. Also, FYI, I put money in the plastic dog and everything, don't write me hate letters, k?. The universe has rebalanced itelf. No bad Karmel for me.

What I should have done, though, if I'd have only known about this whole no lime beer shenanigan, was stop at every beer store on the way home until I found my lime beer. I need a lime beer finding dog. A seeing lime beer dog if you will. I would name him Beery the Beerdog, or Fender.... or Mister Sprinklybeer or Limey Beerstard.

The End.

PS.. check this out. Radioactive, Conjoined, Mutant Strawberry!:

Awesome.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

My brain is a dried up little craisin. Not even zombies would want it in their cinnamon buns.

Alright, Nerdsquad. It's 12:33 am and I have been pretty much transferring files (long overdue) from my old crapattack, dell, missing-the-letter-k laptop to my glorious, new-ish (November=new, right? it totes does. That's right I said totes because I am delirious) macbook FOREVER. If you're on my twitter or FB, you've been skipping over my complain-y updates for hours. and. hours.

I've found that the most effective way to avoid the bajillion glitches in my dell is to use bluetooth to move files. OMG slow. So here is some rambly crap for you to read and enjoy while I watch the progress bar until I am hypnotized and strangle something inanimate. Like that cat over there.

1. Teenagers speak aloud to each other in text. IN TEXT. They SAY "smiley face" and they SAY, "Awww Frowny". Just when I thought emo pants were the most obnoxious things ever, this surfaces. The fact that I say, "Oh Em Gee" occasionally, weighs very lightly on this, though Geeks. For rlz. I stole it from another adult who happens to be totally awesome. Totes. This is what is happening to our youth. We're pretty much screwed when we get really old, eh?

2. The farmer in my Dell
The farmer in my Dell
High Ho Ontario
The farmer in my Dell has been sucking the life out of me all day and I need to step away, but if I do, I might never take the files off of it and I hate the people at the Net Nanny place because they make my life that much more difficult and they lie to me and say it will be easy to format the computer so that it is safe for a pre teen to use it without accidentally exposing his eyes to the unsavory internets- but it's not easy at allllllll, it's a pain in the arse and I need to sleeeeeeeeeep but I'm stupid and promised I'd do thiiiiIIIIiiiiiissssssssss killlll meeeeeeeeee.... (but don't really kill me, internet weirdos, spare me because look how dedicated to stuff I am. You don't find that every day.)

3. So on my old computer were all the old lame-o youtube vidlogs I used to do. That was a stroll down memory lane/back into cabin fever. Wild. Maybe I'll post a montage of them set to some peppy and then very sad early 90s pop music. Maybe I won't.

4. Maybe instead I'll have an oreo straw. I thought plain old oreos and beer were glorious but now you can drink your beer THROUGH an oreo. A straw made of oreos for beer. Think about that awesomeness. I mean really sit down and think about it.

5. I have to stop. This blog is whacktarded.

6. I wish I was at the waterslides right this second.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Cyborg Tiger-Unicorns.

So I've been a little MIA and all distracted lately. Distracted from the internet. By things like chores. What gives? Boring eh? In any case, I've just finished a triple espresso latte of secret knowledge & power and I have some important things to share with you in point form now.

