the backporch blog

2008-11-11T23:05:00.000-05:00

New home http://thebackporchblog.wordpress.com/

I forgot to title this post and had to come back in and title it

2008-06-26T01:17:00.001-04:00

Another stoned rambling, akin to that of the day before yesterday though this time, far less external stimuli and more internal. This is the third attempt to write something rational. Structure of any sort has decided to fuck off from my brain for a moment back there. I tried to say something meaningful in regards to a recent passing, but all that came out was a jumbled non-sequitar that frankly, was more insulting than of having any meaning. Suffice to say he obeyed the rules of the road to the end.

That was a surprisingly difficult half paragraph to write. Holy shit. I had this whole spiel set out earlier and now I can’t remember any of that.

Okay, so there’s this guy I don’t know. He’s kind of a weird guy. He’s kinda opal-y. He’s the kind of fellow that would tell the disctray to “shhhh!” A rather silly wanker. Did it just taste British in here for a second? 1 Anywho, this I guy that I don’t know has been hanging out a lot with guns and fireworks.

Fuck. Everything I write starts to sound like some sort of kid friendly delivery system. I think I’m going to erase most of this and then just paste whatever comes out from this point on. Because this is getting a tad excessive.

A gentleman scholar once said that it takes two hundred something - I can’t remember I wasn’t paying attention - iron nails to sink a paper boat made out of cardboard. To that his equally as gentlemanly scholar friend responded that it was completely retarded. Firstly, it was absurd that a paper boat could be made of both paper and of cardboard, their similar molecular structures notwithstanding. Second of all, it only takes one flaming tissue in the right place to sink a cardboard ship. Thirdly of all; fuck you.

Drunk as they were, they killed each other in the ensuing argument. It should be noted that the second’s death was due to sheer stupidity as he continued to thrash the first’s body resulting in the ground giving way underneath. Their bodies washed up down river where a young virgin maiden not made of iron was taking her bath. She was hot I guess, if you’re into prude chicks. Needless to say, God then told her that He was totally in on helping her give those England fuckers a good what for. 2

You know what show is really good? I mean, not really good, but probably one of the best shows of all time? Battlestar Galactica. I mean damn, man. It’s fucking good.

1 – The Beast with a Billion Backs gets a billion thumbs up back.

2 – Thusly the expression “God works in mysterious ways” was born upon the Western Globe.

Destination; I don't care.

2008-06-24T20:35:00.003-04:00

It's not that I haven't been myself, it's been that I put myself on the shelf in a jar like preserves for a while. Like a displaced limb my has mind sat inactive for about a year now. I figured that maybe instead of being an outsider I'd put myself into the inside. It didn't exactly work out that way. I found out that regardless of the situation I'm bound to sit on the side and toss out witty potshots.

Call it a social experiment or an exercise in the absurd, whichever so pleases you. I didn't know that there albums out that I should've known about. I haven't read a new book in Christ knows how long. Not that I'm complaining, I've spent the better part of the last year pleasantly inebriated.

Good times.

How I didn't almost go to jail, but thought I was going to

2008-06-24T00:11:00.003-04:00

Haven't been around here in a while. Hey. How's it going?

I think a retro look would be nice here.

There's two songs that are quite the tune to listen to whilst tuned. The Angel and the One off Weezer's Red Album and The Pilgrim off Mr. Sam Roberts' Love at the End of the World. So tonight I'm off on a walk, as I've been known to do from time to time. They were my excuse to indulge in whatever secret I was hauling into my lungs.

When I was in high school, the walks were a front for my time spent as a secret smoker of nicotine sticks. Now my walks are a front for my time spent as a kinda-but-not-really secret smoker of tetrahydrocannabinol sticks.

This night that is now the next morning, I decide to wonder from my usual path from the park straight home and head down some street I've never fucking seen before. It’s dark and full of trees and there’s no sidewalk and the fucking lamp posts are far apart. As I'm walking I see a cop car flash his lights momentarily as he turned down a cul-de-sac I would walk by soon enough. Smart guy that is me, opens up his pack of Belmonts and quickly grabs both a cigarette and the roach. Somehow I manage to drop the roach while trying to put the smoke in between my lips, but that's cool 'cos that was pretty much the plan anyways.

