Thankyousirmayihaveanother

The Old Gray Mare Just Ain't What She Used'a Be.

2009-01-10T06:38:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I mean, from a week ago! Or something.

So, yeah. My output on this thing lately has been erratic at best, as every time I sit down and try to form purty words and such, Her Majesty The Little Miss AKA HAZILLA THE CONQUEROR demands my attention by performing a new trick, like sitting up on her own without immediately toppling over and smacking her noggin on the hardwood floor, or developing cold fusion in her playpen out of building blocks and felt monkeys (she's clever, this one...). I swear, it's like owning a puppy, but with diapers, and eventually you have to put them through school.

More to the point: bloggetry has felt like less of a priority and more of a luxury of late, and while I certainly enjoy the precious few minutes per month that I spend with y'all, I think it's time for a change; I'm not exactly sure what that change will entail - probably a more regimented thingamajig, as opposed to my usual slackeresque "HeyguesswhatIjustfoundwhileslummingonconspiracytheorywebsites?" tone, possibly forcing me to actually learn a few computronical skillz while I'm at it - but it's been due for a little while now, so...

...so, um, there. I'm out. For a bit, at least. Normal service will resume...well, eventually. Until then, be good to each other, or I will hit each and every one of you with the biggest stick in the world, and you will thank me for it.

Oh, and as for 2008, this clearly beats out anything you might have on your Top Ten Lists:

I dare you to try and top The HILJ. She will destroy you and every one of your puny opinions, and she'll look cute doing it.

A Brief Word Regarding The Awesome-ness of Video Games.

2008-11-30T13:46:00.001-08:00

So far, I've blown up sharks with grenades, discovered Thor's Hammer, defeated friggin' Cthulhu, then had a firefight with about a hundred mercenaries while escaping a sinking ship, all on the first level; the last thing I did before writing this was JUMPKICK A TIGER IN THE FACE BEFORE WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY SHOOTING IT.

Tomb Raider: Underworld is so effing rad it makes my head hurt.

That is all.

Everything In Its Right Place

2008-11-30T06:08:00.001-08:00

So, yes, if you hadn't heard, Black Friday lived up to its name, at least in these instances; myself, I was stuck behind a counter serving half-sweet non-caffeinated soy beverages, aka SWILL, to the Mount Royal Trophy Wives Club. It was fun, let me assure you - nothing says job satisfaction like having a spoiled and glorified housewife throw a full-blown tantrum when she discovers that you have peanut-butter & chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal-raisin cookies, but no oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies. It's an absolute wonder that I haven't purchased a firearm yet. I can only imagine how I'm going to deal with customers aka CHILDREN WITH TOO MANY CREDIT CARDS when I move to days this week.

That's right: after almost a decade of working nights exclusively at almost EVERY job he's had, Chris will no longer be that Surly Evening Guy, and will instead assume the mantle of Grumpy Morning Guy, all in the hopes of spending more time with both The Ladyfriend and Hazhulhu, Devourer Of Souls and Carrots. While I wouldn't say anything as groan-worthy as "There Will Be Blood", I do predict that this shift in working hours will result in a great deal of yelling and a few broken dishes.

But anyway: the only reason I posted this was to show y'all this video by Scroobius Pip, wherein a kid in a dinosaur costume walks around being insufferably cute.

It is now 7:27 am, and I must find a Spiderman cartoon to watch.

OHMIGODWHATISHEDOING?

2008-11-21T12:42:00.000-08:00

I have no idea:

Zune Paint from Sibling Rivalry on Vimeo.

Really. I'm stunned. Perhaps not as stunned as when I received the phone call from the Ladyfriend last night, informing me that, "...we made the gingerbread house and Bryn spelled out the word 'COCK' in candies on the side and then made a gingerbread man with a penis standing behind another gingerbread man and we named them after you, Bryn and Andrew Wedderburn and it's AWESOME."

Still: stunned.

Now I must go sweep.

Happy Obama Day!

2008-11-04T20:09:00.000-08:00

So, um, everyone knows my feelings in regards to voting and elections and whatnot, and while I tend to be fairly cynical and possibly a little delusional, I will say this:

This is, at the very least, a step in the right direction. Happy Obama Day; wave a flag, eat a cupcake, getcher self a copy of the Qur'an and clue in to the fact that there are other ways of life.

Now we must go calm our baby down, who apparently has been doing nothing but eating sugar all day long. WHO FED MY BABY SUGAR???

It is FAR TOO EARLY for me to be paying attention to this.

2008-11-04T06:44:00.000-08:00

It's 7:00 am, election day, and already there is talk of malfunctioning voting machines and long lines dissuading voters; small groups of white lawyers are apparently forming outside voting stations to skulk like schoolyard punks trying to scare black voters away, while CNN grills a ten-year-old boy about the electoral college.

President Barack Obama. Just say it out loud once; it's a strange mixture of syllables, flying in the face of the long list of 'American' names that've held that title: Washington, Jefferson, Kennedy, Nixon, Reagan, Carter, Clinton, Bush - McCain fits in so well among these, whereas 'Obama' (I'm sure in some minds) conjures up images of witch doctors and jungle drums in the White House.

Here's the thing: you can talk until your blue in the face about Joe The Plumber and tax cuts - this election IS about race.

Here's another thing: this is not really such a bad thing, because if it IS about race, it just means that we're at least getting the subject out in the open.

(And by 'we' I of course mean 'you guys down there in the U.S.', because I'm up here in Canada and apparently our elections are about hockey and sweater vests.)

I have to go now and stop my daughter from eating...well, everything. I'll be back when I have a free hand again.

Yes, I used the term 'cooch'.

2008-10-28T03:40:00.000-07:00

My daughter can't stop touching herself. There, I said it.

No, really - the moment we've got the diaper off, her hand heads straight for her cooch, and I die a little inside each time. It's like she's got no sense of modesty, and she's already 5 months old - I fear for an existence spent entirely chugging heroin beers at ringside for Wrestlemania, except for those brief interludes when she's resisting arrest for urinating on cops or something equally as classy...

...and speaking of classy:

1. So help me God, this is probably the only thing that people are gonna remember from this upcoming U.S. election (unless, of course, the pundits on both sides are right, and a) Obama wins and then promptly gets assassinated, or b) McCain wins and promptly dies of old age, both options filling me with an eerie sense of calm dread...): the Sarah Palin-inspired adult release, aptly named Nailin' Paylin, and the dildo shaped like Obama's head.

It's like...well, I don't know what it's like. It just makes me a little sad, y'know?

2. Oh, and then there's Ashley Todd, who beat herself up, carved a backwards 'B' into her cheek and then told police that a black Obama supporter did it to her. Nice.

3. More class for ya: newlyweds tasered at their own wedding and reception.

I had more, but the HILJ is currently attempting to chew her way through the hardwood floor, and her mother will kill me if Hazel gets a splinter. Here's German Bert & Ernie lecturing you about smoking just to give your day that added dose of surrealism. Don't say I don't love you.

Humans Making Turkey Noises Should Be Avoided At All Costs.

2008-10-12T12:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, so maybe I'm NOT so hot at chess, as exemplified by Josh's rook slapping my king here like a pimp asking his ho' for his percentage.

Yes, sometimes we serve coffee at our workplace shut up.

Also: before I post the link to these videos, I should point out that by no means do I think all supporters of the McCain/Palin ticket share the views of the people here; I'm just astonished at the sheer bulk of ignorance displayed. Obviously the big issue facing America today is whether or not Obama's a terrorist - silly me, I thought the fact that your economy is voiding it's bowels like a dying horse might be a tad more imperative, but I guess we should all focus on skin colour instead.

From Blogger Interrupted: The McCain/Palin Mob Part 1 & Part 2.

(Oh, and there's a Canadian election going on too but it's kinda of like the political version of Monopoly money, y'know?.)

Now I must go shoot a turkey and feed it to my baby.

Our Work & Why We Do It.

2008-10-08T06:39:00.001-07:00

Last night marked a new era in my career as the token bully at Beano, as I was able to convince a young lady to eat a handful of spent whipped cream that had been sitting in the sink with soapy dishwater, in exchange for a free latte. Strangely enough, she required very little coercion, and I even tried to stop her at the last moment.

No, really; I almost feel bad about it, y'know?

We also introduced a new food item onto the Beano menu: a date-bran muffin with all the dates picked out of it by Sarah, and then put back together with scotch tape by me. I'm interested to see how well it sold.

Also I must point out that here is where I TOTALLY destroyed Josh at chess:

Up in the left corner? That's my queen all up in Josh's king's face, and she's all like, "Whut? Whatchoo gonna do, punk? You don't know me! You don't know my friends! Make a move, yo!"

Oh, and last night's coffees were inspired by the lovely Ms. Laura Farn, who is neither a bitch nor a virgin, but has certainly been fascinating at times.

Now I must go shower so that I do not stink anymore.

Your Dirty Sex Makes God Send Hurricanes.

2008-10-03T11:47:00.000-07:00

I have no words.

Wherein Christopher Dances To Architecture

2008-09-30T23:09:00.000-07:00

So. Devin and Arlen dragged me to the Aggressive Tendencies show tonight, because I am a new father who deserves a night of metal (at least that's what they said...) and therefore must drink and be bombarded by so many power riffs that my underwear hates me and lemme tell ya a little something about metal.

Metal isn't just good music. Metal, when performed correctly, is a sound that wraps itself around your head, bullies its way down your spine, inflates your lungs past their recommended PSI, causes your stomach and bowels to churn and boil, and then pins your legs to the ground using vibrations that reach to the very core of the earth, which we all know houses a hibernating race of Thunder Lizards that await the coming of Ragnarok so that they might rise again and wreak a terrible fury upon the world whilst throwing up many devil-horns to the tune of Black Sabbath's "Supernaut".

(Granted, this is quite similar to the feeling I get when my five-month-old wakes up in the morning and actually starts singing to me, only instead of Thunder Lizards, the hollowed earth is filled with polar bears, and they're making waffles for me. Still, um, metal rulz.)

I shit you not. A good metal show changes you. You wonder why most metalheads and bangers communicate through a series of grunts, shrugs, furrowed brows and flying cross-body-blocks? It is because metal, as a sound, is so innately awesome that it robs them of the very power of speech, sometimes even causing individuals to regress down the evolutionary ladder. I've seen it happen, folks; I'm not saying it's pretty, but it is a spectacle to behold, and last night was one of the better shows I've seen in a long time.

Here is my attempt to describe the damage that was done to my brain:
First up: Bison, a band I've been hearing about all summer, who I'm certain drive around in one of those old-school vans that has fur-bikini-clad valkyries painted on the side and a soiled mattress in the back; their sound is the equivalent of being kidnapped and waterboarded by large swarthy men in Pamplona who then let you loose during the Running Of The Bulls. It's scary, but only in that way that makes you want to experience it again immediately (kinda like getting tattooed, or having really good rough sex, y'know?).

Genghis Tron followed, and while they certainly tried, they just paled in comparison to Bison; I'll give them this, though - they've got potential. Give 'em about two or three years, and they'll sound like a band that Rutger Hauer's character from Blade Runner would've started, had Harrison Ford not run his replicant ass into the ground.

And then there was Baroness.

Let me say right off the bat: these guys look like scumbags in the best possible way. Greasy, disheveled, dressed in ripped jeans and sleeveless black shirts, these were the guys that you always saw huffing gas behind the 7-11 moments before they'd retire to a garage where they'd attempt to play Cliff Burton-era Metallica note for note while penning songs about their latest D&D adventure. This is not a bad thing at all, and it seems to have paid off for Baroness, who played their entire set without taking one breath. Seriously: John Dyer Baizley bellowed for a full hour, and at some point I swear I saw war-elephants stampeding out of his gaping maw.

(What's more: this was billed as an all-ages show, yet there was nary an angst-ridden teenager to be found. The closest that fit that bill was a kid with close-cropped blonde hair who sat at one of the booths during Baroness' set, swaying somewhat dangerously to the feedback; when a bouncer shook his shoulder to see if he was doing okay, the kid stood straight up and spewed something akin to vomit (I hesitate to actually deem it such, as it was strangely clear and non-viscous) a full two feet in the air, all the while maintaining his less-than-graceful footing. Well done, sir; well done, indeed.)

So yeah: Bison, Baroness, Genghis Tron (to a lesser extent), Devin, Arlen, Jordan and Charis - these are all things and/or people who rock. Of course, they pale in comparison to The Ladyfriend, without whose permission I would never have been allowed to go out and play with my friends. Hopefully she lets me do it again.

Insert Mad Cackle Here.

2008-09-25T01:19:00.000-07:00

You can talk until you're blue in the face about approval ratings and electoral colleges and whatnot; all I know is that every time I see a picture of this woman, I feel like I should be hiding my daughter, because this woman ALWAYS looks like she's just about to devour a small child.

And that's my political analysis for the day.

Okay yes I am back.

2008-09-24T00:57:00.000-07:00

We went to that Columbia full of British people for a whole week and now we are back, but I am tired from teaching my child how to drown people with gallons of her own drool, and I promise to have pictures and anecdotes in the next couple of days so until then y'all get this.

I mean, honestly: isn't it enough?

Attention: B.C. Drivers.

2008-09-15T14:38:00.000-07:00

It's called a shoulder-check. Friggin' use it. Thank you.

HOLY CRAP IT HAS BEEN AN ENTIRE MONTH I AM AN AWFUL INTERNETTER.

2008-09-14T01:53:00.000-07:00

I was gonna post a long update/apology for not posting in so long/list of things that are cool that y'all should check out, and then explain that the Ladyfriend and I are taking the Little Miss on another roadtrip (despite the fact that I neglected to regale y'all with anecdotes from our last one, "Losing Our Shit In Smalltown, B.C."...), but then I found out that David Foster Wallace killed himself yesterday.

Well, shit. I can't even make a joke about that one.

Wallace, to those who don't abuse themselves by reading frustrating fiction, is the author of such works as Broom Of The System, Girl With Curious Hair, Brief Interviews With Hideous Men and more. (He also wrote Infinite Jest, but I'm convinced that no one aside from myself and a few others have actually read it, that most people who claim to have read it actually gave up at around page 100 and are just fibbing about finishing the monstrous thing, as most people are smart enough to stop beating their heads against brick walls after the first few times they try it. Seriously: the thing is over 1000 pages, and most of that is one paragraph about tennis players getting high.)

Finding new work by Wallace in the bookstores was always exciting, because the man never repeated himself, and rarely disappointed. It's sad to see a contemporary artist who's truly deserving of the label 'genius' end this way.

So there ya go: this is me being sad.

And now this is me saying: I'm gone for a week. Me and my little family unit are gonna go make fun of British Columbians and then hopefully make them cry. Don't touch my stuff while I'm gone, or I'll punch you.

(No, really - Infinite Jest? Put it down and walk away. Just walk away. Go read the new Harry Potter instead. I hear he even has sex this time.)

See, if it rains, it'll wash off his disguise, and then everyone will see him for the Antichrist that he really is...

2008-08-16T00:36:00.000-07:00

So, um, yeah.

I have no witty comment for this.

Except, well, okay. Here's the premise, as I understand it: you believe in a force so omniscient that it created the cosmos and dimensions of time and space and thought and stars and planets and baby ducks and rockets and shoes and string and squirrels and late-night TV and Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lego and barometric pressure and even, y'know, Sour Cream & Onion chips. Alla' that stuff. You believe in a creator whose will you say is in all things, from the birth of the largest galaxy to the death of the most infinitesimal cell in your body and all manner of things in between. You say that nothing happens without this deity's say-so, right? You show me 'proof', and more 'proof', and even more 'proof', and then turn around and say the proof is in your heart, that it's a matter of faith.

I get all that. I do. What I don't get is this matter of petitioning this Architect of Everything into performing parlour tricks in order to alleviate fears you might have about two fellas kissin' and wimmens gettin' uppity and ohmigod there's a coloured fella in the White House please God make it rain and wash 'em all away.

I'm sorry - that was unfair; still, this all seems to fly in the face of the whole idea of faith.

Here's an idea: howzabout you pray for 'God' (for lack of a better term) to move within the hearts and minds of your fellow Americans, to cause them go out and vote according to their own consciences, and then if things go your way, high-fives for everyone, but if they don't, well, that's cool, because that's the way it's supposed to work, right?

(And I know it's easy for me to sit up here and take potshots at American culture and politics, but please understand: I live in Canada. Our political system is boring, run by used vacuum cleaner salesmen and ex-hippies. No one gets to have any fun whatsoever, and we all have to sing songs about a Queen who doesn't even live here.)

Anyway: just needed to get that outta my system. Do what you want, because according to MY beliefs, it's only eight more years until the universe emerges from its larval stage and turns into a bratty teenager, and we all become cosmic acne and pubic hair and wet dreams, and then Jesus returns from his vacation to say, "Aw, man, you guys got it ALL wrong, what I meant was this..." and then we all eat cake.

I turn my back for five goddamned minutes...

2008-08-14T12:48:00.000-07:00

Apparently, American Apparel has opened a store in my neighbourhood, which means that I really have to start training my daughter how to defecate on command, so that when we pass by the shop on our morning walks, we can properly communicate our feelings regarding their douchey clothes.

A few quick things:

1. Tagging done truly old school.

2. The best song I've heard in a long time.

3. If you fell for this, you really deserved to lose however much money you spent on it.

4. Robert Downey, Jr. to play Sherlock Homes? Yes, please. Sacha Baron Cohen to play Sherlock Holmes, as well? Sure, why not?

5. This is possibly the most disturbing thing I have seen in a long time, and I'm a David Lynch fan.

6. ...and now, a man jumping on eggs.

Gotta go shave. Be good.

Nothing says you've made it like dancing with muppets.

2008-07-24T06:44:00.001-07:00

The big problem in waiting so long between posts, aside from the obvious fact that everyone forgets that you have a blog in the first place, is that by the time you're ready to post, you've got so much cool stuff to talk about that the task seems monumental, and you decide that it's too overwhelming, and you end up watching reruns of Mad About You on TV instead.

Not that that's a bad thing. Helen Hunt is hot, yo.

But, yes: I gots a lot o' cool stuff to jabber on about, but right now the Little Miss has managed to fit her entire fist in her mouth, and I gotta make sure she don't choke during her mom's allotted quota of three hours of sleep per night. So, until next time, here's Feist truly showing how awesome she is by rewriting one of her songs for Sesame Street:

Honestly - if you don't think this makes her cooler than your mom, I will punch you in the arm.

I believe this is your sandwich?

2008-07-22T08:57:00.000-07:00

This is my most favourite thing on the internet right now. It's probably better than the new Batman movie, even though I hear that the new Batman movie is the best movie ever made and that watching Heath Ledger as the Joker will cure cancer. Still, I likes this:

Now I must sleep.

And now...

2008-07-19T05:57:00.000-07:00

...the Ladyfriend and I discuss childcare.

No Sleep City.