  • I bought steak today. $40 worth of it. That's 4 steaks at $10 each. I didn't actually mean to do this. I got through the checkout with my squirming, mangled hoard of children and failed to notice how much the steaks were going to be. So we're having steak. I like steak, but the kids don't. Tonight they will see the light, though, because dammit- THAT steak was expensive and there are starving kids in Disneyland to consider. Well, it wasn't THAT expensive as far as steak goes, but when considering that they would much rather eat hot dogs or hamburger prepared in ANY way imaginable (I'm pretty sure they'd eat it boiled in yak milk as long as it is HAMBURGER), it's kind of nerve wracking to buy them $20 worth of steak by accident. Freeze half of it for later, you say? Meh.
  • Last night, Neil learned a lesson in giving a litre of orange pop to an 8 year old juuuUUuuust before taking her into a movie theatre. I opted not to go to the movies last night thank GAWD. Eleanore has stopped being fun there, so I got to stay home and watch reruns of True Blood. Anyway, I am trying to stop laughing at the predicament he put himself into, bless his pea pickin' little heart. Orange Pop is to Libby as cocaine speedballs are to a colony of paranoid, manic, manipulative spider monkeys.
  • I just realized that I forgot about my bread dough raising and now it's deflated all over the place like a brand new mother's deflated pile of skin for a belly (Show a picture of THAT mess to teenage girls and see if they ever want to have sex). It's going to gross me out now. I should go deal with it. Aaaaaanytime, I'll go check on it. Here I go... Off to clean up the deflated bread dough on my cupboard.... Riiiight now. Hey! Lookie! Sparkles! I'd better keep nice and still here in my chair until they go away. Pretty!
  • The new G.I. Joe movie coming out has the following elements featured in it from what I can tell by the preview: Ninjas, submarines, aliens, giant robots, bombs, suspenseful music and a poor plotline just bursting with half-baked conspiracies. If I find out that it has Disco Criminal Samurai Vampire Nuns in it too, I might have to camp outside the theatre until it arrives.
  • At bootcamp today, they were painting with epoxy based paint while we worked out. Nothing like huffing paint while over-exerting yourself. It was kind of like high school. I felt extra hilarious and entertaining today. I told Sue to go stick her finger in Instructor-Dale's smoothie. It was solid gold material. Solid. Gold. Oh how we laughed.


The End.

Friday, April 24, 2009

This post brought to you by: Booze in my breakfast cereal.


Well. It's 8:06 am and I have had a most wonderful start to my day/continued day from yesterday- seeing as nobody got to sleep- thank you Eleanore's new tooth. We awoke to a chattering baby girl in her crib and an aroma resonating in through our nostrils and out through our ears. At first I thought it might have been my breath. Then I glared at Neil because surely it was HIS. Nope. It all registered in my brain too quickly.

Eleanore pooped the crib, then did some artwork. The little blessing from Heavenly Heaven who I love and adore and forgive and cherish from her piggy tails to her poop caked feet. If you could see the grin plastered across my face, you'd know how much I mean it.

The angel of reek.

Now I'm not going to be one of those parents who claims that the Virgin Mary appeared in the baby's poop-art but I'm telling you- it might have been the last supper (Get it? OH so FUNNY. No it wasn't. Sorry). No it was just the regular poop smears. Don't tell Neil, but so far she's no Picasso. Bev Doolittle maybe.... but not Picasso.

I'm delirious. I didn't sleep. It's not my fault that I am making vague-puns. I have acid reflux, too. I'm all out of rolaids. I woke up to a poopchild. I'm falling apart! Don't leave me.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

This is still bugging me.

So the other day we went to the beach. It was a very nice day. Very nice weather. The same day that I ran up the hill, actually. Anyhow, we'd decided to all stumble around in the sand. The kids were finding shells and dismembered crab claws and garbage etc to stick in their pockets for me to find later and throw up.

Not too far from us, was a nice little family building a sand castle. Oh how delightful it was- until we wandered closer to them and found that the Father was like, the angry, jaded foreman of sandcastle building and his 3ish and 5ish year old crew members were just not making the cut. I'd say borderline ass on the line, almost fired if they didn't watch it.

Never in my life have I seen someone more frustrated at sandcastles being built unevenly by preschoolers:

"No no no, it's NOT STRAIGHT. We have to remake it", and he mashes down the new tower.
"No, it's not symmetrically lining up" Mash Mash
"That will never work!, COME ON! Line it up!"
"I SAID don't put the tower there!"
Among other confidence building statements.

Like, take a step back and a big breath of fresh air, guy. Mebbe count to 12 or something or picture baby chickens and rainbow unicorns for a minute or two. Was he worried that clients were watching? Was he worried that the Mike Holmes of sandcastle critique would pop out of a bush and criticize their shoddy workmanship and he'd never work in this town again? "Gee whiz there Buddy, if that's any indication of how you would build a real castle, you and your crew here are just not going to be able to work for our massive, global sand-home building enterprise. Better luck next time. It's a shame because you stood to make gajillions of dollars. We're also going to be filming a shameful exposé about the substandard work we see here today".