So with Mr. Roberts in my ears I keep pressing onwards. Because, what the fuck, I'm harmless. Having gifted my Zippo, Obi-Wan Kenobi, in an ill-advisedly noble going away gesture I’m forced to light the smoke with a convenience store variety of lighter fluid. The smoker that is me, starts to cross the road that is the cul-de-sac just as another cop car turns in, this time, the lights are going balls out. He’s shinning one of those spotlights into my red eyes and I have to squint. I look towards the other cop car parked in the cul-de-sac then back to Mr. Bright Flashing Lights and wait for him to make his move.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but the strobing lights are matching the drums in my ears. Mr. Bright Flashing Lights makes his move, he takes his left down into the cul-de-sac and I start walking forwards. Soon enough I’m walking down a main street back towards the apartment. There’s this shape that’s hunched over the garbage in front of someone’s house and for a second I just think it’s a loose bag. Getting closer, I realize it’s a fucking person and when I’m about ten strides away I see that it’s a woman about my age leafing through the garbage. And there’s a fucking open box of kitty litter next to the garbage.

That blows my fucking mind and I’m coming up on a left and then a right turn home. I take the left towards the darker side street and lo and behold there’s a goddamn cop car driving through the intersection down the street I need to turn onto. But the cop’s nowhere in sight when I turn.

That’s how I almost didn’t go to jail but for a second thought I was.

Drunken Shenanigans

2007-06-16T13:01:00.000-04:00

Amber - one of my roommates - had a great idea of streaming a webcam of our livingroom. It's been up since Tuesday, all of five days and we've already had 4954 hits. Shall we say that this is an invasion of privacy or an exercise in not giving a fuck/voyeurism?

We were all far too drunk last night and all I really remember was yelling alot at the camera and using the camera to yell at other people. I'm fairly certain that there were some incredibly offended persons who tuned in last night. But that's kinda of what we're aiming for.

Anyways, check us out if you're bored or what to see somebody call someone else a fag at the top of their lungs. [Never claimed we were mature.] - http://saucysaucysaucy.camstreams.com/

P.S. I had abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with choosing that url.

Today's Edition of Last Month

2007-06-11T02:50:00.000-04:00

About a month ago I received this e-mail;

Dear Daniel,

As you have done our personality test, we would like to get your input on some names for self-improvement courses. Please click here to take the survey.

Thank you very much for your support and participation. Your input is very valuable to us.

Sincerely,
Scientology Survey Network

If the above link does not work, you can also access the survey by going to: http://survey.scientology.net?sid=465&uid=b39a67b3b95400b3ec91af53621b10f5

© 2005 Church of Scientology International. All Rights Reserved. Trademark Information.

This email was sent to you by Church of Scientology International at 6331 Hollywood Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90028.
If you no longer wish to receive emails from the Scientology Survey Network, please click here.

I replied:

Dear Assholes, stop e-mailing me.

Thankfully, they have stopped, as this was the last in about a dozen I received after I "unsubscribed" from their mailing list. FYI; doing a Scientology E-Meter survey 'cos you're bored is never a good call. First of all, you have to pay to find out how you did and second of all, the fuckers don't let up with the e-mails.

Fucked

2007-06-02T02:49:00.000-04:00

There's twelve bucks in my bank account and my next paycheque ain't coming until next Friday. And that fucker is going to be all of twenty bucks due to me missing a lot of work recently. I'm turning twenty-two in ten days. This really wasn't where I pictured myself at when I was younger. I mean, yeah, I always figured I'd be broke, but I always thought I'd have something to show for it. Some sort of credibility, at least a manuscript of a rejected book shopped around.

No dice.

I am not where I want to be.

But, at least the new Matt Good single is awesome.

Haven't slept in years

2007-05-27T04:04:00.000-04:00

This morning, or rather yesterday at about 6:30, I hadn't slept and I couldn't sleep. As you could guess, I was really bored. So. What to do? Why, I did the first thing that people do when they're bored - I gave myself a haircut. It looks good, really good.

You know, if this was Bizzaro World.

The [only] best part is that it's summer weather and my hair was too long, causing major sweating and what have you. As a friendly fyi from me to you; sweat, not so good as a hair product.