2008-07-14T20:41:00.000-07:00

So, I used to have this game that I'd play with my sisters, back when they were toddlers; it was called "Chris Sleeps", and basically it went like this: my sisters would wake me up and ask me to play a game with them, I'd tell them we were playing Hide & Seek, they'd go hide, and I'd go back to sleep.

You can't do that with a newborn. When you tell them to go hide, they just kinda lie there. Sometimes they drool, too, but they certainly don't go and hide behind the boxes in the crawlspace, letting you sleep for another hour or two.

Huh.

Stuff:

1. YES WE HAVE A NEW CAR! I AM A CAR-OWNER! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? It's a Volkswagon Golf and it's bright and shiny and it has enough room to smuggle a family of immigrants across the Texas/Mexico border and it'll make us soup when we're feeling yucky. Now we just have to work on me learning how to actually DRIVE the stupid thing...

2. ALSO I HAVE A PS3! I can see this SERIOUSLY hampering my efforts in learning how to drive, but it's okay, because a PS3 is like having a puppy only it doesn't shit on the floor.

3. Everyone must go see Hellboy 2, if only to watch Hellboy and Abe Sapien sing Barry Manilow. The rest of the movie is friggin' amazing, but that's really the best part.

4. Why is the new Beck CD really good? Well, obviously because it's Beck, for one, but also because it's produced by Danger Mouse, who by rights should be President Of The United States right now, seeing as he can seemingly do no wrong.

5. Sweaty man-love in front of hundreds of screaming wrestling fans? Pure awesome.

6. More science goodness.

7. I don't know how, but this is possibly the most addictive webgame I've come across - probably because it's got dinosaurs and DOOM!, but who am I to say?

8. A remake of The Day The Earth Stood Still with Keanu Reeves? I'm strangely excited, but, again, y'know, it's probably the DOOOOM!!!!

9. Okay, okay, I'm excited, because Casino Royale was fingerlickin' good, but... Quantum Of Solace?

Really?

I mean, it's not as bad as, say, Indiana Jones & The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull Where The Nazis Are Now Russians & John Hurt Babbles Nonsense & Harrison Ford Is Looking Ollllld & CGI Prairie Dogs WTF???, but this is Bond we're talking about here. Thunderball. Octopussy. Dr. No. License To Kill.

You see where I'm going with this, right?

...and that's about it. See, I gots me GTA IV, and this Russian mob story ain't gonna play itself, so, um, bye.

Quickly: I am totally NOT a cannibal.

2008-07-10T13:35:00.001-07:00

It's true: the man who once said that he'd prefer to taste human flesh one day before ever owning a car NOW OWNS A CAR.

(There is no way I can make that statement justifiable, so I'll just say it was a matter of priorities and leave it at that.)

Pictures soon; and possibly many explanations that will only make me sound like more of a creep.

Soft As Silk.

2008-06-23T00:04:00.000-07:00

So, Sunday night, Hazel's finally dropped into a coma after screaming bloody murder for three straight hours, The Ladyfriend's napping, and I decide: I need chocolate. The nearest store is only three blocks away, and I encounter these on my way there:

Sometimes, it's like the universe is giving me a great big hug (but, y'know, only to cop a feel of my butt, but that's the way I like it...).

1000 Types of Grumpy.

2008-06-14T01:29:00.001-07:00

So, yes, Jamie Fooks and I made a teenager cry; we didn't mean to, but it started with some confusion over a non-existent twenty-dollar bill and ended with a hot chocolate left cold and lonely on the bar for about an hour while this tiny girl sobbed in the corner as she waited for her parents to come pick her up. We are officially JERKS.

Also: you haven't lived until you've heard Fooks yell out, "My chin's gonna come over there and fuck you in the ass!" (No, she didn't say that to the teenager; I will say, however, that if you get the chance to spend any amount of time in a van with Jane Vain & The Dark Matter, you should do so, as it is better than LSD.)

Anyway: hey, I guess it's been some time, huh? I know, most of you can barely face the day without a dose of my online wit and wisdom (mostly concerning the fact that I have better taste in music than all of y'all, and occasionally regarding videos of wetbrained skate-jocks putting their feet through a woodchipper in order to gain fleeting internet fame...), but I've been apparently busy teaching my daughter how to projectile poop at the most inappropriate times, i.e., every time I remove her diaper.

It's a laugh. Really. Also: inserting suppositories into a constipated baby? Way to make me feel like a chump, Medical Science, and my daughter also thanks you for that gelatin brick that's lodged in her butt.

The sad fact is, though, that my updates are probably going to be few and far between for a little while, as making sure Hazel doesn't swallow her own fist and then headbutt the neighbour's dog has to be my first priority; besides, coming up with something witty to say about the new My Morning Jacket at 4:00 a.m. with only one hand free and vaseline lining your nasal cavity from the last time you changed the diaper and she kicked you in the nose is just HARD, y'know?

"But, Chris," you cry, "What the hell does any of this have to do with the title of the post, 1000 Types Of Grumpy?"

Oh, right, forgot about that...see, I work at a place where I have to deal with , well, assholes, and I have a tendency to sometimes treat customers gruffly, because, y'know, they're basically children and need to be scolded as such. There are times, also, when said people call me on my surly demeanour, an occasion that happened a few days back when Mads referred to me as Beano's token surly employee and a yuppie douchebag decided to inform me that I was 'missing out on a great path' and that the Buddhists had mapped out 1000 different types of bliss.

Because I'm a jerk and I can't keep my mouth shut, I replied, "Well, I've got 1000 types of grumpy."

After some more useless banter, which pretty much consisted of the two of us trying to out-clever each other and failing miserably, he said he was interested in seeing this list, which obviously I don't have, because ONLY BUDDHISTS SEEM TO HAVE THE TIME TO SIT AROUND AND KEEP TRACK OF HOW HAPPY THEY ARE. But, y'know, I said I'd get it to him, and now I've gotta come up with a list of the different ways I hate all of you. It's okay, though, because I've already got the first one: Oppositional Grumpiness, which occurs when someone decides to make it their business to try to cheer you up, resulting in your bad mood souring even further.

Hey, that was actually kinda easy. I might just enjoy this.

But, hey, what would a post of mine be without (ahem) stuff:

1. Penguin Books' amazing new advertising campaign.

2. I'm not sure about the new My Morning Jacket. Half of it is this weird 80's r&b vibe, while the other half is...not. I'm not saying it's bad - I'm just saying that I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL THIS IS.

3. David Lynch is awesome.

4. Death of a cel phone. (honestly, this is the creepiest thing I've seen in a long time; I swear to god, that's a demon that comes out of the wreckage...)

(Oh, hey - the new Indiana Jones? Aside from the putrid CGI squirrels at the beginning and the horrid tarzan scene, it was FANTASTIC. 'Nuff said.)

5. CD's you should own: J-Live's Then What Happened? (solid no-nonsense hip-hop), The Herbaliser's Same As It Never Was (ridiculously good funk/breakbeat/hip-hop/soul fusion, as always), The Notwist's The Devil, You & Me (electronic indie pop that has nothing to do with Ben Gibbard and therefore isn't sentimental beyond belief but will still break your heart at certain moments...).

6. TV shows you should avoid at all costs: Veronica Mars. No, really. Fuck. This. Shit.

7. I want to be Benjamin Linus when I grow up.

I think that's it for now. Like I said, updates on here might be spotty for the time being, although I'm actually thinking of just posting guerilla-style updates, for those times when you absolutely HAVE to know about NASA greeting aliens with Dorito ads. We'll see.

Go away. I have Surliness to document.

Goddamn You, Rivers Cuomo. Stop Sucking So Hard.

2008-06-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

There are only two songs that you need to hear off of the new Weezer album: 'Troublemaker' and 'Pork and Beans' (watch the video here, as it is all kinds of good). Both will remind you just how awesome Weezer used to be, back when you used to belt out 'SayIt Ain't So' at your high school dance or wherever.

The rest of the album, however, is utter garbage. So, steal this CD, rip those two songs, then throw the CD away, as keeping it will only invite demons into your house.

Next: 1000 Types of Grumpy.

Rock 'n' Roll Is Fat & Ugly

2008-05-25T14:12:00.000-07:00

There's almost nothing worse than coming into work to find that we're playing The Rolling Stones or CCR on the stereo. Kids these days; they gots no respect for my own lack of respect for the so-called classics.

We've got a very short window right now between the HILJ collapsing into a drunk-baby coma and waking fully into a feeding frenzy. I swear, it'd be easier if we strapped a feedbag onto that kid...

Anyway; stuffs:

1. John Carpenter's The Thing, redone in lego.

2. I'd written Weezer off, considering their last few albums were utter shite, but I can't deny that this song rawks (and the video's pretty funny, too.)

3. Phillip Tolenado takes purty pictures.

Now I must go apply heat to certain chemicals to certain liquids so that my tiny homonculus won't expire of tuberculosis or consumption or, I dunno, bad air.

Why I Work Where I Work Despite My Overwhelming Hatred For Customer Service.

2008-05-24T02:25:00.000-07:00

This is kinda like one of those 'Overheard In New York' things, only it was overheard at Beano, and by overheard I mean it was said to me directly after two different customers inquired as to the sexual preference of one of our newest employees:

See, sometimes you just gotta share that shit with the world.

Also: I can no longer tell if I am going too far:

People were mostly confused by these ones, but every now and then someone would do a double-take, their features contorting in sheer horror of what they thought we were doing to the beans when no one was looking.

Honestly: it's just a joke. Really. I mean, I'm a Dad now. I'm not allowed to lie anymore, unless it's to children under five years of age.

Quickly.

2008-05-20T00:40:00.000-07:00

I've been lax in posting, I know, but that's what happens when your life is invaded by a seven-pound howler monkey: your blogging goes right down the toilet.

I know: priorities, right? Obviously, the internet came first, so it's only fair that that's where my loyalties lie, but I'm kinda legally obligated to make sure this live-action squeak-toy doesn't accidentally choke on her own fist (as she seems bound and determined to accomplish), seeing as I'm kinda sorta her Dad, y'know?

Fun Baby Fact: apparently it's normal for newborns to spasm uncontrollably in their sleep, as it's merely their nervous system discovering which neurons connect to their corresponding muscle fibres, and is by no means reason for terrified parents to call up emergency services and inquire about postnatal epilepsy and/or demonic possession.

Anyway: gotta make this quick, as I'm doing this all with one hand, the other arm presently being occupied by Her Majesty as she poops in her sleep (this is called 'multitasking'...):

1. The Mountain Goats, "Lovecraft In Brooklyn (AesopRemix)" - I hate The Mountain Goats. I really, really hate them. They sound like a bunch of rich kids who all bought the same Billy Bragg album and then decided to preach to the unwashed (y'know, us...) about the evils of Nestle and the merits of designer hemp clothing and soy colonic enemas.

Aesop Rock, however, is awesome, and proves it here by making The Mountain Goats somewhat listenable.

2. The Cure, "The Only One" - as much as I love them, the last few Cure albums have really been exercises in stagnancy, leaving me to wish that Robert Smith would one day just commit to one of his many promises to End The Band. This, however, gives me a bit of hope.

Also: Porl Thompson is a freak.

3. Pelican guitarist Laurent Schroeder-Lebec explains why his band isn't 'post-metal'; and seriously, the next member of the Skinny Jeans Brigade to describe a band as 'post-anything' gets a punch in the face.

4. David Lynch and Werner Herzog are teaming up to film My Son, a film about...y'know what? It doesn't matter, because Lynch and Herzog are TEAMING UP, which means that this movie will scare the shit outta you even though you will have no fucking clue as to what it's about.

It will be GLORIOUS.

To celebrate: Lynch's piece from Lumiere and Company. Holy CRAP.

Okay, Chunky Soup here just filled her diaper with the equivalent of her own body weight of, well, stuff, so I must don my radiation suit and douse her with all manner of cleaning agents and powders, and then wait for her to do it again in about forty-five minutes, because that is what Fathers do. I think.

It's either that, or drink lots of gin.

The HILJ: Day 5.

2008-05-10T01:50:00.000-07:00

So, we're at the clinic, taking Hazel in for her first check-up, and we decide it'd be a good idea to see if she needs changing before the doctor pokes and prods and checks for scurvy and whatnot, and sure enough, she's got a greenish load for us to send out the airlock, so I'm cleaning and wiping and making sure my daughter's got the cleanest bum in the world, when she decides to shoot another load of greenish surprise right up my sleeve.

Seriously. It reached my elbow.

We're just gonna chalk that one up to 'Joys Of Parenthood', and save it for when she's twelve and asking me why she can't get a tattoo of Justin Timberlake (who by then I expect to be the future version of...well, Justin Timberlake...) on the small of her back, and I'll say, "Dude. You owe me."

Yes. I will call my daughter 'dude'. I think it's much saner than, say, proclaiming her a modern saint and charging people money to undergo faith-healing by praying at her bedside.

So, yes: five days in. Did I mention that we had our kid? I apologize if I haven't, as the last five days have blurred into one long Lynchian montage of sleep deprivation, hospital food, engorged breasts, diabolical maternity nurses, and strange words like 'bilirubin'.

Oh, and my daughter keeps peeing on me.

Still, we're happy. We may be tired, frustrated, bewildered and at times quite frightened, but both the Ladyfriend and the Little Miss came through this experience healthy and in one piece, and though our sanity seems to be put to the test, we seem to be maintaining. It helps that we have so many awesome friends and family members who are generous and thoughtful and don't seem to mind the fact that we smell of meconium and breastmilk. Each and every one of you rock, and we can't thank you enough for your support and your love. (Of course, we'd thank you more if y'all pitched in and bought us a mail-order robot nanny, one who would not only cook and clean and change diapers, but would also rub our feet and feed us grapes and tell us how pretty we are when we were feeling blue...of course, I do realize that we'd ultimately have to destroy it when the inevitable Mechanized Revolution happened and our willing slave morphed into a sleek killing machine with chainsaws for hands and laser vision, but we've all got our dreams, right?)

Anywho; I'd like to take this opportunity to officially welcome into the world the fruit of our loins and the Future Zombie-Space-Queen Of The World (whom I've lately taken to calling 'Chunky Soup' for no other reason than my sleep-deprived brain just feels like it...): Hazel Indiana Lee Janzen.

Touch her and die, mofo. Seriously, I will eff you up but good if you make her cry.

Now send us food, foolish mortals, and be quick about it! We hunger for tater-tot casseroles and frozen lasagna!

Hopefully our kid won't take out half of New York in its confusion...

2008-05-04T12:33:00.001-07:00

I WAS gonna write something about how the new Roots album is OF COURSE awesome and how the new Black Francis sounds exactly like what Frank Black should've been doing as soon as he left the Pixies and how the new Portishead is amazing if a tad reminiscent of Nine Inch Nails (which isn't a bad thing, just surprising) and how the new Boris makes me all warm inside as only Japanese metal can, and how the new Madonna sucks harder than a tranny in a four-way despite having the help of Pharell, Timbaland, Justin Timberlake AND Kanye West, and why the hell is she trying to look like Peaches when she's so much better looking just as herself...

...um, it looks like the kid's coming out. Kinda.

So, we're just gonna sit here and breathe and watch screaming dancing bunnies on the TV and wait for the little critter to let us know when it's time for me to put on the diving suit and jump into the Ladyfriend's cervix and pull that little lady out.

Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap.

More as it happens.

Oh, and also: even if it wasn't a Cthulhu movie, Cloverfield fucking rocked. So there.

Real-life hentai just doesn't work.

2008-04-27T21:48:00.000-07:00

Things I learned at the Calgary Comic Convention & Exposition:

1. So basically Comic Conventions are where comic nerds can get together in one big room and buy more comics and then meet some of the people who write the comics and then buy more comics so that the writers can sign the comics, and sometimes people dress up like their favourite comic book character but more importantly it's a chance for them to buy more comics that they already own.

2. Far too many people take Star Wars seriously.

3. There is nothing fun for 5-6 year-olds at the convention, and they will certainly let you know about it, unless you consider getting trampled by sweaty teenagers or sweaty thirty-year-olds looking for that one issue of Wolverine where Logan fights a stormtrooper, or the one where Spiderman shows up at the Calgary Stampede. Also: kids get sticky when you give them lollipops.

4. Obese people REALLY like diet soda, but it doesn't seem to be working.

5. You don't actually need to purchase tickets, as everyone's too busy paying attention to Tricia Helfer and wondering if she'd have hot Cylon robotic sex with them instead of verifying that you're supposed to be there.; honestly, we just walked right in, although the Ladyfriend is certain that this is due to everyone's fear of human interaction.

6. Mark Waid is really nice, Greg Rucka looks like he could kick your ass, and Bruce Timm's tan looks creepy (plus, charging $50 for a sketch seems a little steep)(I tried to find a picture online of Bruce Timm, but all I found was stuff like this, which is kinda funny considering I WASN'T looking for porn this time...).

7. Of course I'm going back next year.

In other news: Lars & The Real Girl made me all weepy, and my girlfriend laughed at me.

Justa letcha know: I used a bad word.

2008-04-27T00:49:00.000-07:00

Right now the Ladyfriend and the Grumpy Bear are watching Paris Hilton getting stabbed to death in House of Wax, which is why I have the headphones on blasting Built To Spill as LOUD AS POSSIBLE, because, as Patton Oswalt says, "Paris Hilton is a cunt who should die of aids".

But what I really wanted to point your attention in the direction of like a giant gun that shoots alligators is this new poster for the new Batman movie which is TOTALLY gonna kick yer ass.

Yes, I am a nerd.

Now I must go make popcorn!

Four More Years!

2008-04-25T02:02:00.000-07:00

So, the Ladyfriend and I are sitting somewhat entangled on the couch watching the Sci-Fi Channel's version of Dune (because she hasn't seen either version, and that's just plain wrong) when she turns to me to say, "I really hope Obama wins the election; it's just that I haven't felt this hopeful about a political figure in a long time, and I'm kinda interested in what he does."

Of course, I didn't have the heart to explain to her that it doesn't matter who wins, because the world is secretly run by a clandestine group of five Very Evil People (Dick Cheney, Rupert Murdoch, Martha Stewart, Oprah, and George Lucas) who meet under every full moon to stage dark rituals and plan the eventual subjugation of humankind, but even that doesn't matter because in four years the Mayans will miraculously step through their Time Portals to help us wage war against Cthulhu and his army of Deep Ones, but even that won't really matter because it's all simply voices arguing in the head of the emerging consciousness developing within the supercontext/universe that surrounds and pervades us as a species and which will ultimately wake up and wonder what the hell it was drinking last night to come up with a hallucination as weird as us.

This is what I get for reading Grant Morrison. I'm gonna go look at internet porn now, because my brain hurts from trying to decide things.

(In which Chris gets a tad carried away because it's obviously Metal Week...)