I dunno, Maybe that WAS the case. There were quite a few strangers there after all. Mike Holmes is pretty much everywhere. Him and Christopher Lloyd. Anyhow, the point is that I've finished publicly judging him and it was very cathartic for me.

Carry on.

Monday, April 20, 2009

I covet Dale's ricotta, okay?


I was going to take my camera to boot camp today, but at 5:30 am, I am satisfied that I even remembered to wear pants (this time). Not that anyone else there would notice. Most people arrive blinking with their hair still mashed to one side of their heads and really, the only thing anyone can focus on is Instructor Dale's breakfast smoothie. "What's in the smoothie, Dale?" 8 or 11 women ask, eyeballing it the way a bunch of out of shape Eves in the Garden of Eden would eyeball the forbidden fruit of knowledge- and Dale is the snake/devil tempting everyone. "Field berries and ricotta." Says Dale/Satan. "Ricotta, huh?" The women ask. "Yeah *smirk*. It's a long story."

I'll bet it is. I bet it's a very long, intriguing story about berries & lasagna cheese all blended together that we would all laugh heartily at and feel enlightened about thereafter. "Ohhhh..... I seeeee." We'd all say while nodding thoughtfully after Dale related the long, complicated story to us. Then we'd make mental notes to purchase ricotta and field berries (I also think that a couple/few ounces of Jamaican rum would be nice in it) for the next boot camp class.

The point is that I don't really care WHY there is ricotta in it (even though it's the cheese intended for lasagna). I would personally like to just steal Dale/The Devil's smoothie, sneak out to the hall and give it a try, but I just know there are stool-pigeons in that class. (They're the perky ones who already know why someone would put ricotta in their smoothie and also feel smug about this knowledge) I'd get busted and then what? Everyone would be watching me like vultures and I'd be looking behind my back for the rest of the boot camp sessions- possibly forever. They might even give me a nickname like- 'The Bootcamp Breakfast Bandito' or 'That crazy freak at bootcamp' or 'Shirley' (because why not?). Well I don't want to get caught up in that kind of criminal lifestyle anyway. My family is just too important to me.

All I know is that it sits on the counter and everyone's head does a wide eyed, owl-esque 180 as they run past it. Who's gonna be the first to steal the forbidden fruit? Huh? WHO?

Who? Who? WHO?


Wednesday, April 15, 2009

2 Things.


1. The tap water tastes off.

2. There was blood in my eggs this morning.

Grody. Stupid vampire eggs. :(




Saturday, April 4, 2009

LaserTiger. That's a cool title for this post.


I finally won a damned coffee at Tim Hortons. Now I don't even want it. I DON'T EVEN WANT IT, READER. The winning cup is now sitting on my microwave collecting change and screws, just like the Tim Horton's whore it is. (Tim WHOREtons. Hahahaha. Clever me.) And guess what? In one week, the cup has collected enough change to buy several coffees. And guess what else? I'm going to buy a frosty with that money because I have a sore throat. TAKE. THAT. Plus I have never had a frosty, I don't think... in fact I'm not sure where to buy one or what it is, exactly. But I'm going to find out what it is and get it because it sounds pretty soothing. Whatever it is, rum will be good in it. I'm getting pretty excited about it.

In other news, The Kids in the Hall are getting back together to do a series for the CBC. Oh-Em-Gee. I nearly peed myself when I heard this (But not quite). I already have every episode of kids in the hall taped on vhs somewhere in my basement in a box. I syphoned it off a good friend waaaay back in high school. All I know is that it's now in some precious translucent fluorescent green cases next to my taped copy of Space Balls and I no longer own a VCR... hm... Remember when we used to tape stuff and keep it? I had alllllll kinds of awesome taped shows. I bagged the crap out of my mom's VCR. Once, when I lived on my own and I was poor, I would have a friend of mine tape whatever he was watching on TV and give me the tapes the following day. It was like having time retarded cable. I just reused and reused the same three tapes for about a year. *high five*



Those were the days. Now I have digital cable on demand. *high five*

So my kid found an old mixed cassette tape in the bottom of a drawer once and asked me what it was. I was shocked. I told him it was a tape and he screwed up his face.