Oh, also, the fucking cat broke my fucking glasses. I will hold his firstborn ransom until that little bastard pays me however much it's going to cost me to replace them. If the little fucker doesn't pay... well, this is where the obvious Chinese Food joke would go.

Oh yeah, I have a blog

2007-05-19T03:45:00.000-04:00

I'm living with some friends now, I'm renting the loft of an upstairs of a house. The fact that there's been more beer in the fridge the last week than food has made me incredibly happy, the fact that I drank the last one tonight doesn't.

Benson & Hedges, the masterminds behind the most perfect cigarette ever [Belmont Milds] have begun selling three different Belmont brands in the Niagara Region. That fact has made me incredibly happy, the fact that the store didn't have any regulars and I had to buy Kings doesn't.

Not going to lie, the last few weeks have been really good and yet really not good. A couple good friends have moved away for the summer and another has moved away to B.C. permanently. It's weird to go from seeing someone almost everyday to not seeing them at all. And another one came back for a visit from Ireland and then fucked off back across the ocean.

I should go to bed, it's 3:54am.

True Fact #4325

2007-03-11T01:12:00.000-05:00

Dan and weed and being in public do not mix.

That is all.

Tell me to stay

2007-02-28T00:38:00.000-05:00

I always do what I'm told. I'm what they call a "conformist." I make it my goal to make sure that I don't have anything resembling will.

Okay. That’s a lie. I don’t do what I’m told. I’m what they call an “un-conformist.” I make it my goal to never refer to myself as an anarchist, ‘cos frankly, I’m not eighteen anymore. But that’s only because I’ve been alive for twenty-two years. Yes, it’s a technicality, but I think I can get away with it.

See, I’m kinda emotionally hedonistic. Whatever feels right for the moment to say or do, I blurt it. Then I’m stuck with the consequences of my words and/or actions, doomed to sit on the sidelines and smoke, nursing my wounded… whatever that thing is that holds host to those things called “feelings.” If it’s still under warranty. Though, come to think of it I think I nulled that.

‘Cos if there’s anything I do, it’s stick to my guns. I’m a very black and white kinda guy. Not, you know, physically, ‘cos in that regard I’m so white and not “street” that my skin is almost luminous. Could be the whole “being a vampire thing,” but whatever. Anyways, black and white kinda guy. Okay, that’s another lie. But the sticking to my guns thing, not.

Maybe it’s ‘cos I find a gun that I really like and damn, the trigger is so smooth, the barrel so clean that the metal flies so straight and true that I always know that I’m gonna hit my mark. I keep the gun so clean that if a grain of sand dares to try to sully it, the grain evaporates. Or rolls off, whichever works.

And these metal bits that fly, goddamn they are hard to swallow, hard to keep track of, they move so fast they fly into the target before I even have time to blink. And it leaves me with a torn and blood stained jacket.

Disposable

2007-02-18T01:11:00.000-05:00

Last week I killed a man. My first thought was about how I was going to get the blood off of my jacket. It’s a nice jacket, all army and green, now it’s all army and green with red on the sleeves and a rip on the arm. I think I’m going to cut the sleeves and turn it into more appropriate summer wear.

I got myself a nice replacement today. Bought a jacket at Sears. It was thirty percent off. I’m always a sucker for a good bargain. The lady at the cash was friendly but she had a fake English accent. Either that or she’d had a stroke.

But damn, this jacket, it’s got like a dozen pockets. I can now carry a bunch of shit with me that I won’t ever have a need for. Things like a charming personality and ruggedly handsome good looks. My new jacket, it’s brown and it’s warm but it breathes so I don’t have to worry about overheating, ‘cos that leads to sweating and that leads to smelling and that leads to no fun at all.

This jacket, it’s one hundred percent polyester and yet it looks like leather. Now I’m not one of those people that’s all anti-fur or anti-leather or anti-meat – ‘cos those people are retards – but I don’t see leather as practical. I mean, it swells and it cracks and it looks like shit if you step out in the rain for too long. And I love me the rain; it’s all cleanse-y and rinse-y. Very handy for getting the blood off of your hands without having to worry about touching something and leave behind some sort of forensic evidence.

Wait a sec. Did I just confess to murder? Ah well, at least I look snazzy in my new jacket.