2008-04-23T00:52:00.000-07:00

The Sword's new album, Gods Of The Earth, is great to listen to when you're fifteen minutes away from closing and you've spent the last three hours listening to the Falmes lose in a very spectacular way (yes, I know I misspelled 'Flames'; it's what they deserve, after tonight's performance...); it's also great to crank out when you've also had to put up with Yuppy McDouchebag and his six friends as they attempt to invent as many annoying laughs as they can in the hour-and-a-half that they spend at your place of work while taking up counter-space and generally acting like retards on lithium. It's great to listen to because it screams, "THE HOUR IS NIGH FOR YOU AND YOUR SOUL-PATCHES AND SOY SUGAR-FREE NON-COFFEE BEVERAGES TO FLEE, ELSE WE DESCEND UPON THEE WITH ALL MANNER OF SHARP THINGEES TO STAB THEE WITH!!! (please bring your dishes to the front counter) NOW, GET THEE HENCE FROM MY SIGHT, MAGGOT!!!! THE DARK LORD COMMANDS THEE!!!"

It's also great for, and I quote, "rocking out to", as long as one wears a helmet and protective goggles, as the song titles alone can cause much cranial damage due to Ultimate Awesomeness.

"But, Chris," you scoff, "I am a seasoned metal master! I have an Amulet of Protection forged by the banshee voice of Geddy Lee, and a +10 saving roll against Dire Finger-Tapping! I even own a Sunn O))) album! Surely I have nothing to fear!"

All I have to say is this:

(ahem)

"Fire Lances Of The Ancient Hyperzephyrians".

That? That was the sound of your brain melting from Sheer Metal Bliss. You're welcome.

Excuse me, could you please point me in the direction of your 'Gun Rape' section?

2008-04-21T03:52:00.000-07:00

Shoot 'Em Up is quite possibly the Most Ridiculous Movie Ever Made, which means that it might also be one of the Most Awesome Movies Ever Made. I haven't had a chance to make my mind up yet, as this movie has left my mind drooling in the corner due to it's SHEER LUNACY.

I mean, Clive Owen kills people with carrots, and then shoots bullets from his fingers! HIS FINGERS!

(Also: Shoot 'Em Up holds the dubious honour of being one of two movies on IMDB that's tagged with the category 'Raped By Gun', which leaves me a little disturbed that someone's searching out movies based on that criteria.)

Anyway, I just wanted to say that Monica Bellucci should just go away. Please and thank you.

In other news: Sony shows the porn industry how to film a money shot.

'Black Viper Barbarian Clan' is the nicest song I've ever heard.

2008-04-17T23:35:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to think that I'm having an observational adverse affect on the Flames, and I'm not even sure if that sentence made any sense.

See, I love watching hockey games (although watching Boston score that 5th goal on Montreal tonight was just sad. I mean, Price didn't even try to stop that shot...), and I love listening to the game on the radio even more (as Barsky says, it forces you to visualize the game in your head, and in my head, they have battle-axes instead of hockey sticks and when the announcer says 'shoots the puck' what I really hear is 'lops off his opponent's head with a heaving mighty blow', but that's just me...), but I always get this nagging feeling that just by paying attention to the game, I'm jinxing it, because almost every time I tune in, they lose.

Of course, it could be because the Flames, while they'll always be my team, have just never been that good.

Certainly, they've got pluck, or heart, or grit, or whatever you wanna call it. They do, they got that shit in spades. It's just that they've never been a consistently solid team. No one's ever thought of the Flames the way you think about, say, the Islanders or the Oilers during the 80's, or Messier's Rangers during the 90's. They've always been lucky to get where they are, obviously working hard (or 'grinding', as everyone's so fond of saying these days, despite the fact that no one had ever used the term before Sutter took over a few years ago...), but always holding on just by the skin of their teeth.

After a while, rooting for such a team becomes an exercise in heartbreak. Don't get me wrong: I'll always cheer for the Flames - I just don't expect much from them anymore.

Anyway: stuff:

1. The Browns got us wonderful babystuff, my favourite thing being a CD entitled 'Rockabye Baby: Lullaby Renditions of Queens Of The Stone Age', and yes, you may scoff, but it's surprisingly lovely.

2. Speaking of QOTSA: the Queens just re-released Era Vulgaris with a second disc full of live stuff, as well as some extra cover songs, one of which being Billy Idol's 'White Wedding', and again, you may scoff, but it works.

3. I don't know why I like this song, but I do.

4. Speaking of battle-axes: Lair of The Minotaur's latest is called War Metal Battle Master, and that's all you need to know, because that title is AWESOME, but if you need more, they have a song called 'When The Ice Giants Slayed All'. (This might explain why my mind works the way it does during hockey games...)

5. Oh, hey, that guy who directed The Cell has a new movie, and Jennifer Lopez has nothing to do with it.

...and now my roommates are comparing drug stories, which is really weirding me out for some reason, so I'm gonna go play video games, because that's my preferred addiction these days.

I Got My Go-Go-Gadget Flow.

2008-04-15T12:29:00.000-07:00

Yay, Spring is here! Guess who's got a head full of snot? Mucous is fun!

So, um, stuff: 1. Tetris: The Movie. I am equal parts horrified and intrigued...

...actually, no, make that 80/20 in favour of horrified.

2. A video game where edible mushroom people make war against poisonous mushroom people? With a soundtrack by Les 'I'm So Effing High That I Think My Bass Is Talking To Me' Claypool? Yes, please.

3. Warren Spector, the genius behind such awesomicity as Thief and Deus Ex, has a blog about gaming and I only found out about it just now. Go read about how video games are not only cool but good for you.

4. Shit really IS Bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

That's all I gots for now, as my nose has turned into a gooey faucet and my head feels like there are rabid wolverines having prison sex with my brain. I go now.

Go and buy the new Breeders, Lupe Fiasco, and Black Keys, because they are awesome and I said so.

2008-04-10T02:30:00.000-07:00

Hey, look, it's me again.

So, the move is done. Thanks to everyone who helped, but extra special thanks go out to Rich, who is apparently Superman, as he pretty much picked up my entire apartment, flew it over to the Ladyfriend's house and managed to stuff it all inside. I don't know how he did it but he did, so, thanks.

Other things that I should mention:

1. The Soon-To-Be Grandparents came out to visit a few weeks back, and they bought us a crib, because we hadn't, y'know, thought about that...also, it gave the Ladyfriend a chance to actually speak to her new extended family, and vice versa, and I think my parents like her more than they like me. Why do say this? Because they decided to let her see my baby pictures, which none of you will see, as I was apparently raised on the set of The Hills Have Eyes.

(This is my way of saying that my parents rock. I'm weird that way.)

2. The Ladyfriend's grumpy old Honda Civic finally gave up the ghost (thank god), and while the rest of us were trying to pony up more than twenty-five dollars to help her find a new vehicle, Barsky's parents decided to show us all up by selling her a new car for a dollar. Seriously, folks; this car is sweet. As opposed to driving a senile old man with arthritis, my Baby Mama now rides around in a classy lady. Pictures soon.

3. For some reason, the powers that be decided to throw caution to the wind: I am a supervisor at work. Expect hilarity and lots of shouting to ensue. (Josh: clean out that goddamned fridge for once in your life.)

Anyway. The kid is coming. The kid is coming. Oh my FUCK. A matter of weeks, folks; maybe even days. WHO SAID WE WERE ALLOWED TO DO THIS? I STILL MAKE FART NOISES WHEN I WANT PEOPLE TO STOP TALKING! WE ARE SO NOT READY!

Whatever: we are totally gonna rock this whole 'baby' thing. My kid's gonna kick yer ass.

More news as it happens. Be good, or I'll throw things at the lot of you. Heavy things.

I AM, I AM, I AM SUPERMAN, AND I KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING.

2008-03-30T22:06:00.001-07:00

So, the move is over, and I am now co-habitating with a girl with whom I have been known to have sexual relations with, which is a first for me; so: yay?

No, really, all is good, the move is done, and now we just gotta wait for the li'l Starfish to stop kicking the Ladyfriend's insides and pop on outta there. It'll be like Groundhog Day, but without the extra six weeks of winter, nor will there be any sign of Bill Murray (thank Christ...)

Also: unpacking. A whole buncha that.

But I just wanted to take this moment to say: I was hoping that the new R.E.M. wouldn't suck. I was hoping it'd be better than Up, or Reveal, both of which really made me question my taste in music, y'know? But this? This is GOOD; not just 'better-than-their-last-album' good, but this might even hold up against Document or Life's Rich Pageant, and I gotta say, I was not expecting that.

So, I'm gonna go sit down now, and take a few deep breaths, and watch a few movies, and then maybe I'll get back to posting incredibly witty things for y'all to laugh about.

(Ahem.)

2008-03-22T05:40:00.000-07:00

Jasmine on my remarkable ability to grow facial hair: "Chris is like a radioactive Chia Pet!"

Also: Barsky kept talking about how he should try to kill someone this weekend, because it's Easter, and he is Beano's token Jew.

I swear to god I am not making this up.

Now I am going to bed.

Punch Me I'm Irish.

2008-03-19T02:42:00.000-07:00

So, did any of you punch an Irishman for St. Patrick's Day this weekend? If you didn't, it's okay, because you're basically allowed to do it all week, because no one cares about the Irish, and you'll probably only remind them of their fathers anyways...

KIDDING! Just kidding. I figure if an entire country gets a holiday named after 'em, then we're at least allowed to send a little bit of gentle ribbing in their direction.

(please don't come after me with baseball bats thank you I love you?)

Anyways: been some time since I posted, which is understandable, as I am currently in the midst of packing so that I can move into a house with my preggers Ladyfriend and her Hairy Urchin and we can all sit terrified waiting for Zombie Baby to emerge and visit her unearthly rage upon the world...wait, no. I'm thinking of something else; I am moving, but it's a good thing, despite the fact that it'll be the first time in close to fifteen years that I won't live in the beltline.

Yes, I am afeared. No longer will I be able to just wake up and have everything I need a mere five minutes from my door; soon I'll be buttressed by riverside joggers and Chicken On The Way, both of which fill me with immeasurable dread.

It's okay, though. I just gotta breathe, is all.

Anyway: stuff, which means MUSIC!!!

1. Don't listen to this unless you enjoy being raped in the ear by gypsies. No, really.

2. Yes, Boris, if these two songs are anything to judge it by, the upcoming Breeders album is definitely worth getting excited about.

3. Queens Of The Stone Age vs. Young Dro. This almost beats out that 'Kryptonite' tune as my favourite mash-up discovery of the year. Lemme see ya bounce right an' left and see yo' shoulder lean.

4. Hey, remember the first time Modest Mouse came through town, how they got so drunk that they ended up only playing about seven songs, two of which were "The Stars Are Projectors" played back to back? Yeah, I know, it sucked, but The Helio Sequence opened for them, and they were pretty good, and their new song is impressive.

5. Bil Hetherington introduced me to The Notwist back when we were both sleeping on the job at Megasomethingorother. Think of them as the Postal Service, but better, and oh yeah here's the new song enjoy.

6. Cavalera Conspiracy, Inflikted: This is SUCH. GOOD. METAL. In fact, it's funny: it turns out that all Sepultura really needed all this time was for Max to rejoin, while all his own band (Soulfly) needed was for Igor to play drums. Either way: prepare to be hit in the head with wonderful, wonderful heaviness.

7. Del Tha Funky Homosapien, Eleventh Hour: I don't think you need to me to tell you how good Del is, right? I mean, y'all know about Hieroglyphics, and Both Sides Of The Brain, and the first Gorillaz album, right? Right? Fun Fact: Del is the only hip-hop artist I've ever seen live. I know, I'm sooooo white.

8. ...oh, and speaking of good hip-hop? Ex-Beano coffee-monkey and all-around pleasant individual Jim Brown just released another solo effort under the name Rank Nubah; again, I'm too white to know what that means, but you can pick it up at pretty much anywhere in town, and it's worth your while.

9. Hey look, R.E.M.'s back and they don't completely suck anymore. I mean, the new song's nowhere near Automatic For The People quality, but neither does it completely blow, so, yay. I think.

10. I really wish this was called "All Those Whores Meant Nothing To Me" as David Lowery initially intended.

On the movie front: 30 Days Of Night was better than I thought, while 3:10 To Yuma was disappointing, and both of them featured Ben Foster proving that he could play more than a whiny art school reject. Also: Hitman was worse than anything Bryn's got in his collection (and he's got a lot of bad movies...)(and what's worse is that I expected it to be bad...), while The Host is probably the BEST MONSTER MOVIE EVER.

Also: I really liked the Ang Lee version of The Hulk, but I gotta admit, seeing Edward Norton play the big green guy opposite Tim Roth as the bad guy? Oh yes please.

(and even though there's a new Indiana Jones movie coming out, this new one by Stephen Chow might actually be 2008's Most Awesome Movie Ever.)

...um, okay, my interwebbery just blanked out for about three hours there, so I'm gonna go do something constructive now. Just think: the next time I post anything, I'll probably have a new postal code!

Elephant Bukakke

2008-03-09T19:28:00.000-07:00

So, Matthew Mcconaughey was letting my Ladyfriend use his upstairs bathroom, and as I wandered around his house, which doubled as an after-hours hillbilly sex-club, I started to notice all the dismembered body parts that he'd set-up in strange and horrendous tableaus all over his basement, which of course meant that we had to fend off his inbred clan's advances, and we'd barely escaped with our lives when the zombie apocalypse happened, and we watched a group of Tibetan monks sit stoically on the highway as they were devoured by the undead.

That's when the Ladyfriend woke me up by tickling my feet, which really isn't as funny as everyone thinks, as it leaves one incapacitated and as helpless as a newborn kitten, but hey, if you guys are having fun, who am I to complain, even though I cooked up all that bacon for you and sat through two episodes of Kenny Vs. Spenny, or as I like to call it, Unlikeable Asshole Vs. Even-less-likeable Asshole.

Also: this picture freaks the hell outta me, which is probably why the Ladyfriend has it as her desktop picture now.

That's my weekend so far: Torture-porn dreams and unwatchable television and grease. If yours has come even close to being as disturbing, I will buy you a pie. Now I must go find pictures of fat squirrels to make the Ladyfriend happy and not eat my head.

(Next time I post I will have more music as I have discovered SO MANY NEW SONGS!!! I promise.)

'Statue Of Liberty' play.

2008-03-06T00:47:00.000-08:00

OHMIGOD WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO DEFEAT THIS VILE SICKNESS IN MY HEAD???

Actually, I'm feeling pretty good right now, despite a relapse in flu-like symptoms a couple days back and last night's bout of, shall we say, projectile excrescence. I'm still crossing my fingers, though, and making the evil eye at anyone who crosses my path with a black cat and/or a Chick Tract.

Anyway; Things I Learned At Prenatal Class Part 5 (Because We Were Sick For Part 4 & I Lost The Notes From Part 3):

1. Breastfeeding is Good.

2. 'Foomping' is an actual technical term which refers to how a newborn will attach its head to the mother's breast. That's right: 'Foomping'.

3. Milk comes from breasts.

4. Sometime it's okay to carry the baby like a football, but you won't gain any yardage, so it's best to just go for a safety (...and I'm pretty sure nobody got that joke...).

5. Breastfeeding will solve all the problems in the universe.

6. You should put cabbage leaves in your bra, and then take them out when they've wilted. No, really, apparently it feels good or something, which is why I've got a head of lettuce stuffed down my shirt as we speak.

7. It's okay to tease the baby with a nipple when teaching it how it breastfeed, as long as you don't use foul language.

The other things we learned: The Ladyfriend and I are gonna be okay. See, we stayed late after class to catch up on what we missed the previous week (due to insane viral infestations), and our instructor had nothing but praise for our apparent confidence and attitude towards childbirth (in summation: "Oh. My. God. Okay, breathe. We're okay. I think." Seriously, that's all that goes through my head when I think about this stuff...); it was nice to hear, if a little shocking, as the two of us feel anything but confident.

So, um, yeah. We're gonna have a kid. In about a month or two.

Oh christ.

Changing the subject: Chris has new music!

1. I don't know why I like MGMT as much as I do; they're pretentious as fuck (in that 'let's dress up like Perry Farrell circa Porno For Pyros and glue twigs to our heads'), and the singer's got a voice that makes me wanna punch old people in the neck, but I can't help it. It's weird in the way that The Polyphonic Spree is weird, but only if Tim DeLaughter started taking heroin instead of LSD. I have a feeling that I'll hate this in three months, but for now, it's good.

2. Rocket From The Crypt just put out a recording of their final concert, suitably entitled R.I.P., and it's both sad and AWESOME, and if you don't like RFTC then you don't like life.

3. I really like the new Erykah Badu, but I'm white, so I'm not sure if I'm allowed to like it.

4. So, Mark Lanegan and Greg Dulli have been threatening to release their Gutter Twins project for quite some time now, and here it is, and guess what? It sounds like Mark Lanegan and Greg Dulli playing music together! Go figure! I mean, it's enjoyable, because they're both extremely talented (you don't release an album the quality of Afghan Whig's Gentleman without having some chops, y'know?) but...well, that's where I'm gonna leave it, because I'm quite certain that the two of them would have no problem stomping me to the curb, were they so inclined. Lanegan sounds like he's survived on nothing but cigarettes and whiskey for the last twenty years, and Dulli's just a mean bastard all around, y'know?

That's all, except to say that someone reminded me about how Nick Cave was in The Assassination Of Jesse James... as a troubadour of sorts, and all I have to say that the only good thing about his appearance was that Casey Affleck threatened to shoot him.

Bob Dylan Still Sucks. Listen To This Instead.

2008-02-28T02:23:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to inform alla y'all about the fact that The Avalanches, who brought us this masterpiece over SEVEN YEARS AGO, haven't converted to Catholicism and sworn off music as the Devil's Tool like we'd all suspected, but in fact have a new album coming out and you can hear the first track here and holy crap it's good.

Also: this has been out for a while, but I rediscovered it last night, and I have to thank the Always Awesome Jeannette Sullivan for bringing it to my attention oh-so long ago: Broken Social Scene Vs. Purple Ribbon All-Stars, Kryptonite+Cause=Time. It's a mash-up, so most of you will turn your noses up at it, but it makes me forgot I'm white for about five minutes or so, so screw y'all. (Oh, and while we're thanking people: Amelia, I just found my copy of Big Business and I'm ever so glad you worked at Megawhatsit with me, even if it was only to introduce me to this lovely bludgeoning disc, although I'm sure you have fond memories of a certain older gentleman with a prominent moustache and a penchant for shitty blues, so maybe it wasn't all a waste of your time...)