Kid: THIS is tape?? How do you open it? What do you tape with it? It's not even sticky.
Me: You're grounded. *high five*

How are angsty teenagers supposed to express themselves without complicated themed mixed tapes made up of different arrangements of the same 6 albums they own/scavanged from their siblings for their bffs? I think the death of the mixed tape is solely responsible for the advent of the emo kid. Too much access to crappy internet music. You KNOW I'm right. When I was a teenager, I had no choice but to include some of my Mom's records into my mixed tapes. Y'know, just for filler. A little Jimmy Swaggart built character, anyway. Clearly. Is not crappy. IS NOT. It's not the same! *lalalalala*

Off to see a man about a frosty.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Neo Citran is good for your thinking.

So I've been neglecting my mega nerd blogging duties this week. I've had company, my parents actually. Company + Parents= Comparentsny or Pomparnents for short. I like the sound of that second one. Pomparnents were here. Sounds pretty impressive like they were celebrities. Now I have the flu so I'm kinda hopped up on Neo Citran hot toddies (breakfast of champions). Hence this stupid post. I quite honestly don't know why you're still reading this. Get a book for God's sake.

Anyhow, It's April Fools day. Thousands of kajillions of bloggers will post some kind of tricky lie about themselves. So. Me too. Here it is: I'm quitting. Hahahah. As if. Had you goin' for a second there, 31 Subscribers. What? That's what everyone posts on April fools? Then all their subscribers beg them to stay? Then a jovial post about "Gee you guys are swell, I'm not really deleting the blog" and then allllll the subscribers give a collective sigh and hearty laugh? Damn. Well, I'm no sheep blogger (sheep +blogger = bleepgor.). So here's a better one: . HAHAHAHA No I don't! Fooled you, Fool! Man I'm hilarious. Oh wait, I forgot to post a second lie. Damn't.

I have my own haircutting tools now. Thought I'd throw that out there.

That is all. I'm off to try and make a disgusting tuna loaf look like cake. OH how my kids will be fooled. Maybe I'll make little tiny fool hats for them to wear, too. We'll all prance around the street like court jesters displaying our tunaloaf that looks like cake. Then I'll tell them they're grounded if they don't comply cheerfully. THAT would be so tricky. It's pretty easy/fun to trick your own kids on April Fool's (or any time you feel like it) since you can tell them they're not getting their allowance if they don't believe you/do what you say.

Here is something to look at while you try to sort that all out in your minds:
A BEaUtIfUL crystal thing.

Wow. Dumbest blog ever. I can't believe I'm about to hit 'publish'.
Please don't unsubscribe... it just kinda came out. I can do better. I promise I can. I can photoshop something.... honest. You have to realize that I have the flu and Neo Citran is like super mind altering cold medicine.... I know you Canadians will understand... STAY? STAY.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Lemons. Gams. Lying to people. Stuff like that.

It's almost time for boot camp again, y'all. I never say y'all. Why did I type that? Oh well. No going back now. So I get to go back to the gym 3 times a week for 6:00am sharp starting on Monday to be brutalized with a pilates ball & kettle bells by Dale. Well his name's Andrew, but I prefer to degrade him by calling him Dale. Think of how tough I am, y'all. Not really, although I do have some power in my gams. You just can't tell unless I'm kicking you in the throat.

So ya. I'm pretty stoked about that.