Forgettable

2007-02-17T02:15:00.000-05:00

Every time I log in to Blogger it tries to make me switch to the “New Blogger.” The way I freaked out when Dr Pepper did something as insignificant as changing their packaging means that the chances of my willingly changing to “New Blogger” are slim to none.

Sitting on the desk in the dim light tossed off by the monitor is a pen. Just thought I’d share. It kinda makes me want to go for a cigarette.

Smoking over the last few days hasn’t been all that enjoyable for the last week or so. Now, I’m by no means going to quit, I’ve just been congested. Phlegm has literally been falling out of my nose in liquid form. Smokes just taste off when I’m sick. Besides, it’s not all that fun to be on break and have to smoke in a smoking section that’s been covered with a shit pile of snow.

I’m [not technically] up for a “promotion” at work, which isn’t as much a promotion as it is a substantial increase in responsibility and a non-existent increase in wage. Hence the quotes. Chances are I did the air quote thing before I typed the word, ‘cos I’m, you know, retarded.

This is what happens every Christmas

2007-02-09T23:09:00.000-05:00

At some point I start to nod off from the consumption of turkey and booze and shortly after I wake up and tell people off for no good goddamn reason.

Ah, traditions.

You can almost see my jowls, but they seem to be mostly hidden by my tie and shirt. My hair is much longer now, but it's not Sampson long, more like Sam from Supernatural long. I can poke myself in the cornea with strands of hair if I wanted to. Which oddly enough, that actually seems to come up more than one would think.

P.S. Hi Amber.

That sick taste in my mouth

2007-02-04T21:38:00.000-05:00

I've started working on this again. Even though it's been a year since I did, I still remember where I was going with it, though I've pretty much completely revamped the storyline and some of the characters. I have kept the concept intact however. The entire universe is now structured, rather than me just running with a bizarre concept.

The villian is also solidified and who/what the villian is really makes me laugh.

I'm starting to look for my own place to live, because I really can't stand living under my mother's roof. It's not as if I dislike her, it's quite the opposite. It has a lot more to do with the fact that I'm 21 and I don't want to live with my mother anymore. With I think is completely understandable.

I have magazines and everything, full of various houses/condos/apartments for rent. Most of them are in the Hamilton neck of the woods, which I really don't get, considering the magazines are for the Niagara area. I'm also not ruling out moving to either Toronto or Vancouver in a year or so. What the future holds, I do not know and I really do not care. Whatever will be, will be. The only thing that I do know for certain right now is that I'm in love.

In love with Vodka.

I'm not wearing underpants

2007-01-31T02:27:00.000-05:00

Instead I'm wearing pajama bottoms. They are far more comfortable and roomy. God knows I need the room.

In the last month I've managed to get my friends all hooked on Buffy, Angel and Arrested Development. See, I'm a good friend. I should start charging them every time I bring over a season of my DVDs. I could make a shit load of cash.

No wait, I couldn't, 'cos they're as poor as I am.

It's gotten to the point where at least one of us is humming the tune of The Final Countdown and that's gone so far as a couple of us putting the song on our Myspace pages. It's actually kind of scary, 'cos every second thing we say is somehow an Arrested Development reference. It's also kinda scary due the amount of dancing that now takes place, Will Arnett style.

G.O.B. is by far the funniest character in television history. Bar none, except maybe Lt. Castillo. That motherfucker was all about the funny.

I don't really live here anymore

2007-01-29T23:58:00.000-05:00

It's come to my attention that I haven't been wise. Specifically, I wasn't prepared for today. See, I get cocky; all, I know everything and I'm the reason for existence. Which, is technically true, I am the reason for existence; my own. But today - holy shit - was cold.

I really should have worn an extra layer.

That’s where the cocky comes into play. At some point, everyday, I say to someone; “I’m from up north, I’ve got ice in my veins. This isn’t cold.”

Anyways, I took a test today that resulted in me finding out that I’m not autistic. Next.

Arnold Style

2007-01-25T15:33:00.000-05:00

I think that it's now safe to assume that I'm back in the blogosphere. Show of hands of how many people notice/care?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

I do miss the good old days of blogging though. When I'd post something and people would make some sort of a comment about it. The days before I dropped from the Earth and spent 2 years flying around the universe with Xenu, going all hydrogen bomb on various planets.