Also also: I work with this lovely young lady named James who has this band called Jane Vain & The Dark Matter that I was so hesitant to check out, because I kinda get tired of telling people things like, "No, your poetry DOESN'T make me wanna shoot myself in the head, you're really DEEP, y'know?", when in actuality all you wanna do is stop making friends so that no one can disappoint you any more, but anyway...I finally listened to it last week, and it's GOOD. Like, fucking good. It's one of those things that makes you view a friend in a new light, because as wonderful as you thought that person was, you never suspected that they had something as beautiful as this in them (I know that sounds like a backhanded compliment, but it's not, I'm just really surprised at how much I like this CD, so shut it.); I don't have a link, so just go buy the damned CD so that James can stop working at a coffee shop for minimum wage, okay? Thanks.

Also Cubed: y'know who's NOT good? At ALL? Anyone who's on the Juno soundtrack. No, really, fuck you. Those are songs you sing when you're making yourself a sandwich, or taking out the garbage, or adjusting the temperature before stepping into the shower. Those are songs you sing while taking a shit - "...well, I ate me an apple and it tasted kinda sour/now I gotta take a dump and I'm sittin' on the crapper/I might read the paper but I'm not sure I can reach it/and something smells in here!!!". Those are NOT songs that you record in a studio and then mix onto a CD and sell for $20 a pop at your local record store. No sir. I hate you, Juno Soundtrack, and I want you to die NOW. Thank you.

Also x 4: The Herbaliser featuring Trap Clappa, Cheech Marina, Daddy Mills, AK, MacGuyver and Jean Grae, Generals.

...oh, wait, no, my mistake - that's ALL Jean Grae, because she's SICK, that's why...

That's all for now; another former co-worker of mine (Jim Brown aka Rank Nubah aka what are you calling yourself this week?) dropped off his new CD a couple days ago, so now I gotta go listen to that, but it's okay because I've heard his stuff before and I like it and I'm sure this will be no exception. Plus, I gotta make mixes for both Amy and Rich because EVERYONE'S SO DEMANDING, so, go away now.

I love you?

"Angie Dickinson could suck the sorrow off a recent widow..."

2008-02-27T01:08:00.000-08:00

Right now, the couple who live beneath me are having very loud sex, and seem to have climaxed at least four times in the ten minutes that it's taken me to open the door, take off my shoes, beat the gimp, check my mail and then wonder what kind of satanic nipple-chewing was going on downstairs. I'm torn; see, part of me thinks, "Yay, team! Have lotsa sex! It's fun!", while another part of me thinks that if I'm not having it at this moment, then NO ONE ELSE IN THE WORLD gets to have any.

Of course, the next question is: do I put on the headphones and listen to very loud music in order to drown out the she-banshee below, or do I find the spot in my apartment with perfect acoustics and join in on my own?

I didn't say that...

Anyway: I have triumphed over the Evil Sickness that tried to take root in my sinuses (sinii?), using ancient methods of healing involving self-flagellation, rabid monkeys, a steam room and a picture of Alan Alda smoking crack. All of this has left me weak and feeble and unable to spoon my mashed-up Pop Tarts into the dry, filth-encrusted maw I use as a mouth, but I am Clean and Whole and No Longer Retching In Pain, which is a good thing.

Speaking of good things? The Assassination Of Jesse Jame By The Coward Robert Ford. One of the few cases where the movie is just as good as the book. See it now, or I will beat you with a wrench. I also forced the Ladyfriend to watch the first Die Hard movie (because she hadn't yet, which really bothers me, because everyone should see Alan Rickman as a brooding German corporate thief/terrorist...), and I think she liked it, but she's got a good poker face, so I can't really tell, but I'm still gonna make her watch the rest of the series, because John McClane, that's why.

Oh, by the way: Live Free Or Die Hard? RIDICULOUS. But, in a fun way, y'know? Bruce Willis punches a stealth bomber until it cries, but it's great because Kevin Smith plays the sheltered nerd we all know him to be; and also: Justin Long, who is funny just standing still.

That's all for now. I need to listen to this shiny new Patton Oswalt CD, which is what you get when you bring hot chocolate to the nice people at the record store.

OHOHOHOHOHOH!!!! I totally forgot to tell you guys! There's a computer they found in a Roman shipwreck, or something! It tells time better than a Rolex!

If any of my friends are within earshot: bring me meat and lots of it.

In Case You Were Wondering How I Felt About Mr. Zimmerman:

2008-02-25T20:49:00.001-08:00

I STILL think someone should invent a time machine for the sole purpose of going back in time and making sure that Bob Dylan's parents never meet. Met.

No, seriously: fuck that guy. Ya'll are just foolin' yerselves. He's a waste of your time; you're much better off listening to Van Morrison - who himself should be beaten with a piece of wood wrapped in barbed wire, but I can only work on destroying one undeserved legacy at a time, so we'll leave it at that.

Yes, I am still sick.

Now I must go eat pepper chicken and watch the tv stare back at me.

Still Somewhat Sick.

2008-02-25T03:25:00.000-08:00

My only comfort now is that everyone else seems to be suffering, too. Nothing beats cold sweat, constant shivering and involuntary diarrhea as a Great Equalizer.

This is just me whining; I figured that if I had to put up with this crap, so should the rest of you. I'll get back to posting more entertaining material soon, but in the meantime: if you haven't seen Paprika yet, you should, as it's nothing short of ASTONISHING, as you can probably tell from the opening credits here:

That is all. I have eaten many dried apricots, and must now go and befoul the bathroom.

No one will kiss you on the bus.

2008-02-18T08:16:00.000-08:00

Heylook stuff is actually happening in the world that has nothing to do with Brittany Lohan or The O.C.:

1. Kosovo declares independence from Serbia (which means that System Of A Down will probably be putting out three albums this year).

2. 14-day-old baby dies while held in customs in Honolulu.

3. Princess Diana's become the new JFK.

4. I'M SO SORRY I GAVE YOU THE HIV.

Now I must go to work, even though it's my SUNDAY, on my WEEKEND, because The Ladyfriend's feet have apparently disappeared. (It's okay, because I get to watch Pirates of the Caribbean 3 tonight, and she don't get to whine; oh, and guess what? Last night I made curry even though curry is, has always been, and will always be, GROSS.)

Okaybye.

Guh.

2008-02-16T03:15:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I seem to have fallen prey to The Clench once again, which means I expect the next eight hours to be filled with nothing but puking and shitting and generally feeling as though God stepped on me, causing me to get lodged into the treads of his New Balance Extreeeem cross-trainers (cuz, y'know, he wants to lose the love-handles...), so he's currently trying to dig me out using a rusty screwdriver which keeps jabbing me in the brain and triggering grand mal seizures that last for about thirty minutes and deprive me of any control over my bodily fluids.

Oh, and spiders. Always spiders.

So, um, until I find a holy man to beat these demons outta me, I'll be incommunicado for a couple of days. Don't come near me unless you know how to perform an exorcism.

(Ohbutlook it's the most amazing movie to come out this year even though it's still a couple of months away.)

Nobody mispronounces "Sodomania".

2008-02-12T02:49:00.000-08:00

I was gonna regale y'all with further tales of our prenatal class, as well as letcha know that I STARTED A CAR ALL BY MYSELF (it's a big thing for me, trust me...), but I've just finished watching four hours of non-stop Aqua-Teen Hunger Force, and I'm not sure that the human psyche was designed to survive such abuse. My brain feels as though it's trying to squeeze itself out through my pores like toothpaste, and I think that there are tiny salamander finger-puppets smoking crack in my ocular cavities. Also, I cooked a mean chicken dinner for the Ladyfriend earlier, but I'm pretty sure THAT actually happened, odd as it may sound.

Seriously; you could make a fortune selling this shit on the streets. I haven't felt this effed up since high school.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go smack my head against the wall until the hurting stops.

I AM NAMING MY DAUGHTER AFTER INDIANA JONES.

2008-02-07T01:38:00.000-08:00

I just have to point out here that after watching both 'Planet Of The Apes' and 'Beneath The Planet Of The Apes' last night (AWESOME, yes), I got to thinking about the Tim Burton version that came out a few years back that everyone dumped on, and y'know what? Screw y'all. That movie rocked. That last scene (I'm not gonna spoil anything here, as I've already spoiled the big reveal in Twin Peaks for my Ladyfriend and I feel like a big jerk for that...) was PERFECT.

Anyway.

I just wanted to throw this out there: am I completely crazy, wanting our daughter's middle name to be Indiana? See, it's not just that I think Indiana Jones is one of the coolest adventure heroes EVER (which he is...); it has more to do with the fact that he represents the idea of adventure itself, a concept that seems to be sorely lacking from modern life, the idea that the world can be mysterious and strange and dangerous, but also that it waits eagerly to be explored. I certainly don't expect Hazel to carry a bullwhip while fighting off zombies in ancient Mayan tombs (although, admit it: that'd be pretty effing COOL...), but I do hope that we can instill within her some curiosity towards her world, as well as the courage to step forward into whatever fray presents itself, and the foresight to know that the payoff is always worthwhile; and while I really don't put much stock in the whole "Mystical Naming Ritual", I think naming her (partly) after a college professor who PUNCHES NAZIS (always cool) in the name of scientific advancement and cultural understanding can't really be such a bad thing.

Plus, as the Ladyfriend puts it, Hazel Indiana Janzen sounds kinda pretty.

So, feedback please. I really need to know if I'm being entirely unreasonable here. Let me know if I've joined the ranks of nerds worldwide who've decided that their children are the new incarnations of Jedi Knights, dress them in robes and have them answer to silly multisyllabic monikers while practicing their FORCE exercises. If I've become that parent, then someone needs to hit me in the head with a shovel.

(Andy, for the last time: we're not naming her Shackleton.)

Childbirth Essentials Part 2: "I Am A Giant Ball Of Rage."

2008-02-05T13:24:00.000-08:00

That title's just a bit of creative visualization on the part of the Ladyfriend, who's been car-less during this whole prison-rape-masquerading-as-cold-weather debacle, as we sat in Bryn's car trying to hide the fact that we were eating fast food in the hospital parking lot from the other couples in our class, all of whom are PERFECT and FINANCIALLY BETTER THAN ME.

Anyway; stuff I learned this week:

1. No one wants to hear that the moment in your child's life that you're looking forward to is when you teach her how to ice up the parking lots in shopping malls.

2. Childbirth is all about PAIN.

3. We want our vaginas to become French Doors.

4. Childbirth is all about PAIN.

5. I am not allowed to faint; if I DO faint, I am not allowed to be a father anymore.

6. Did I mention the thing about PAIN? (Oh, and this week's Childbirth Essentials acronym is: Powerful/Purposeful, Anticipated, Intermittent, Normal. I know, it's nowhere near as funny as TACO.)

7. We are all Birth Tigers. Rawr. (No, really. Tigers. 'Cuz they can stop labour anytime they want by eating their young, or sumthin'...)

...and of course, the best line comes from the Ladyfriend, who, when noticing that our instructor had set up various stations around the room for practicing all the different massage positions that help with childbirth ("Woman sits straddling the chair, facing the wall; partner stands beside and/or behind while holding a duck. Woman puts right leg behind partner's left ear, eats a hamburger. Remember to breathe."), commented, "Christ, it's like the Kama Sutra meets The Stations Of The Cross."

Now I must go to work, while the Ladyfriend yells at the Wii for another eight hours.

Shh! My girlfriend is sleeping!

2008-02-03T01:04:00.000-08:00

Oh, fuck me silly.

Jeremy Davies is now on LOST?

This is the best television show EVER.

(Yes, I watched the premiere on the internet. I cannot wait another year and a half for the next season to come out, only to have all the surprises ruined for me by idiots who can't keep their mouths shut.

Which I have become, apparently.)

When you gaze into Bratz, they also gaze into you.

2008-01-30T00:19:00.000-08:00

So, because of the sub-arctic temperature currently sodomizing Calgary, someone thought it'd be a good idea to light the hair salon across the street from Beano on fire, which meant that for about half an hour, we were invaded by live-action versions of Bratz.

I must admit: when they're at the counter ordering their non-fat lactose-free goop, I sometimes have to keep myself from reaching over and poking their faces, just to see whether or not they're made out of plastic.

Luckily, it turned out that it was only their garbage bin in the alley that was on fire, so they were soon able to return to their hyperbaric chambers before their otherworldy skin-sacs burst and showered us with a poisonous rainbow of candy-coloured nail-polish and lip-gloss distilled from the crushed hopes and dreams of every little girl whose daddy wouldn't buy them a pony or call them 'Princess'.

Yes, I am an asshole.

Stuff:

1. On the Scientology front: apparently I am out of touch, as a group known as Anonymous has DECLARED WAR on the (alleged) Church of Scientology. Despite the casiotone inflection of the narrators, (or maybe because of it), these videos are creepy as fuck.

2. McDonald's has no idea what "I'd Hit It" means. Or else they want us to do really bad things to their cheeseburgers.

That's about it for now; anyone who likes good music should pick up Useless Trinkets, the new compilation by The Eels (or if you'd prefer, simply 'Eels'...). It features a cover of Prince's "I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man", as well as close to 50 other tunes to teach you how to be happy about depression. Also: the movie Sunshine, about people flying to the sun to try and blow it up so that it doesn't die? Fan-friggin'-tastic. Just try not to watch it with someone who constantly berates the qualifications of FICTIONAL CHARACTERS IN FICTIONAL SITUATIONS, i.e., "...see, none of these people would ever make it onto a spaceship, because none of them would get past the Psyche Tests..."; See, this is why people beat up pregnant ladies.

Oh, I am SO going to hell for that one...

Also also: Shauna, your mix-CD is ready. Now get off my back.

THINGS I LEARNDED AT OUR FIRST PRENATAL CLASS:

2008-01-29T00:23:00.000-08:00

1. The delivery room at the Foothills Hospital is on the fifth floor.

2. I am allowed to cut the umbilical cord if I want.

3. Contractions feel like holding onto an ice cube for about thirty seconds, but if you breathe properly it ain't so bad.

4. The acronym that helps you diagnose whether or not your pregger is going into labour is TACO (time, amount, colour, odour). Try not to giggle when your instructor uses it.

5. The vagina looks nothing like a stovepipe, but you can fit a baby through either one.

Other terms to remember:

1. "Giant ball of snot."

2. "Pinkish strings."

3. "Muconium."

4. "Stovepipe." (I couldn't get over this one.)

Also, apparently it's important to bring snacks.

The ladyfriend gets bonus points, though, for pointing at everyone in the room and stating, "Guess what? None of these people know how to use a condom!"

That is all. I will go shoot bunnies now.

I am THIS many years old.

2008-01-25T13:22:00.000-08:00

Here's a good way to start the day: DON'T have a dream where your girlfriend is lying in bed in her underwear with a guitar player named Mott Lee while you're driving around St. Louis with a street map from 1978 and an empty baby carseat and a dying cel phone, and while she's telling you about Mott's new band and how great it is and how they're gonna be the biggest band in the world, you're trying to get a word in about how you're lost and that there's a very good chance that you might've left the baby at the grocery store. That just don't feel good.

But anyway: yes I am old today. Let's stop talking about numbers and start talking about how my girlfriend is pretty much the best thing in the universe, NOT because she got me the Twin Peaks Box Set and a housecoat and underwear and even made me a scarf with her own hands, but because she listens to me (even when I'm not paying attention to what I'm saying), which is why she got me the Dvd and housecoat, etc - and that's as mushy as I'm gonna get, so, um, there.

Seriously: who names their kid Mott?
Stuff:

1. While this is somewhat horrifying, there's a small part of me that thinks that this show is less about making people choose between money and dignity, and more about forcing people to realize that sometimes the money isn't worth it..

...nah, I take that back; it's ALL horrific.

2. Acoustic Invisibility Cloak. Let me repeat that: Acoustic. Invisibility. Cloak.

3. Area 51 has a new name. Which is really dumb.

4. Apparently Bigfoot lives on Mars now.

That is all, as now I must go and serve ridiculous coffee beverages to people who have more money than sense and really only deserve to drink my spittle out of a used toilet bowl. It'll be fun.

(Lemme just say that if this man and his girlfriend invite you over for dinner, you should do so, as a great time will be had by all, and your belly will be full of good stuff.)

Y'all are brutalizing me.

2008-01-23T01:28:00.000-08:00

I've heard the phrase "Not My Problem" so many times today that I'm starting to think I'm living in an Ayn Rand novel; this is to say nothing of the fact that apparently it's perfectly acceptable in this city to completely ignore a pregnant lady who's on the side of a road trying to change her car's battery. Kudos, Calgary; no wonder no one wants to live here anymore.

(Thanks to Brandon, Grant, and Lee, all of whom actually helped my Ladyfriend out in her time of need. Each of you gets to be Jesus for a day, but without all the hurty parts.)

Of course, I'd probably feel a lot better if it hadn't taken me the entire day to realize that I'd put my underwear on backwards. I am a supergenius.

There ya go: my 100th post on Blogger. Happy bloggiversary or something. I'm gonna go celebrate by fighting psychotic rabbits for a while. The rest of you? You just sit there and think about what you've done.

This Is Where Chris Feels Kinda Bad For Making Fun Of People, But Then Remembers Why He's Doing It, So He Doesn't Feel So Bad After All.

2008-01-17T23:49:00.000-08:00

Okay, I wasn't gonna post this, as I'd already linked to a ridiculous Christian website a few days ago (here, if you missed it and you want to know why God hates you for being a one-armed drummer...), and as much as I think that it's a little foolish to make yourself and everyone else suffer in this life because God's gonna give you a gold-plated gun that shoots ice cream in the next life, I also think that everyone should be able to believe what they want, so long as it doesn't involve possessing the right to throw molotov cocktails into people's wombs, y'know? So, I was a little hesitant to play Mock The Christian Openly again, but then I read some of the quotes on this site, and my brain farted and began flying around the inside of my skull like a leaky balloon.

So, enjoy: Top 100 Quotes from Fundies Say The Darndest Things ('Fundies' being Fundamentalists; yeah, I was confused, too, as I thought fundies were some type of novelty underwear you'd get at those weird shops in malls that are always changing names yet continue to sell the same novelty shit that no one ever buys! I don't get it! It's like Satan opened a store that'd sell you your deepest, darkest desire, but then totally screwed up on guessing what people would want: "I know what you desire! A motorized sunflower that wears sunglasses and plays the ukulele while it does a hula dance! HAHAHAHAHAHA!")

(Okaybutanyway.)

Also: this is possibly the stupidest thing I've ever seen, but now that I've said that, I'm pretty sure I'll see something tomorrow that causes me to take the business end of a hammer to my head in order to stop the pain. Like the fact that someone needed to prove in court that a chimp is not a person.

Actually, no, the truck nuts are worse.

And also: seriously, I have a lot of respect for men and women who'll strap themselves into a big can and allow themselves to be basically exploded through the atmosphere into outer space where everything's all floaty and you can die because there's NO AIR (mainly because none of them would ever write a sentence like that...), and I'd like to think that whatever it is they're doin' up there is worth doin', as it usually ends up meaning I get to make waffles in my microwave or something equally as awesome, but: launching a paper airplane from a space station and watching it survive re-entry?

Really?