Anyhow, here is the deal. I didn't start running, okay? Instead, I wrote lots of blogs and learned how to use twitter. I was supposed to really get down to business with becoming a runner last week but I crapped out bigtime. TV was pretty mediocre, so I watched a lot of that. Even though survivor wasn't on... or was it? Who can tell anymore? I spent my month off of boot camp reading running magazines & websites, internet shoe shopping, deciding if I should buy some lululemon pants so that I can at least FOOL everyone into thinking that I've been running. Y'know... throw on some blush and strategically spray water at the back of my shirt & arm pits, then pant and buy vitamin water while pretending not to hear anyone because my ipod is turned up pretty loud. "WHAT? THAT'S AN AWFUL LOT OF MONEY FOR STUPID VITAMIN WATER THAT ISN'T EVEN GOOD FOR YOU ACCORDING TO SEVERAL REPUTABLE STUDIES. SCREW THAT, I'LL QUENCH MYSELF WITH SWEAT BECAUSE I'M PRETTY HARDCORE AS YOU MAY BE ABLE TO SEE.."is what I'd say over my motivational running music, then throw the bottle at Bill who works around the corner at the Quikee Mart. But the joke is on them because I'd only have Neil's ipod headphones and no ipod at ALL. (Because I don't even have an ipod.. poor me, eh?) Then I'd say something like, "Gotta JET" and then bound around the corner to my car and go to Chapters for a pumpkin latte and some cookies. So I didn't get the pants.

The other option is to get some pants at Costco and tell everyone they're lululemon. As if they'd even know. I'm a pretty crafty person.

Did I even tell you guys how I KNOW about lululemon? WELL. I was on this airplane once, and strangers tend to feel like they should drop their entire sordid pasts on me during flights. I have that trustworthy face or something... or I always get stuck with the senile, talkative folks... or it could be all the torturing supplies that I bring with me on flights. Anyhow, I was sitting next to this 80something year old woman who told me her entire life history, including how she took a bus to Tijuana with some of her girlfriends when she was younger. Anyhow, they stayed drunk pretty much the whole time and she ran away with the bus driver who was her best friend's boyfriend. SO I told her how I kinda like Abba and that I was wearing men's underpants. Then she told me that I would LOVE Lululemon and I was all... "Hmmm..... she sounds like she knows what she's talking about". But I never did check it out or go in the store. I just noticed that other people are all about this stuff and kinda feel a little inadequate sometimes for not having any lululemon of my very own. But then my anarchist side kicks in and says, "FIGHT THE POWER" and I wouldn't be seen dead in it.

I'm going to write luluLIME on my Costco pants with a bleach pen now. I'm so punk, man.


Saturday, March 21, 2009

Saw Hawksley Workman


Hawksley & Mr Lonely

This was easily the best little concert/show/whatever I've seen. This includes Coheed & Cambria in Hawaii in '05 when I had stage side VIP seating and Claudio Sanchez played his guitar with his FACE that day- and played it WELL, people. It was pretty much the most awesome thing ever. I tried playing MY guitar with my face later that evening, but I had only brought an acoustic guitar and the stupid Hawaiian humidity kept warping stuff and it wouldn't stay in tune. I put on an interesting show on the hotel balcony that evening. But C & C have lost it to Hawksley. That'll teach them for having a short set list and for sweating on me when they walked by later. I don't care who you are. If you sweat on me when you walk by, a little piece of my love for you will die (Hey- those could be song lyrics!!).

Coheed & Cambria '05 - Claudio playing with his face... be still my heart.

Yep, Hawksley & Mr Lonely on the pian-a there pretty much took my breath away. You felt like you were standing in his living room at a party. Plus we took full advantage of the Canadian politeness and rudely shoved our way to the front, apologizing as we went. "Oh Excuse me, sorry, yes.... excuse me.. if I could just... stand.. directly in front of you... that's great thanks". Nobody said a WORD. Heh. Those dumb other Canadians. After I'd beaten the twitty little couple in front of me who chose to stare deeply into each other's 4-beers-down-the-hole-and-skipped-lunch-love-stuck-eyes-rather-than-watch-the-show-from-the-front-row to death with their own legs, the atmosphere was perfect.

If you get the chance, you should go. His live show is all kinds of wonderful. It was like the Rheostatics meet Tom Waits' perfect exhibitionism in a mad little piano bar.


Plus at the end of the day, I snagged his guitar pick off the stage. I went for Les Paul at first, but they slapped my hand. Jeez, you know. It's not like he can't afford another one.