Hello There.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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*

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'.

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.

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.

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.

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.