No, really?

And last but not least in the category of Insane People Saying Insane Things: Tom Cruise talks Scientology. Grab yourself some popcorn for this one, as it's ten minutes long, but it's worth it, even if it might make you double-bolt your doors to make sure the moonies don't break in to worship your spatula or something...

That's all for now. Got dishes to wash and orcs to kill. Go be somewhere else for a while.

We Are Now Wii.

2008-01-17T02:03:00.000-08:00

Yes, we have joined the cult of Wii. Expect much silliness to follow, and prepare to be amazed at how gigantic my forearms will soon become, as one cannot play a game of tennis or enjoy a boxing match on this thing without afterwards soothing one's tired muscles in a vat of thrice-warmed baby fat and regaining one's equilibrium by inhaling an entire tank of pure oxygen.

Dr. Punchy is coming to wreck your section, yo. Y'all best just give up now.

I'm Just Sayin'...

2008-01-15T23:50:00.000-08:00

Okay, MAYBE I'd asked her to wake me up at 1:00 so that I could get to work on time, and MAYBE she was just doing what I'd asked her to do, and MAYBE I'd already ignored her the first two times she came in to wake me; all I'm saying is that it's very RUDE to pull the covers off of me and remove them from the bedroom ENTIRELY, leaving me to shiver all fetal-like with nothing to use as a blanket except for dirty laundry and all the baby stuff that everyone's been so kind to donate to us. That's just the calling card of a great, big MEANIE.

Let me tell you, it's very hard to keep warm underneath a collection of onesies, sleeping caps, and baby booties.

BUT! I will forgive her, if only because she gave me three of my birthday presents early, which meant that Chris got some movies (Syriana, Starsky & Hutch, and a couple volumes of Ghost In The Shell) plus a book of essays by David Foster "I'm Gonna Pretty Much Vomit Onto The Page And You're Gonna Like It" Wallace. (Go on, TRY and read Infinite Jest. I DARE you.)

I will also forgive her because she drove me to work today, and because she's pretty and I like her, but YOU JUST WATCH YOURSELF LADY!

Also: we finished Season 3 of LOST; are you seriously trying to tell me that I'll have to wait another YEAR before Season 4 comes out (No, I will not watch it on TV, because that just hurts...)? Or, given the writer's strike, possibly longer?

Oh, this will NOT do at all...

Of course, this gives me and the Ladyfriend plenny o' time to argue over whether or not the castaways are all dead and the island is really Limbo, or that the island is a quantum mechanism that broadcasts certain numbers into the world to alter time and space so that the castaways had no choice but to be on that plane that crashed on the island because it needs human lives as data so that it can work towards a formula that describes our reality's entire existence.

Or, dinosaurs. Lots of 'em.

A couple of things:

1. Cappuccino Spycam: um...no. You do not want to see what we do with our hands while we make you your non-fat decaf sugar-free-vanilla latte (Or as we call it, a "Why Bother?"...). I yell at people on an hourly basis for making ridiculous requests of me ("Could you add about an inch of water, and then a dash of cinnamon, and then steam up about a thimble-full of rice milk to serve on the side? And then if it's not too much trouble, could you serve it to me on the back of one of those miniature ponies, and play some Barbara Streisand to accompany it's approach?"); what makes you think I won't be adding my own 'personal crema' to your drink while you're not looking? Do you really want to SEE that? Didn't think so...

2. Oh, fuck right off...

3. ....man, those cavemen sure were pretty,weren't they? This one gets a couple points simply because it has Rampaging War-Elephants, which are all kinds of awesome. The rest of it will be stupid beyond belief, but think about it: WAR-ELEPHANTS.

4. I want to be Patton Oswalt's winter wife.

That's all. I have to go make a CD for Shauna, and then pretend to be an Elf-Goblin for a couple of hours. Because I gave up on nerd-dom long ago. Really.

I am not now nor have I ever been a dwarf. So shut it.

2008-01-11T00:49:00.000-08:00

So. A bit of advice to those of you out there who might've been born without, I dunno, a brain: if you happen to be allergic to a certain substance, like, say, hazelnut, don't ask us to ADD hazelnut to your drink, leave the store, then call us back fifteen minutes later in a panic demanding to know why we would put such a life-threatening substance in your drink. Just, y'know, don't. We can do without that kind of grief.

See, I'm inclined to think that this is just natural selection at work, like this case here (no, Rachel, this is where you actually READ the link), but when I say stuff like that at work, everyone says I'm grumpy.

Sorry: work's been a little frustrating lately, as my night-shift partner-in-crime decided to go AWOL and build a pirate ship in Vancouver without telling anyone (jerk), so now I'm constantly surrounded by GURLS, who apparently have FEELINGS, which means I have to contain my naturally crude self, and causes me to relive Grade 12 Drama, where myself and Curt McKinstry were forced to deal with twelve teenage ladies whose, um, biological rhythms, shall we say, were in perfect sync for six months. Great times. Really.

(Dawn, Gina, Kyrsten and Laura: I'm only kidding. Please don't make my girlfriend stop having sex with me.)

Has everyone heard that new version of Sabbath's 'War Pigs' as done by those smug Californian jerks known as CAKE? Of course you haven't, because most of you have dismissed the fine fellows in CAKE as smug Californian jerks who are possible one ironic song away from appearing on that KOOKY ROCK BANDS OF THE MILLENIUM compilation K-Tel's got simmering on the back-burner for the next holiday rush. The thing is, those smug Californian jerks are fully aware that most people regard them this way, and are quite fine with the idea, as it doesn't take a supagenius to realize that sometimes we attach a bit to much importance to all these nancyboys with bad posture who play plonky sounds on out-of-tune instruments while pretending to call it art or whatever, and that sometimes it's okay for some smug Californian jerks to put out a collection of songs that, while it might not plumb the depths of your mortal soul, will still make you throw up the devil horns while you enjoy a second Long Island Iced Tea.

What I mean to say is: 'War Pigs'. Done by CAKE. Effing YES. They also do a FABULOUS cover of Kenny Rogers' 'Ruby (Don't Take Your Love To Town)', so, um, there.

Oh, and speaking of squonky sounds: that new Radiohead is top-notch. Isn't it great to listen to a band that doesn't start to suck after three albums?

Okay, some stuff:

1. While I do agree that these are pretty cool outfits, I also agree that by wearing them you're pretty much asking the police to beat you about the cranium with heavy objects: "Hey! Let's go out at night dressed as serial rapists!"

2. Apparently, God has given up hating fags and is now just focusing on goths. ("Find out why Goths are just as responsible for the Twin Towers attack, as those towel-headed cavemen in Afghanastan...For some strange reason we seem to get a lot of hatemail from Goths, when we have done nothing but try to help them. These freaks are pathetic." I WISH I could come up with stuff this funny.)

3. THIS IS THE MOST AWESOME WEBSITE EVER! LOOKIT WHAT I CAN MAKE IT DO!

4. The Post-Apocalyptic Workout; because you KNOW it's coming. (This came close to being the Most Awesome Website, but then I found Death By Led Zeppelin, and, really, who can argue with me?)

5. Warehouse 23. (Obviously NOT the Most Awesome Website, but still a lot of fun for when you just wanna waste time clicking, and clicking, and clicking...)

That's all I got for now. It's my brother's 28th birthday, so I gotta go compose a horrendously rude birthday note for him. Also I have lots of nerding out to do, as my Xbox ain't gonna play itself, although that'd be pretty cool if it could. Also also: I know I talked about these guys about a year ago, but if you're still not listening to Cloud Cult, then frankly I just don't know what to do with you.

Also:

2008-01-02T00:45:00.000-08:00

Apparently, being drunk means that I can no longer prevent myself from making pawing motions in the air with my hands at random intervals, as though I were chasing the bats away from my face, but had found myself possessed of tiny useless Tyrannosaurus Rex arms.

I cannot explain this, although I do believe that more wine might help.

I am coherent enough to realize that this is a silly way to ring in the new year, yet inebriated enough to not care.

Oops! I must get back to my chips!

In Which Chris Is Drunk ONCE AGAIN At His GirlFriend's Behest:

2008-01-01T23:53:00.000-08:00

All I'm saying is: you don't get to demand that I get drunk, simply because you are NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK, due to your being pregnant and whatnot, and then turn around and leave me alone to do nothing but watch more episodes of X-Files. I did not get here by myself; I seem to recall a rther cutelady urging me to polish off a bottle of wine in something like fifteemn minutes. You don't get to do this to me, only to pass out on me. This is not ALLOWED. This is twice in two nights, and it very reprehnsible. Reprehensible. There, I got it.

NOR do you get to offer all MY Christmas chocolates to any visiting friends who might be watching TV with you whilst I am slaving away at work on a holiday. This is simply NOT DONE. I do not care if the chocolate has nuts in it, which means I won't eat it anyway because putting nuts in chocolate is just WRONG. YOU don't get to offer my chocolate to ther people; that's MY job.

Also: I can't remember what else I had to say, so I'm going to drink the last of this wine, and watch more of X-Files, because it's not my fault that Scully is hot.

Good Day.

Reasons to be cheerful.

2007-12-30T20:36:00.000-08:00

Right. Cheerful? Sure.

This is just a quick update, as I seem to have succumbed to the new superflu that was created in some black-ops bio-weapon facility and released upon the unsuspecting public by android carriers wearing the guise of cherub-faced Christmas Carolers.

Did I spell 'carolers' right?

Whatever: my head hurts, my nose is leaking fluid like a corroded fuel pump, and my bowels seem to feel the need to vent themselves every three minutes or so. Everyone in my building seems to have heat except for me, and I forgot all my Christmas chocolate at my girlfriend's house. Man, this sucks.

However: I did have an awesome Christmas, the highlights being:

- spending Christmas Eve at the Brown household, where my ladyfriend was introduced to just how insane MY friends are ("Let's ALL go hang out in the garage and leave your mother-in-law by herself in the living room watching The Godfather on TV! YES!"); a brief clip of it is here, although in retrospect, I don't know why found this so hilarious. (Best Present: they got me a rubber chicken that pops an egg out of it's butt when you squeeze it. It's really gross, so while it amused me when I was drunk, now it just disturbs me...)

- spending Christmas Day with Miss Ess (I'm not allowed to call her Crazy any more, since she's infected with my seed...), and watching her open presents and stuff. Honestly, I'm happy with what I got, but it was really cool to see her enjoying the day, too. I took pictures, but she's wearing my unnerwear in 'em, so you don't get to see. (Best Present: Bioshock, that AWESOME game that I've been talking about all year, where you fight mutated little girls and giant diving suits in a disaster-struck underwater city; now if only my computer could run the damned thing...)

- seeing Big Clint on his way through town. Holy crap, is that man the epitome of Good Shit. I kid you not. It's like having a big ol' grizzly bear as a best friend, only not the gay kind, and the bear keeps making all sorts of rude comments about boobs and butts, but in a non-offensive way. If that makes any sense. Which it probably doesn't. Because I am sick and dumb right now. (Best Present: he bought me a copy of The League Of Extraordinary Gentleman: The Black Dossier, which isn't even available in Canada due to an enormous amount of copyright issues; it took me six hours to read (understand: I go through comics like they were toilet paper...ewww...), it comes with 3-D glasses, and it ROCKS.)

- oh, also: the baby is kicking, just not when I'm around.

- also: my mom gets props for sending us a whole schwack of baby stuff. We love you, Mom! Please don't break any more bones!

My bowels are arguing with me again, so I must go violate my toilet. Then it's an evening of chicken noodle soup, neo-citran and more X-Files. Happy New Something. Now leave me alone.

Everyone said she was beautiful, even without her head.

2007-12-21T02:01:00.000-08:00

Sometimes all you need is a bit of Cracker to realize that as bad as things might seem, they could always be worse. God bless you, David Lowery; it takes a wiser man than I to realize that even skinheads need recreation, too.

So. Christmas. Anyone else feel like just giving it a pass this year and sleeping in for a couple of days? Nothing like a misappropriated holiday to turn the usual bunch of mouth-breathers that I deal with on a daily basis into raving coprophiliac monkey-children. Attention Jerkfaces: it's not my fault that the stores are out of Nintendo's Guitar Groupie Hero With Real Fellating Action that your kid's been whining for since last April. It's not my fault that the stores know to jack their prices during this time of year, or that they force their employees to sport limp felt gnome caps and glow-in-the-dark noses*, nor is my fault that every stereo system in the city seems programmed to play Billy Ocean's Funky Fresh Christmas featuring Amy "I'm A Christian For Real This Time" Grant and Micheal "My Golden Voice Was Created In A Lab By The Same Evil Minds That Brought You Napalm And Micheal Jackson's Weird Skin Disease" Buble. I can understand why all of this would drive you to take an icepick to your frontal lobe, but it's not my fault. Hell, I only serve coffee, and while I may not be the best at it, I'm not too shabby, so take your misdirected petulance elsewhere, or I'll brain you with a portafilter. I swear, you should all be spayed and neutered and kept in cages like stray animals.

I'm gonna have a daughter soon, and I promise that every year around this time, I'll take her out and teach her how to ice down the parking lots of malls.

Rant over. Stuff:

1. One More Sign Of The Decline Of The American Empire: The Lakota Indians withdrawing from every treaty they hold with the United States.

I have no words aside from: HOLY CRAP.

2. Why does it not surprise me that Scott Baio is 45 and single? Why would any network think people would want to watch this?

Oh. That's right.

3. New Batman Trailer: dude, I can barely stop from touching myself in anticipation.

4. NEW HELLBOY MOVIE??? Okay, I just exploded.

5. Found: the missing link between Raccoon and Whale. Wait, what? Was anyone actually looking for this? Really?

'kay, I gotta go. I gots presents to wrap (cuz despite my rant, I do loves me the season), gin to drink and more X-Files to watch. Hey, Chris Carter, could you maybe write another episode where Mulder finds his sister and then promptly loses her, or where Scully rediscovers and then questions her faith in God?** Because those ones NEVER get tired.

* ...um, stay away from Beano on Christmas Eve. Please.

**This would actually be funny if the show hadn't ended, like, years ago.

(This is my whiny voice)

2007-12-13T23:53:00.000-08:00

I am sick. It is not pleasant. I am not impressed.

Stuff:

1. OH. YES.

2. Just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not in your head selling you Nike sneakers.

3. There's a giant hole in the universe, and I bet that's where all my apartment's heat went to.

4. Viral marketing for either: a) Mark Millar's upcoming title, Kick-Ass, wherein a teenager decides to become a superhero by putting on a mask, grabbing a baseball bat and then looking for trouble, or b) the imminent Watchmen movie; either way, meh.

5. Oh, by the way, that hole in the universe? Warren Ellis knows what it is.

That is all. I am going to immerse myself in a giant cauldron chicken noodle soup and neo-citran, and hope that when I wake tomorrow, I won't feel like a giant bag of turds.

Honestly, I hit her cuz I love her.

2007-12-11T08:34:00.000-08:00

I am the worst person ever.

So, my girlfriend decides to be nice to me, and she says, "Hey, why don't you come sleep over at MY apartment tonight, because your apartment is sometimes cold, and it'd be nice to cuddle and stuff, and it'll be fun!"

So what do I do? I spend all night beating the crap out of her.

I swear, every time I shifted in bed, I ended up punching her in the head, or kicking her, or accidentally stepping on her belly, or headbutting her. I am SUCH a jerk, and I guarantee that my little girl's gonna clock me the moment she escapes the womb.

Of course, I suppose I could feel worse; after all, I'm still making her drive me to Diner Deluxe so's I can eats me my steak and eggs.

In other news: Twyla? It's WINTER. It's supposed to be COLD. This is why when it gets gross and slushy out, we STOP wearing our Converse burlap sacks on our feet and START wearing winter boots and other such apparel. Jeez, woman...

Rod Stewart is not mentioned once in this blog, and I like it that way.

2007-12-08T01:45:00.000-08:00

I'm alittle drunk.

It's been a while since I got myself a little drunk, probably since the last time I had a drink, the Crazy Lady made me crawl out of bed and brush my teeth because all she could smell on my breath when she kissed me was gin. Poor me.

It's all Josh and Kade's fault. They would not relent in pushing drinks down my gullet. I am the victim here. Even though they are botha delight to carouse with, I am clearly being taken advantage of.

I wanted to show you this silliness, and then this ridiculousness, and then this. But now I have to go shave my beard and my head, because I have to work EARLY tomorrow (1:00 in the AFTERNOON!! Who gets up that eraly? I mean early. Yes.), and then I must be presentable for our staff Christmas party, for which I must wear a suit.

It's true: I will be pretty tomorrow.

'Irregardless' is not a word. Stop using it. That is all.

A few things before I immerse myself in TV addiction:

2007-12-06T23:32:00.000-08:00

Apparently, God hates the world. Personally, were I some omnipotent being who'd granted consciousness and free will to a species that would eventually turn around and create something like this video, I'd start thinking about going back to the drawing board myself.

I think my favourite moment is about halfway through, when someone starts waving an upside-down Canadian flag in the background. I can't tell if it's supposed to be some sort of ridiculous insult, or if it's just a dimwitted Canadian showing his gap-toothed pride for all to see.

(Of course I found this on Warren Ellis' site; I'm quite certain his site is designed to be the internet version of a strong cup of coffee, something to shock you into wakefulness by punching you in the back of the head while squeezing your balls at the same time.)
Heylookit'sthenewBatmanposter.

...yes, it makes me happy. I don't care if Clint thinks that Heath Ledger is "a dog's breakfast" (Clint started using this phrase after he'd gotten back from Australia, and frankly, I don't get it, as most dogs eat better than I do...); Ledger looks good. Plus, it's Christopher Nolan, so it's gonna rock. Shut up, you.
That's all fer now. I gots new CDs to listen to (The Summerlad, Unkle, Vitalic, some new Southern Lord group called Shipwreck A.D., plus this new project called Tusk that features three-quarters of Pelican with a Japanese vocalist, all of which equals awesomeness), and that X-Files stuff won't watch itself, y'know...

OOPS.

2007-12-06T03:00:00.000-08:00

This post has been edited at the behest of on Joshua Barsky, Esq.

Just sayin'.

"My friend Chris: good at video games, bad at life."

2007-12-02T01:39:00.000-08:00

Honestly, I'd like to regale y'all about:

1. Josh and I locking Jared in the closet/staff room at work for about fifteen minutes, where he sat and took pictures with my camera and then ended up stealing Josh's pack of smokes.

2. Josh yelling at a homeless crackhead who, in his own words, "...spent more money on drugs in a week than you do on rent in a month, and I got an IQ of 1280 so I'm smarter than alla you combined so I'll order my coffee and pay for it and then it better be ready for me when I get outta the bathroom...", while Josh tried to snatch the bathroom key out of his hands with the baking tongs.

3. Jared accidentally smashing a pint glass over the espresso machine so badly that we were picking shards out of the coffee grinders, while Josh freaked out over "FIBRE-glass! Make sure you get all of the tiny ones!".

4. Nearly getting into a fight with a mohawked redneck who was, well, looking for a fight, as we walked to Watchman's after work (Wait...Watchman's, a redneck bar that without fail starts playing Korn and other shite Drop-D bands as soon as it hits 1:00 a.m.? We really gotta stop going there...), who then inexplicably called us 'niggers'. (No, really. He did. I don't get it either...)

5. Kade asking all of us what hobbies we all enjoyed when we were kids, and me realizing that my entire life has been a comedy of errors up to this point. "...well, yeah, I told my friends that there was a ghost haunting my bedroom, and that the ghost was this kid who'd died in the house before we moved in, even though my family was the first to live in that house, but that was after I'd shot that eagle with a BB gun, and our family had two different puppies that'd been shot by farmers, and did I mention that Rob and I think we gave our cat asthma?"

(Sweet Jesus; how have I managed to not accidentally walk into traffic all this time? Why hasn't some piano fallen on my head yet? How am I still alive?)

I'd like to talk about all of these, but frankly,
I'm tired, my apartment is cold, and I wanna go to bed. So, um, talk amongst yourselves.

Hello There.

2007-11-29T08:42:00.000-08:00

This is my baby girl. She's got ten toes and ten fingers and a vagina, and alla you boys better stay away from her. Here she is yawning, so you can tell she's as lazy as me.

I am SO screwed.

Stuff.

2007-11-26T23:41:00.000-08:00

Man, my girlfriend smelled good yesterday. Y'know how sometimes you just gotta say things out loud that probably shouldn't be said, but you do it anyway just so that other people can know how good something is, even if it's none of their business? That's all I'm doing here.

That is not to say that she did not smell good today. Because she did, but yesterday? Man oh man.

Sorry. I'm rambling. I'm also busy makin' mix-tapes, and by '-tapes' I mean '-CDs', but 'mix-CDs' just doesn't roll off the tongue as easily as 'mix-tapes', so mix-tapes it is. On CD, though. Whatever. The point is, I'm busy, makin' stuff for the Crazy Lady's birthday, and one of the gifts I've got in mind is something I kinda need help on, as I know what I want but not where to get it, and I can't say exactly what it is because she's probably reading this AS WE SPEAK, because she's a mutant that way. SHE KNOWS ALL.

I s'pose I'll figure it out, me being a grown-up and all. Oh, life! Why must you vex me so?

Anyway. The next two of three hours will be spent putting awesome sounds together to make 'em even more awesome (or, if you'd like, awesome-ER...) than they were before I got my hands on 'em, so I'll just leave you with this wonderful site devoted to explaining how the bible is all about UFOs.

Be good. God is watching from his spaceship, and he's probably not happy with what you're doing.

This is where I link to stuff instead of coming up with actual words.

2007-11-24T00:45:00.000-08:00

1. Oh My Dear Jesus What? (also known as: "Please Chuck Norris Just Die Already")

2. ...and to think that in my spare time, all I do is play video games and read comics...

3. Okay, the cynical part of me wants to call this "Blair Witch: Godzilla", but I'm actually really interested to see what this is about, and large-scale disaster movies make me go all tingly inside (with the exception of anything done by Michael Bay, otherwise known as The Great Satan.).

4. Please tell me I'm not the only one repulsed by the idea of Christian Slater as Moses.

5. Ben Stein Vs. Darwinism. (This one's a few months old; I honestly don't know what to say, other than: Ben Stein kinda scares me.)

That is all, except for this: yes, Jeremy, I AM a wizard, my secret Wizard name is Sinistar the Destroyer, and I will set your beard on fire by shooting lightning bolts from my fingertips, and no amount of unicorns will save you.

Things I Am Currently Doing:

2007-11-23T02:09:00.000-08:00

I am currently wearing brand new unnerpants, and they feel great.

I am also currently watching a ridiculous show on TV called MANswers, a program that seems devoted to answering lifelong imponderables such as "How much beer can a dude drink in one night before he dies?" and "Is it okay to do a chick while she's sleeping?". Thank you, Spike TV, for proving to me that the lowest common denominator can always be lowered further.

I am also currently recovering from a night of snarky co-workers (I can't believe I used the word 'snarky'...), chest pains, yuppie douchebags, snotty crustpunks, cuntish barstars, and a pair of alleged alchemists who asked me if I was a WIZARD because of my 'occultish' tattoos. No, they were serious. Also: I have cookie dough on my arms, I've just opened my foot up while looking for a splinter with a pair of nail-clippers, I still have a chunk of glass under my finger from about a month ago, and I'm just feeling generally cranky.

Still: I have brand new unnerwear. Honestly, they are SO comfortable.

Plus I have the brand new Gorillaz CD (D-Sides), which is actually two discs worth of extra songs and remixes by the likes of DFA, Soulwax and Hot Chip. I also have the new Rockstar game, Manhunt 2 (the first game in this series being refreshing in the sense that it didn't mollycoddle you into thinking it was okay to commit murder on such a mass scale, like, say, EVERY OTHER GAME EVER CREATED, i.e., "Your opponents are Evil, therefore it's not only Okay, it's Essential that you Dispatch them as Messily as possible..."), which I'm not about to play until a) I'm in a better state of mind, and b) I finish the other games I got, mainly a new Spiderman game (because Spiderman is so cool that I'm actually considering naming the kid after him) and a new Tony Hawk game (from the franchise that helps me deny my thirty-four-year-old existence by allowing me to think that I could kickflip into a manual while grinding a set of stairs in the middle of downtown Tokyo like it ain't no thang...). ALSO!

I am still recovering from Ween.

Understand: seeing Ween live defies description. Even if all you know of them is this, you still owe it to yourself to see them live; they are that good. In a venue that boasts more than one gigantic stone Calgary Flames logo descending from the ceiling (seriously, those things FREAKED ME OUT), these guys managed to stay the centre of attention for two-and-a-half hours. Plus, they played Doctor Rock, and they finished with a version of Prince's L.M.L.Y.P. that lasted for thirty goddamned minutes. Ask Josh; they are serious ROCK GODS.

I am also currently listening to Nine Inch Nails new CD, Year Zero Remixed (or Y34RZ3R0R3M1X3D, for those of you fluent in l33tsp33k...(nerds)), and it features Saul Williams, Ladytron and Bill Laswell, as well as the two members of New Order that no one remembers, and it sounds better than both Year Zero and Saul Williams' 'Niggy Tardust...' combined. Weird.

Other new CDs: Sole, ...and The Skyrider Band (more weird white boy hip-hop frm Anticon); The Be Good Tanyas, Hello Love (cuz I'm a sucker for female vocals...); and Well Deep: 10 Years of Big Dada Recordings (because anything with Roots Manuva, Diplo AND King Geedorah must be owned and cherished and kept hidden away from sheep who think The Black Eyed Peas have anything to do with hip-hop anymore...).

Also: I should mention that I have a pregnant girlfriend who is pretty and smart and smells nice and puts up with my ranting with enormous patience, especially when I sulk at her lack of enthusiasm after I point out every time I buy a CD that it's THE GREATEST CD EVER MADE (I'm sorrry, I get excited, y'know?). I heart you long time.

I am now currently going to play video games in my brand new unnerpants until the sun comes up, because I'm allowed. Thpppppt.

I'm naming the kid 'Albuquerque El Dorado'. Just SEE if I don't.

2007-11-16T00:24:00.000-08:00

I have to make this quick, as tomorrow I am working a day shift (otherwise known as UNTHINKABLE HORROR) for Jared so that I might go enjoy the festivities that is Ween. 8:00 a.m., yo. What. The fuck. I honestly believe that the world should be turned off between the hours of 6 a.m. to noon. Still, I am imagining this to be a Great Adventure, full of action and romance and suspense and maybe a few ancient curses that bring mummies back to life, and of course monkeys with bows and arrows and jetpacks. If I think this way, the day will not turn out to be a giant bag of suck. Also it will help if I refrain from playing stupid internettery games til the sun comes up.

But Ween. Ah, Ween. Push th'little daisies, yo.

1. The new Hives CD (The Black & White Album) sounds exactly like the last Hives CD, which isn't altogether a bad thing, as The Hives specialize in straightforward garage rawk that makes one shake one's boot-ay like it ain't no thang.

2. The new Bran Van 3000 (Rose) has possibly three good songs on it. That's all. No, wait, make that two good songs.

3. The new Monster Magnet (4-Way Diablo) is, again, pretty much like the last few Monster Magnet releases, which, again, isn't a bad thing either, as there's always a place in this world for rock'n'roll based on sex, drugs, and monolithic demon-gods that eat planets and have sex with volcanoes; Jared had the gall to call them Goth, but then Jared won't listen to anything that was played on an instrument that uses electricity, because apparently that causes the music to lack any sort of authenticity. I think Jared's just afraid of rock and/or roll, and is afraid of allowing himself to have a good time, and should perhaps put a bit of meat on his bones before he blows away in the next windstorm.

Plus, Jared used to listen to Disturbed in high school, as though that band were anything but a steaming pile of feces.

I still love him, though, as I love all my wayward children that deserve clouts to the head.

Off to bed now. If you come bother me at work tomorrow, I might quite well just eat your eyes straight out of their sockets.

JASON PRIESTLY ONCE BOUGHT COFFEE FROM SOMEONE I KNOW OHMIGOD I ALMOST TOUCHED HIM*

2007-11-12T23:52:00.000-08:00

I think it's kinda creepy that, while watching a new episode of The Simpsons, moments after The Crazy Lady comments on how there's a difference between the Danish Van Houtens and the Dutch Van Houtens, the show itself starts making jokes about that same difference.

I mean, what? Who thinks about stuff like that?**

Movies I Just Seen.

Transformers:
Y'know, I just wish people would stop letting Michael Bay make movies. I just, y'know, wish. So much. Because, GAWD. Y'know? This could've been SO cool.

Instead, we get three hours of bright, fiery explosions and blurry shots of spinny, spiky robots, all of which I'm sure is there to shock you into forgetting that with even a story as simple as GOOD ROBOTS FIGHT THE BAD ONES, Micheal Bay screws it up. I'm also fairly certain that this was intended to be a semi-subliminal ad for the U.S. Army, but even thinking that means that spy satellites are now converging on my location, so I'll leave that one alone.

Understand: as cool as the cartoon was, it was pretty dumb, yet it was still better than this.

28 Weeks Later:
Not bad at all. I still maintain that fast zombies are scarier than slow ones, and that any zombie movie is good movie.

(I lie: Resident Evil 2 and Land Of The Dead were both atrocious, despite the latter's inclusion of one Alan Van Sprang, who makes things awesome simply by being in them, even though he usually gets killed off really quickly and has lines as memorable as "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!", but I went to school with him, so I think it's fun, so shut up. Where was I? Zombie movies! Right.)

I dunno; the whole opening, with Robert Carlyle leaving his wife behind to get eaten? That was pretty intense; and all that business of his kids having some kinda genetic immunity to the Rage virus would've been interesting, had the filmmakers not abandoned the plot-line halfway through the movie. Still: zombies = unlimited cool.

Movies That Are Coming Out That I Really Wanna See Despite Being Disappointed Time & Again By Movie Producers.

1. I heart Robert Downey Jr.

2. The Mist is possibly the best short story ever written, and while Stephen King's got a horrible track record when it comes to his book-to-film career, this one's by the guy who done did Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile, so, um, there.

Plus, it's like The Fog, but without John Carpenter to screw it up!

3. Strangely enough, the actor I have the least of a problem with in Southland Tales is Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson. Normally, I'd avoid anything starring Justin Timberlake and Sarah (The Fake Buffy) Michelle Gellar, but it's David Kelly channeling Phillip K. Dick, so colour me excited.

4. Wristcutters: this reminds of an idea my friend Evan asked me to explore about a guy who finds out that he's got a terminal disease and so spends the entire movie trying to kill himself; I came up with about forty pages of script before he told me that he stole the idea from an old Burt Reynolds film.

I have no idea what any of this has to do with Wristcutters, but there ya go. It looks funny.

5. I heart the Coen Brothers. (Even though Ladykillers SUCKED.)

I gots me comics t'read and albums t'upload, so I must go. Plus, that 3rd Season of Deadwood ain't gonna finish watchin' itself.

* yes, it's true, he bought coffee at Beano maybe two weeks ago, and all the girls just went billy at the sight of him. Me, however? I HATED 90210, almost as much as I hate everything DeGrassi.

**aside from really cute girls who are cute and have cute butts and are carrying my unborn child and possess gobs of patience when dealing with boyfriends who don't know their Welsh from their Cornish or vice versa, that is. Please don't stop having sex with me.

I'm gonna name it 'Ironhide'.

2007-11-12T20:36:00.000-08:00

A quick word on the subject of baby names:

No. Not Bronson. We are not naming the child after a poor man's Clint Eastwood. Not even if you let me add 'Indiana' to it. We'll just have to find some other hairy-chested 70's action hero to name it after.

Now I'm gonna go watch Transformers, cuz big rampaging robots are cool.

I apologize in advance for the swearing.

2007-11-10T13:33:00.000-08:00

Okay, I know I haven't kept in touch. It's not you, baby, it's me. I just need my space, y'know? I only hit you because I love you...

...I didn't say that.

Just some quick things:

1. I am extremely disappointed in this new Saul Williams ("The Inevitable Rise & Liberation Of Niggy Tardust"; no, I am NOT joking); mainly it has to do with Trent Reznor's heavy-handed production (which wouldn't be so bad, if only he'd give Williams some new melodies to play with, instead of re-hashing previous NIN songs...), but Saul himself seems to have come out with a half-formed concept album here (look at that title: like this ISN'T some examination of white America's porn-like interest in black culture/black America's discomfort with and inability to truly celebrate it's own heroes...). I have to give it another listen, as it's Saul Williams, who is AMAZING, and I'm certain that there's something salvageable here, but so far it sounds uninspired and mediocre.

Understand: I don't hate Trent Reznor the way most of you seem to (even though you ALL bought a copy of The Downward Spiral back in 1991, you pack of liars, you...); I just don't think this venture worked out well for either of the two. Williams' delivery is better suited to the spoken word/hip-hop genre as opposed to this over-emotive rock-star caterwauling that permeates this disc, and that cover of Sunday Bloody Sunday is horrendous, both in it's execution and in the simple fact that it's a U2 song. Bono: fuck off.

Still: there are moments towards the end, when Saul is channeling his inner-gangsta/street mystic ('Scared Money' is actually quite good), where you're reminded that Williams can be devastating important, simply by reaching in and pulling the truth out of your own head and holding it up to the light.

2. Deadwood, Season 3, Epsiode 5: that fight between Dan and The Captain?

Holy FUCK.

There are no other words.

3. I have no phone, as Telus is a big bag of dicks, so I apologize to anyone who might be trying to get in touch with me. I will have satisfaction, don't you worry...

That's about it. Gotta go serve caffeine to people who have too much money and not enough sense.

I cannot feed the kid books or cds because it will die and that will make me a bad father.

2007-11-03T02:39:00.000-07:00

So.

It seems I have a lot of what we like to call 'stuff'. Books, Cds, Dvds, etc. No, really, working for six years at a second-hand book store, and then three years at a music store...well, it piles up. So much so that when you ask people if they want to help you move, they tend to pretend that they didn't hear the question.

(All kidding aside: thanks again to all of you who helped, and I totally understand that everyone else had other shit to do, as it was Halloween, and it's much more fun to run around pretending to be Zombies or Robots or (my favourite) Random Drunk People. I still love all of you. Except for YOU. You know who you are...)

So. I gotta do something. See, as much as I love the idea of having the largest media library this side of Alexandria, I gots bigger concerns coming up, so I gotta pare some of this down. Here's my plan so far:

1. Upload all of the 2000 Cds (no, really, how in Jeebus' name did this happen?) onto my computer, so that I can just keep the actual Cds in storage and pawn them all off in the event of an emergency, as a few of my friends might recall me doing a few years back when I was unemployed and relying on Hot Wax Records to pay my rent. Dude: at four or five bucks a pop, that shit adds up.

(Cds that I'm ripping as we speak: Quantic, One Off's, Remixes & B-Sides (nu-soul trip-hop featuring people like Mr. Scruff and Bathysphere); Puscifer, V Is For Vagina (Oh, Maynard...because no one can be as serious as Tool usually is forever...); Boris, Pink (I heart Japanese metal); Guided By Voices, Human Amusements At Hourly Rates (Robert Pollard has written 500 of the best pop hooks ever, even if they only last for 40 seconds at a time...); Eels, Souljacker (wherein the artist only known as 'E' revels in his Unabomber look); Quannum, Solesides: Greatest Bumps (the early years of DJ Shadow, Blackalicious AND Latyrx? Yes, please...); Sixtoo, Jackals & Vipers In Envy Of Man; Mogwai, Mr. Beast (epic Scottish shoegazer wankery); Pelican, Australasia (see Mogwai, only heavier and more epic; this is what we call an Essential Album, because if you do not own this then I cannot be your friend).

Whew.)

2. Read the first ten pages of every book I currently own but haven't even cracked (I'm not even bothering with counting how many I have, as the answer is obviously: TOO MANY.), and if it hasn't hooked me by that point, then too effin' bad. Also: lose some of the hardcovers I've gathered, as Hardcovers are heavy and get torn up and after a while you can find it in softcover and do I really need all of Clive Barker's stuff in both? Or Timothey Findley's? Or Douglas Coupland/Neal Stephenson/Irvine Welsh/Jeanette Winterson/Insert Your Favourite Author Here? And why the hell do I have so much Michael Ondaatje? I've only read The Collected Works Of Billy The Kid, and even then I only kinda liked it...

No one touches my William Gibson or my Palahniuk, though. Those are MINE.

(Books I've started tonight: Seven Serpents & Seven Moons by Demetrio Aguilera-Malta, which is supposed to be in the 'magical realism' tradition of Gabriel Garcia-Marquez (again, who I have but have yet to read; what the hell is wrong with me?) and already has two pygmies swordfighting with their unbelievably huge penises over a sleeping virgin who has a silver moon in her belly within the first five pages, so, um, yeah, I'm hooked; and The Pleasantries of the Incredible Mulla Nasrudin by Idries Shah, which seems to be a collection of Sufi fables and stories while professing not to be related to Sufism at all, and it reads like a cross between Confucious and Mr. Bean while hinting that it's best to read it seven stories at a time, so while I might still be an ignorant white boy, colour me intrigued.

Damn. I'm never gonna get rid of any of these.)

3. Hope that some long-lost relative enters my life and offers me the use of their entire house as a storage facility for free, forever, until time stops in the year 2012 and the hyperdimensional machine elves step through the space-time membrane and hit the fast-forward button on our evolutionary remote controls so that we become one united enlightened species that travel through space using the power of MIND-RAYS and no longer concern ourselves with all this useless stuff that we use to validate our singular existences.

4. Stop buying every piece of crap that catches my eye/ear/frontal lobe/fancy.

Yeah, that'll happen...

Still: I'm committed. Here's to six months of intense multi-media immersion, as well as prenatal classes, financial finagling, and outright full-blown insanity. Oh, and alcohol. This is gonna be fun, though, because the Crazy Lady's worth it.

Bonus Interactive Bloggitry Section: if you see me in a store of any kind about to drop a wad of cash on some unbelievably stupid compendium of useless knowledge and/or combination of ridiculous words and concepts written by some pretentious literati who, in other saner, more violent societies, would be dragged into the street and beaten by small children with pointed sticks, feel free to huck a rock at me, for I am probably being my usual moronic self.

That is all.

Slap that baby.

2007-11-02T13:15:00.000-07:00

I am moved. I no longer live in the clutches of a slumlord. Now I live in a labyrinth of boxes, and I fear I may never find my front door again and David Bowie keeps popping up in tights and stupid hair, offering to show me his skills at fondling glass balls, but at least I gots me internettery, so that I might look at porn and videos of drunk people imitating Jackass, and I'm pretty sure I gots me some cookies, too.

(This is where I say thank you to Marley, Bruce, Tarl, Jared, Josh and Sophie, because you guys are possibly the best people in the world and I want to buy each of you a puppy who poops gold. Special extra thanks to Marley for not hitting anyone with the U-Haul despite the many opportunities we were offered, and to Bruce for buying pizza and not letting me pay, even though I'm gonna sneak a couple twenties into his pocket when we're both at work and he's not looking.)

(Oh, and thanks to the Crazy Lady for putting up withe my shit when we were all done. I heart you long time.)

I like my new place. Even though it's only for a few months, it's already doing my head a world of good, plus my bathroom is the COOLEST.

Now I will sleep for at least a week. Brilliance and talking of monkey-zombies and punching people shall resume then.

Holy Effin Eff.

2007-10-27T05:40:00.000-07:00

The new Holy Fuck (yes, that's their name, we all think it's cool so stop hyperventilating...) is gloriously blissful and sexy and funky and hyperactive and psychedelic and basically makes me wanna shake my booty despite my obvious Aryan heritage, and it's all done by a few guys ripping the guts out of their old Coleco systems and Texas Instruments computers and illegal police scanners and wiring it all up together and making it squeal like an electronic Frankenstein piggy on cherry-flavoured meth that watches Trainspotting seven times a day.

Goddamn; not bad for a former member of Blue Rodeo, huh?

Hey, look, they gots a video, too:

That's all for now, as I must pack and pack and pack while listening to all kindsa new music; why didn't anyone tell me that there was a new Prefuse 73, or a new Underworld, or a new Peanut Butter Wolf, or...okay, see? This is why I gotta stop. Now. Go away, or I'll punch you. I got STUFF to do.

State-Of-The-Badass-Art.

2007-10-22T01:31:00.000-07:00

Okay, so Brandon dropped off about five boxes worth of baby stuff for when the little creature pops out and rewrites our lives, and we were going through the stuff and cooing over the little onesies and sleeping caps and booties and whatnot (Rachel was cooing. I do not coo. I roar. Because I am a MAN. Sometimes I growl, and other times I mutter, but I do not coo, and anyone who tells you different is a goddamned liar), when I found one of those harnesses that lets you strap the kid to your chest, and I tried it on, and instead of being some dumb earth-first neo-hippy-ish "lemme bathe my kid in bottled placental waters while I chow down on it's dried up umbilical cord in some lame gesture of new-age fatherhood while some guru teaches Mom how to paint visions of primal scream therapy with her own feces" sort of contraption, this thing had buckles and snaps and ziplines and mesh parts and velcro and it was black and silver, and I swear to god, I felt like one of those Colonial Marines from Aliens...

...only without the whole "getting scarred by acidic blood and ripped apart by weird pseudosexual alien critters and eventually having eggs laid inside my belly so that it can burst out when it needs to feed" trip...um, on second thought, let's hope the Crazy Lady doesn't read that part.

Anyway: it felt cool, and I felt a little better about the fact that I can still play video games and read comics and maybe sometimes act out epic sagas with my Hellboy and Preacher action figures (Lobster Johnson vs. The Saint of Killers!!! The Big Red Goon himself vs. Jesse Custer, with play-by-play commentary by Spider Jerusalem and his two-faced cat!!! The Tick vs. a Rubik's Cube!!!), while at the same time being a DAD.

Of course, I'll feel even more comfortable once I figure out a way to attach a 10mm M41A Pulse Rifle with an over-and-under 30mm Pump Action Grenade Launcher to it.

In other news: walking downtown with Josh Barsky might get you into a fight with ten guys if you're not careful, as Josh has a tendency to mouth off to anyone passing by when he's drunk ("Alla you wanna piece of me? C'mon, Chris, let's kill 'em all! We can do it, and then the monkey in my head won't tease me any more! Ya gotta silence that shit by drinkin'! Hold on, I gotta vomit..."); it helps if you just push him into a wall, because then he starts to giggle, and no one wants to start a fight with a tiny giggling Jew.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

2007-10-19T12:53:00.000-07:00

I must be quick. There's an extraordinary amount of laundry to be done, and all my unnerwear is at the Crazy Lady's house. Oops. Plus: I may have found a place to hide all my porn for the next six months while I wait for our little Elder God to pop, so I gotta go bribe the new landlords with cake and polaroids of myself engaging in questionable behaviour. Also with money.

As well: turns out there's still a piece of glass under my skin from where I sliced my finger open last week. Yeah, typing's fun. Ow.

What I wanted to say was that everyone should listen to this.

Les Savy Fav held a contest recently, inviting fans and other miscreants to shoot a video for the band's latest single, 'The Equestrian'; and while normally I shrivel up at the sight of precocious kids being thrust into a spotlight, I have to admit that this one kinda works for me. The kid's certainly cuter than Tim Harrington, I tell you that much.

It's the song itself, though. Holy CRAP. It's like Rocket From The Crypt never broke up, but instead killed a punch of art-punks and wore their skins as a disguise in order to infiltrate the ears of scenesters everywhere, in the hopes of getting as many people as possible to set fire to their goddamned Belle & Sebastian records. I sincerely hope it works.

Anyway: this is me shaving my beard, because no one wants to rent to a smelly mountain man.

A Message To The Crazy Lady:

2007-10-17T02:36:00.000-07:00

If I'm not allowed to name it Bruce Wayne or Indiana Jones, then you're not allowed to name it Cthulhu.

Why Twyla Dawn will someday rule the world.

2007-10-15T12:39:00.000-07:00

I am speechless:

All this means is that when we unleash the zombie child into the world, Twyla gets a head start.

NO I WILL NOT SHARE MY COMICS WITH IT.

2007-10-13T02:39:00.000-07:00

Okay, so, um, there might be some of you who haven't heard yet, so lemme just clear up any rumours and state for the record: The Crazy Lady and I are having a baby.

No, really. We're preggers, and I have the most delightful glow about me, even if my boobs DO feel heavier.

I saw pictures of it yesterday as it tried to punch the Crazy Lady in the bladder. It was quite beautiful (the kid, not the punching thing, although it makes sense that the two of us would create something that was surly in the womb...), and despite my usual bitter demeanor, I was actually quite awestruck and, well, almost cried. Although I'll deny it if anyone ever brings it up ("Me, cry at an ultrasound? No way. I just cracked open another beer and asked the doctor if we could get the hockey game on her screen..."). Before anyone asks, we don't know it's sex yet, although Maxx keeps telling me that it's probably a puppy, in which case toilet training will be easier than I expected, and no one will get mad if I tie it to a tree in the backyard.

This means that I'll probably not be posting as much in the next few weeks, as now I am MOVING and EXPECTING at the same time. Still, stay tuned for news, as we're due some time around the end of April 2008, and you're all invited to come watch it emerge, all gooey and rubbery and baby-ish. I'm sure the Crazy Lady won't mind the company. BYOB.

Burn my fingers burn my toes burn my uncle burn his books burn his shoes cook the leather put it on me does it fit me or you?

2007-10-02T03:01:00.000-07:00

I am eating five pain au chocolate's (which is pronounced "pan-o-shockalots" to those of you who are inept at all things francophonian, like me...I don't even know if francophonian is a word, so there I go making things up again, but anyway...) These things are basically croissants ("kwah-sonnnn", and you have to make a surprised face when you say that last part, otherwise the French police come and jeer at you, and then you have to punch them, because they are French.) filled with chocolate, and they are SO GODDAMNED DELICIOUS. I am eating FIVE, because Beano makes them all at the godawful hour of 6:00 in the friggin' morning, which means that by the time I get there at 4:00 in the afternoon, wading in to relieve the munchkin-like people who've been standing on top of each other's shoulders to reach the espresso machine, chewing on the money to make sure it's real currency and generally running in milk-splattered circles like the circus disaster that I know and love, the damned things have already sold out.

So when I come in to find not one, not two, but FIVE left over, well, tarnation. A job's gotta have perks, right? Those bad boys are MINE.

Beano is good these days, if a little annoying at times. The expansion into the old barber shop is finished, and actually looks nice, even though I still think Janice and Margie should've kept one of the barber chairs in the corner for me to take naps in. It's definitely become busier at nights, as the new space lights the corner up like a beacon for drunk yuppies who think it's funny to loudly proclaim they know nothing about coffee and then promptly demand soy half-caffienated chocolate machiattos, and then complain that their drinks don't taste like the whipped sugar beverages that Starfucks brainwashes y'all into drinking; yuppies are lousy tippers, too, which makes me feel justified in ignoring their requests as a general rule and surreptitiously serving real caffeine and real dairy to every timid lactose-intolerant boy-child that throws their change at me. Have fun in the bathroom, jerks. Non-fat THIS.

Anyway. Despite the alarming number of preschoolers that seem to be gathering at my place of work, the stress level is kind of levelling out. Which is good. I was afraid that with the departure of both The Mormon AND The Jew, Crazy Lady and I would end up ripping off each other's limbs and beating each other to death in front of frightened coffee geeks.

By the way: Her Craziness? Still the best thing of 2007 to happen to me. No, really.

So, stuff, music-wise:

1. There's not much I can say about the Built To Spill show; it was really good, possibly amazing. Given that they showed up in Calgary less than an hour before going onstage, I was impressed. After a couple of unenthusiastic openers that pretty much counted as their soundcheck (looking like they'd all woken up from one giant nap), they tightened up considerably and kept me from punching the crust-punk next to me who kept shaking his head in an epileptic fit to slow songs like "Liar" and "Car". They're one of the few bands that still draw from their entire discography for songs to play live. Most groups seem to have a tendency to play their current releases and nothing else, whereas Friday we were treated to a well-rounded setlist; and that cover of Brian Eno's "Third Uncle"? Holy Crap. Karma has pictures here.

Also: with his hair standing on end, Doug Martsch looks like a muppet.

I am trying to find something nice to say about Attack In Black, but really, do we need another No Depression band? I'm sure they all treat their mothers very well, but I never wanna see another bearded Springsteen wanna-be in a checkered button-up shirt. Boooooooooooooooring.

2. The new Steve Earle is, well, Steve Earle-ish. Not bad. He's the only person who can play a mandolin and NOT put me to sleep. I have to say, though: the Tom Waits cover at the end is abominable. Yeesh. I can only hope I'm still as cantankerous as he is when I'm in my fifties...

3. Jesu has a new e.p. out ("Lifeline"), and, well, um...it's kinda getting old. It's still good, it's just that the whole sonic wash/wall of feedback trick is reminding me more and more of industrail bands from the 80s that had indecipherable german names, huge impossible concept albums and no melody whatsoever.

4. I described Baroness to Josh and Sophie as psychedelic blues metal, and Sophie nearly had an aneurysm: "I can understand metal, and I get blues metal, but psychedelic as well? I JUST DON'T GET IT!" Try talking to her about time travel and you'll get the same result. "The Red Album" is really worth checking out. Not brilliant, but good.

That's all for now. I gotta get up early tomorrow and go apartment-hunting (if anyone knows of a solid one-bedroom in the area for less than a thousand, please throw a rock at me), plus I'm all outta clean unnerwear again, so this is me playing one more scrabble move, reading one more JLA comic, eating the last Death By Chocolate pastry-thing and falling asleep to the sound of cracked-out boy-whores shivering while they give head for meth in my parking lot, where I'll probably dream about midgets spraying me with chocolate espresso while they steal my wallet.

I AM SIMPLY KILLING TIME BEFORE MY HEAD ALLOWS ME TO SLEEP LIKE A NORMAL PERSON AGAIN.

2007-09-28T03:45:00.000-07:00

I just had a hot dog from 7-11; I know, I know, they assemble those from the crap they pull out from underneath the fridge and wrap it in old condoms - I get it. I know I'll probably undergo serious gastrointestinal destruction in about twenty minutes, but...DAMN. That was a good dawg.

The heat in this apartment is just insane. I tried turning it up last week when we had that brief cold snap (FROST? NO THANK YOU.), but it seems our landlord turns the furnace off during the summer and didn't bother turning it back ON until today, when it was PLUS 18 out. Wonderful. I will not miss this fucking hovel.

My woman just schooled me at Scrabble, and it musta been embarrasing, because now Facebook won't even let me back onto the site. Damn. Whatever - she's TOTALLY getting fat, y'know...

(...that was an inside joke that I might share with y'all at some point, if she don't kill me first, but anyway...)

Currently listening to Trompe Le Monde by THE BEST BAND EVER KNOWN AS THE PIXIES, and I gotta say, what the effing eff is up with all you haters? I've been hearing a lot of shit-talk lately:"The Pixies were great before their last album, Trompe Le Monde was such a corporate sellout album, besides, Frank Black had fired the band before the album came out, so.."

So? I'll give you 'so'.

1. Fuck you, it ROCKS.

2. There is nothing on ANY of the earlier albums as satisfying as "Alec Eiffel"; I dare you to defy me. "Dig For Fire" comes close, but there's an old saying that uses the words 'close', 'horseshoes' and 'hand grenades', which I'm pretty sure goes something like "CLOSE yer cakehole before I stuff a HAND GRENADE into it and tape it shut." I have no idea what the horseshoes are all about.

3. (This part is edited because I said something mean about someone who deserves to be punched in the face repeatedly, but I'm trying to be nicer these days, so...)

4. If "The Navajo Know" don't make you wanna dance like a jittery, pent-up ball of late-80s angst, then you are DEAD INSIDE.

...okay, I realize that hand grenade thing in #2 was lame...

That's all. I must go get fresh air before I literally choke on my own sweat. Tomorrow: the awesome-icity that is Built To Spill.

That's right: Built. To. Spill. Suckas...

Little Boys On Crystal Meth.

2007-09-25T05:25:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, all you wanna do is get drunk and fall asleep fully clothed in the bathtub while the TV is on in the next room playing reruns at full volume of America's Most Hilarious Police Beatings On Animals That Attack Tommy Lee, with a half-eaten pizza and an empty can of Pringles as your pillow, and a wet pair of underwear as your blanket, all the while ignoring the neighbours pounding on your front door who are complaining about the noise. It's okay, though: they practice voodoo, which means that they are heathens who cannot be trusted, and quite possibly could be hallucinations brought on by drinking that Neo-Citran that expired in January of 2003, so answering the door would just be a bad idea. They might have knives, y'know, or worse: bibles.

Sometimes.

I might not be posting for a while, as there are certain things that demand my utmost attention, which means that I cannot spend every night shimmying to Ween's 'Friends' any more. I gotta 'cowboy the fuck up', as they say. So, quickly: the new Frank Black Francis Charles Thompson Fat Guy From The Pixies ("Bluefinger") is the album we've all been waiting for since, well, the Pixies broke up the first time; the new Iron & Wine ("The Shepherd's Dog") actually has a funk tune on it and it's good; and the new Weakerthans ("Reunion Tour", those cheeky devils...) is strangely disappointing, but I'll take an album of half-hearted Stephen Carroll songs over most radio tripe any day. Also: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THAT MODEST MOUSE WAS PLAYING?? WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE??

It's 6:00 a.m., and I'm not nearly drunk enough, so I'm gonna go to bed, because I have to work later on this afternoon, and my head's gotta be screwed on right. Who knows: I might even rub one out before I fall asleep, because sometimes a man just likes to be touched.

Jesus STILL owes me five bucks.

2007-09-19T00:54:00.000-07:00

Apparently, during that whole David Koresh/Waco fiasco, the FBI were investigating whether or not it'd be possible to broadcast a subliminal message to Koresh over the phone lines that they'd been using for negotiations; this message would've taken the form of (they'd hoped) the Voice Of God, in an attempt to influence Koresh's actions. The man they'd lined up to play the Voice of God was none other than Charlton Heston.

Damn. That's some twisted brilliance going on right there.

Everyone should read this book. Underneath every comedic whacked-out hippyish idea for nonviolent confrontation lurks a far more sinister portrayal of just how depraved we allow ourselves and others to be when it comes to conflict resolution. What I thought was going to be a light read has turned into something quite sobering.

In other news: it is cold enough outside right now that snowfall is definitely imminent, the thought of which has caused my brain to fart and collapse in on itself, squealing like a deflating balloon and ricocheting off the inside of my skull. I hate everything right now. Thanks a lot, God.

Co-Sign My Letter.

2007-09-18T04:48:00.000-07:00

I have returned, having finally vanquished the demonic spider monkeys that'd taken root in my lungs; all that remains is cleaning up the vile monkey jizz that keeps seeping from my mucuous membrane.

Okay, that was a bit much...

Spent the last couple of days feeling as though I was NOT in the loop with anything or anyone around me. Not fun, not good for my head. Add a cold that, despite the efforts of modern medicine, shamanic chants and a big stick, simply WILL NOT GO AWAY, and the fact that I've become a Failure As A Human Being again, and, well, whatever. Welcome to the awesome suck that is my life.

Oh, boo-hoo. At least I'm better-than-average at Scrabble, and right now I gots me Neo-Citran (apple-cinnamon? No friggin' way!). Tomorrow it's Paying Bills, Rescuing My Bike From The Crazy Lady's Basement & Giving It New Feet, and Looking For A New Place To Put All My Stuff & Sometimes Sleep. Also: Learning To Live Without Capitalizing Everything. That'll be a tough one, I know. But, yes, it's time to stop the foolishness and actually quit this hovel, and while I've been romancing the idea of finding an actual house to move into, I'm gonna have to suck it up and admit that I cannot afford such a thing as of yet. So: this is me apartment hunting for reals.

Should I feel concerned that my co-workers seem to be getting younger and younger? Will Beano soon be staffed by pre-schoolers? Will I then become the creepy janitor that everyone thought was harmless but secretly kept old sweaty gym-strip in his footlocker that everyone supposedly had 'lost' in the change rooms? Hm.

New CDs I Got Cuz I Am Nice:

1. It's good to see that David Yow is actually doing something again, music-wise; Jesus Lizard wasn't just some band you walk away from, although this new outfit of his, QUI, has all the earmarks of a forgettable one-shot: vague, nigh-indecipherable name, song lyrics consisting of two sentences repeated ad nauseum, etc. Still, it's Yow, who routinely presented his scrote to the world on a nightly basis, and doing it here in town while forcing my good friend Gobbler to fellate him through his jeans, so any chance to hear him rant over discordant guitars and drums is a good thing, yes? (Hint: you're supposed to agree with me here.)

2. Okay, so despite having the gheyest album title I've heard in a long time (I mean, really, "Autumn Of The Seraphs"? Jeez, you guys might as well be AFI...), Pinback sounds revitalized and catchy as hell, especially after Rob Crow scared us all into thinking the band was done by putting out solo and side projects like a monkey throwing feces (Goblin Cock: hell, yes; The Ladies: please god make the hurting stop...). Boris: this sounds like the band I'd always expected you to form.

3. High On Fire, Death Is This Communion: THANK YOU RELAPSE RECORDS FOR THIS NEW ALBUM. High On Fire is what Motorhead would sound like if they stopped playing the same chords over and over again.

4. Kanye West, Graduation: really? Huh. No, I don't think so. Maybe Kanye should've taken another year off with this one; anyone who disagrees with me should listen to the putridity that is "Drunk & Hot Girls", which proves that not everything Mos Def touches turns to gold.

5. I'm very sorry but I still haven't really listened to the new Go! Team yet, despite it being full of mega-amazing goodness and superheroes on crack.

Stuff I Read All By Myself:

1. Not too sure about Rant yet. It was interesting, to be sure, and nice to see Palahniuk doing something a little different, but I'm just not getting the whole "time travel turns us into god but only if you have sex with your mom" sorta thing. Gimme a bit, I'll get back to you.

2. Currently attempting to get through Noir by K.W. Jeter. It's got that cool cyberpunk-cum-pulp detective thing going for it, but Jeter obviously masturbates over copyright law texts while dreaming of royalty cheques with cleavage, as the topic pops up repeatedly throughout the book and really overshadows every other cool thing he comes up with (the hero's eyes are augmented so that he views everything as though he were in a thirties detective film! HOW COOL IS THAT??!! If you guessed, "...so cool that it's TOTALLY AWESOME!", then you are correct...); still, I'm at about page 350, so I'm thinking I should push on and hope it gets better.

3. Remember me talking about "The Men Who Stare At Goats" a while back? The book about guys in the military who think they're Jedis and that they can walk through walls if they wish real real hard? The NON-FICTION book? Yeah, I kinda forgot about it, and now I'm thinking that if a book comes along and slaps me in the head and says "HEY I WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU!", then maybe I should actually read it. So, um, there.

Other Stuff That Causes My Brain To Feel Good:

1. Wonderful wonderful Playstation Ads. (Even that famous "White Power" one.)

2. Apocalyptic Wasteland Done In Lego.

3. Why I'll check out Team Fortress 2 even though I hate first-person-shooter games.

My Neo-Citran is done, which means that I must sleep or die (it says so on the ingredients. It's true. It's Science!). So, um, bye.

Insert Topical Title Here.

2007-09-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

Currently fighting off the plague. May not have the strength to write witty or clever things here, or give y'all deep insight into your poor deluded lives for the next couple of days. In fact, I may just eat your children for sustenance, for my survival is of the utmost importance, and besides, you'd probably just end up teaching your kids to emulate people like Kid Rock, so they're better off in my stomach, right? Right.

Guh. I demand y'all bring me chicken soup; either that, or gobs and gobs of drugs.

Woof.

2007-09-09T01:44:00.001-07:00

I don't know what to say. I've had a really good day, despite having one hell of a staff shortage at work, due to this new Zombie Clench/Withering Flu that's been pasting people upside the head for the last week like a sock full a nickels. Everyone's sick, and according to Regular Mike (the big beefy guy who comes in for a medium medium and chased away the skiddy punks who were demanding smokes from passersby outside our shop yesterday, but that's another story...), you can't visit people in the hospital in Ontario now without undergoing a full-on Alien Abduction Probe, due to the fact that they seem to be fighting off THREE separate Superbugs out there.

Man, you shoulda seen Josh just wilt when he heard that.

The good news: we got to close at 10:00 instead of midnight, and we put up signs saying that it was because of Zombie Infestation ("Watch out! Be safe! Wash your hands!").

The bad news: My dog Chewie was put to sleep yesterday.

It's okay; he's close to sixteen years old, and not in the best of health. Wasn't in the best of health. This is honestly for the best. I shouldn't say my dog; he was the family dog. Hell, he outlasted one of my brothers, if you'll forgive a little bit of gallows humour. He had a good life; he was loved, he was never abused, I always let him sleep on my bed, both when I lived at home and when I went to visit the family in Vancouver, and he'd do this thing where he'd force his head under your hand and lick your palm until you fell asleep, and when you woke up in the morning, you'would find out that he'd actually pushed you out of the bed; you never took him for a walk, it always the other way around, he chased after squirrels like nobody's business, he left piles of shit that would rival a lumberjack on after breakfast, he tore the living hell out of footballs, basketballs, soccer balls, baseballs, and golf balls - shit, he'd eat through anything; hence his name (and you thought we were trashy enough to name him after a fucking movie? Bitch, please...).

The last time I saw him, he couldn't really see, he could barely hear, and his hips were going on him. I mean, he was strong enough to come see who I was, and when he finally recognized me, he was as happy as ever, making me rub his belly, wanting to play fetch with the basketball that'd deflated long ago due to puncture-wounds - although I have to admit, over the last few years, it was less a game of fetch, and more like "Chris Throws The Ball And Chewie Just Watches With His Tongue Hanging Out".

It's just...damn, y'know? He was my dog.

That's all I'm saying on the matter. If you try to talk to me about it when you see me at work, I'll fucking deck you. Don't call to console me, I'm fucking fine. Just go out and buy your dog a big slab of beef for dinner tonight, because chance are, he puts up with a lot more from you than you do from him. If you don't have dog, then, well, what the hell is wrong with you?

I'm gonna go get drunk and try to shoot Nazis. I'll see y'all tomorrow.

Never had a day a snow cone couldn't fix.

2007-09-07T14:05:00.000-07:00

See, it's 5:00 in the morning, and I'm trying this new thing where I actually get sleep and then get up a few hours before work so that I can eat something and adjust to the Evil That Is The Sun and not be such a vile bastard to everyone I meet at work, so I'm gonna make this quick.

(Actually, this is all Her idea, and since she has proven to be smarter than me at Scrabble, I figger I should give it a try; also she won't let me touch her if I'm being a jerk.)

In an interwub world where I am assaulted by things like Bondage Fairies (what?) and Dragons F*#king Cars (WHAT?), it's nice to come across this: a video for 'None Shall Pass' by Aesop Rock, done by the always talented Jeremy Fish:

(If you're reading this on Facebook then too bad but Facewhore won't import videos from the blogger-place-thing, because Facebook is dumb and lame but please play Scrabble with me because I am addicted thank you.)

Also: I was wrong about Amy Winehouse. I'm sorry. Back To Black is modern day R&B done right; think Etta James minus a few sandwiches. Now, if only she could put her drink down long enough to actually perform this stuff live, or remember to take the coke straw out of her nose. Oh, well.

Also also: Joe Henry has a new CD out (Civilian), and you should all go out and get this because he's doing all that broken down cabaret stuff that Hawksley Dorkman and Goofus Wainright keep trying to do, but good, y'know? (Honestly, I hate those two; why the fuck do you people still pay attention to those whiny little no-talent primadonnas?) Think Tom Waits minus a few jugs of mescaline. Ignore the fact that he's Madonna's cousin, because he's been knocking out home runs since Trampoline back in 1996.

(For some reason, it took me five tries to spell 'Madonna' right; it's important that I correct spelling mistakes as they happen, you see; I'm an OLD PERSON, and I believe in language and proper usage, unlike you inbred chuds who think it's normal to send messages like "LOL im n ur haus makin ur kat wer mah gonch" to each other while massaging your shriveled and weird genitalia.)

Okay I must sleep now or I will bite the face off the first customer I see tomorrow. Lemme alone or I'll sock you one.

Bring Back Pluto.

2007-09-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

Hey, Kat Von D was in town and I don't care.

Not that I have anything against the Los Anglican tattoo starlet in particular, but really, how soon before the lot of you forget about her as quickly as you did those pink Von Dutch trucker caps? Or Jesse James' West Coast Chopper hoodies? Tattoo groupies are worse than hair-metal betties - and if you've ever had Vince Neil in your mouth, you deserve to be kept in a secure location on display for those of us who wish to observe what an evolutionary throwback looks like. In the future, we'll have secluded sanctuaries for the likes of you, simply to keep you from contaminating our gene pool...

Anyway: stuff.

1. Music: everyone should pick up the new Aesop Rock, None Shall Pass. Holy fuckwads, batman. Aesop's got the lyrical imagery of a schizophrenic Tom Waits by-way-of Compton paired with a vocal delivery that'll knock you out like a slab of beef to the side of the head. Blockhead does most of the production on this one, which explains why his own solo release was somewhat lacklustre, as the beats on this are inspired and funky as hell.

Also: Madlib has a new Beat Konducta comp out, Vol 3-4:India; while it's not wowing me the way Shades Of Blue did back in 2003, it's a great soundscape marriage of Bollywood samples and lazy hip-hop beats. How's this for strange, though? Madlib's cousin/nephew/protege, Oh No, just released his own collection of indian-flavoured hip-hop (Dr. No's Oxperient), and holy-christ-on-a-crutch, it actually tops his mentor's release. Either way, these two are far more deserving of your money than Akon's latest date-rape apology or whatever the hell it was that came in my ears at the gas station this morning...

I missed out on the QOTSA show last week due to work scheduling, but then I'm sure none of you saw it either, as the last time they came through town, everyone complained about the fact that they got up on stage and played their songs really really well as opposed to fellating your indie-cool sensibilities; I'm also sure it was a good show, but I haven't spoken to any of my real friends in, like, a week.

And when I say 'real' friends, you just know I'm talking about all you guys, right? Right? Right.

Meg: I haven't listened to the new Caribou yet. I'm sorry. I will. It's just, when a man of my age has the opportunity to engage in, y'know, sex, he's gotta take it, y'know?

2. Books: Pahlaniuk's Rant is pretty good, so far; told as a series of interviews with friends and family of Patient Zero in regards to some mysterious future epidemic, it's equal parts black humour and pseudo-mystical Iron John reject-all-you-know self-help that tends to permeates everything Chuck's ever written.

That's not to say that I disapprove. Sure, it's got some silliness that doesn't gel with the majority of the story (the Road Warrior-esque Party Crashers bug me to no end...), but I'm enjoying it nonetheless.

Also rereading PKD's Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sleep aka Blade Runner, because PKD don't shiv; y'know his android's still wandering around the Australian outback somewhere, right? I'm still wrapping my head around that one...

3. Comics - went comic shoppin' today; dropped a bunch a money on funnybooks that would've probably been better spent on food or bills, but what the hell - I gots priorities, yo.

Ex Machina Vol 4: March To War - Brian K. Vaughn's story of a superhero who gives up the tights and runs for office gets bloodier and more convoluted, and I can't get enough, especially now that they've introduced an actual nemesis; I'm liking this a lot better than his other Vertigo series, Y The Last Man, which seems to be a lot more bark than bite.

Hellboy: Strange Places - NEW HELLBOY! NEW HELLBOY! NEW HELLBOY! NEW HELLBOY! NEW HELLBOY! NEW HELLBOY! NEW HELLBOY! NEW HELLBOY!

That is all you need to know.

The Exterminators - okay, Bryn, you were right: this is effin' good. A story where the chemicals we use to get rid of the bugs only makes them stronger and more voracious in appetite? Hell, yeah. Plus, the last page is a priceless monster-movie sequel segue. Colour me impressed.

Also picked up Brian Woods' DMZ and the new BPRD collection, but I'm putting them off as they're both very wordy and I still have to go shave my head and wash my unnerwear.

Other stuff: an interview with a living goddess, witchcraft makes you money, and how to impress ladies on a pub crawl.

An update on local adventures: Mr. Brown is no longer raping the earth in Peru, as he came down with a case of acute renal failure (dude, wtf? You are not allowed to die in a foreign country! They will eat your bones and laugh at your ghost! It's true!); he's cool now, but jesus fuck, my friend...

...also: calamity on the Mormon & Jew front, as one returned home from Italy only to get dumped, while the other had his ladyfriend leave for god knows how long to be among sheep and Maori warriors, both of whom are creatures who headbutt each other for fun. Still, we are feeding them alcohol and rubbing their tummies, so all will be well, kinda.

The Crazy Lady is still crazy, but she's also really pretty, so I'm not worried; she also lost a wife ('bye, Megan! Have fun in Frenchland! If it's possible!) but gained another Grumpy Old Man to help turn her living space into a maze of books and empty bottles, and it's not even me this time! Bryn is what's known as 'good shit', although he shall taste bitter defeat when I destroy him at Scrabble.

This is me going to play with scissors.

I'm only tapping my foot to help myself pee. No, really.

2007-08-30T13:42:00.000-07:00

'The police had misconstrued his actions, he said, but he had pleaded guilty in order to handle the matter "quickly and expeditiously".'

This might be funnier if it weren't happening ALL THE TIME. "I am not gay, nor have I ever been gay." Well, if that's the case, then maybe you should stop having all that gay sex, as it's clearly causing you some confusion.

That's all I got right now. Morning = bad = eyes won't open = everything hurts = no coffee yet = grumpy old man. I might push someone into traffic today, just because.

Gordie don' shiv.

2007-08-30T03:21:00.000-07:00

A phrase I never thought I'd utter: "God help me, I think I'm going to punch a retard."

It was that kind of day; to say nothing of the chickenhead who pointedly asked Andy, "...what type of bear is this exactly?", while fingering a two-dollar coin he'd just pulled from his pocket and deposited onto our counter as though it were some magical talisman that could banish leprosy and tax collectors; or the woman who grabbed on of our pens from beside the till and informed Bruce that she was keeping it, "...just because I like the way it looks...", to which Bruce replied "...um...okay?"; or the fact that Bruce and I made fun of a man who wouldn't climb two stairs in order to reach the cream and sugar for his coffee, only to find out that he was actually somewhat wheelchair-bound, and had exerted a tremendous amount of effort and will just to come through our front door of his own volition (we kinda felt bad about that one...); and let's not speak about the two young ladies who squatted to urinate in direct view of me and Bruce while we were in the midst of a conversation concerning David Lynch.

Yeah: that kind of day. The kind of day where Gordie scams a free coffee by using a bank card that doesn't have any account set up for it, and, well, being Gordie, he doesn't seem to understand that he has no way of paying for his fifth cup of dark roast, and so, not wanting an episode of 'Gordie Pulls A Rain-Man And Bloodies His Forehead On My Counter-Top', it seemed easier to just give it to him for free.

Maybe I should explain: Gordie ain't bright. Who the hell gave him a bank card in the first place, anyway?

Maybe this is all just because I only had about three hours of sleep last night. I dunno; I do know that Bruce is good shit (he fed me Guinness while his cat tried to ineffectually to sever my Achilles tendon), and also so are Meg (who puts the Meg in Megatunes HAHAHAHAHAHAokay that was dumb...) and Sara (sorry I have no joke for your name but you know you're cool right? Right? Good.), and that despite the absence of the Crazy Lady (who just up and disappeared, in her usual contrary way, what the hell, lady?), it's time for bed.

(Oh, and Atreyu cover Faith No More's "Epic" on their new CD, which is a crime, as Atreyu suck, and any further negative description would only garner them more attention than they deserve. Stop listening to them. Stop it. Right now. Thankyew.)

Goodnight. Keep it down, or I'll introduce you to Gordie. He knows...

Some things before I haul myself into the shower and not stink.

2007-08-22T14:20:00.000-07:00

1. I kid you not: this is the first thing I saw today. I never thought I'd read the phrase 'reincarnation management'.

2. Yeah, like none of you saw something like this happening eventually.

Now I have to go put on a smile and refrain from saying to people, "So, when you ask me for an extra-hot half-caff 3% latte with ginger and two ice cubes and a splash of sugar-free vanilla syrup, you're really asking me to punch you in the side of the neck until you stop breathing, right?"

Bah.

Honestly, how can you not see it?

2007-08-22T01:25:00.000-07:00

(This picture is called "This Is A Beautiful Vagina." You can find more of my creations that will get me fired here.)

I feel as though I should apologize to the Crazy Lady, because she made me this fancy Arabian-by-way-of-Brazil espresso this morning with her fancy new one-shot stove-top espresso machine, and it had spices in it and everything, and I was more impressed with the coffee-bean mascot on the box than I was with the espresso.

(His name was Chicco, and he was a tiny little coffee-bean! How could I not love him?)

So, sorry. Also: I'm very sorry that my bike tires exploded in your living room at 4:00 in the morning. That was kinda bad, too.

Things:

1. Recoil, subHuman: see, Depeche Mode USED to be made up of four guys: the guy with talent, the other guy with talent that no one knew about, the singer who was otherwise useless, and then the just plain useless guy. They were all dismissed as gay by people who thought that Bon Jovi and MC Hammer were cool, and that Rob Halford was straight as a fucking arrow. These people controlled the airwaves back in the day, which is why people today think that an 80's retro party is a good idea.

But I digress. This is the story of the guy with talent that no one knew about (Alan Wilder) who left Mode to do his own thing, aka Recoil, which, at the time, was this strange atmospheric electro-sound, not that dissimilar from his former group but without all the pseudo-religious S&M overtones, which meant that it was pretty fucking cool. That was about twelve years ago. Fast forward to this CD, which is pretty much the same thing, so it's not bad, but really, it's a sub-par Massive Attack, so I'm left wondering why I bothered.

Oh, yeah: because I got it for free.

2. Galactic, From The Corner To The Block: remember back in the early-to-mid-nineties when every new band seemed to be some horrible rock-rap hybrid that incorporated all the stupid, wanky elements of both genres while ignoring all the good parts? Even though this features talent such as Lateef, Lyrics Born, Chali 2na, and Gift of friggin Gab, I'm kinda reminded of all that annoying bullshit, which is too bad. But, again: free CD, so what the hell.

3. The good: the only words you need to know are "wet artificial life". The bad: because apparently, obesity is caused by a virus, not sitting on your ass watching reruns of Everybody Loves John Ritter's Stunt Double Singing With Stars We Never Cared About In The First Place.

That's a real show. Honest. I wouldn't lie about the sacred institution we call TEEVEE.

4. Wikipedia for Christians. Because, y'know, kangaroos had to get to Australia somehow, right, Bruce?

This is me going to kill zombies in multiple ways.