We had some good times he and I. He's a good guy and he doesn't need the bad rap.

On a 'Tom Cruise isn't Jesus Christ' note; right now, I'm happy. And also, "The Final Countdown" by Europe is quite possibly the greatest song ever.

Army of Me

2007-01-25T00:20:00.000-05:00

See, what I love is when my friends go off on a tangent on someone. Maybe they'll say somethings that I wouldn't say, 'cos I'm so decent. [No I'm not.] It's nice that someone will stick up for you, even if you didn't ask them. It's kinda the opposite of being a General, because at no point does anybody die and at no point did I give orders or demand respect.

It just means that someone feels good in the end and somebody else doesn't. But fuck that person. Because chances are they had it coming. Life's Karma.

It's kinda funny, because I was talking with my hetero lifemate today and while he did state that there surely was some old school Classic Dan in the workings, [he also said - and I quote - "Dude, I don't know what it is, but you've got the worst luck with women" after I told him of the other things that got fucked up recently with the ladies] he advised me to not start any shit. He's pretty much the only person I listen to and even then, it's only half the time. In this case I listened.

But in the end I still got to laugh.

Poppy Seeds

2007-01-24T00:51:00.000-05:00

"I'm tired of giving this any thought," I say.

Jim looks at me and rolls his eyes.

He says, "I know, it's not your strong suit."

That dick.

The beer sits warm in my gut and I slam back a shot of jager. There's little buzzing next to my eye and every time that I turn to it I remember that it's just the weed making my brain fuzzy. We clink our drinks in the timeless notion that we are not poisoning each other's booze and turn away from the bar as we're of one mind.

A pretty little blonde winks at the bartender and a pretty big dude swings his fist into a pretty small dude.

I say, "the fuck do we come here for?" I say, "You know that one our faces is going to end up on that guys' fist."

"Cheap booze," says Jim.

I nod and shut up. Cheap booze always wins any argument. The little dude is getting pulled from the ground by his buddies while the big dude's friends hold him back. Motherfucker's on parole, he can't afford another manslaughter rap.

The little dude, I should be helping him out. He is after all, my brother, but I really could care less. It's not my responsibility if he gets a fake ID and wants to go bar-hopping. I'm just not looking forward to my mother's frantic call tomorrow morning, waking my hung-over ass up screaming about how I should have been a better example.

Makes me want to walk over and punch him myself.

Jim opens up a plastic bag and passes it to me.

He says, “poppy seed?”

Everything I say is a lie

2007-01-23T23:32:00.000-05:00

Much like the title of this post. Seriously though, I stand by everything I've ever said. I've said it, sure I may have been wrong in hindsight, but you can't take things back so you may as well say; "fuck it and fuck you." So, I stand by everything I say. Even the lies.

Fuck that. Especially the lies.

I've come to realise [actually, I've known all along] that I'm a very angsty person. I've got enough angst flowing in my veins on a daily basis to kill twenty emo kids. 'Course, they're already half dead to begin with. With their hollow, mascara autumn eyes.

It's like Rube says; "there isn't a more emo word than autumn."

He probably worded it differently, but I think I'm getting the point across.

I think I've made more posts over the last week than I did in the month of December. Which begs the completely unrelated question; the fuck did I do that makes my right ankle hurt? It's not as if I ran the marathon to the very last mile. With my phlegm-ridden lungs I wouldn't run the marathon to the first mile.

I want to change the layout of my blog. It feels cold and mechanical. I'm thinking; hot pink with neon green text. It's totally easy on the eyes and in no way brings up questions about my very macho heterosexuality.

Changing subjects without any sort of a segue here, my mother told me that I'm becoming self-absorbed. I think it's because I have for the first time in technicolor; a social life. I'm not sitting around the house anymore. Most nights now; I don't even spend them here. I had a reason to be home, to be here, but that's gone now, so I see me spending a much less amount of time home.

I also see me finally getting off my ass and getting my head on straight regarding a few things. Oh wait, no I don't. I say that all the fucking time and nothing gets done. So fuck it, my policy is now; whatever is going to happen is going to happen. If I get chlamydia, I'll take some antibiotics. If I get AIDS, I'll, I dunno, start playing basketball.

'Cos apparently doing that leads you to the only cure for AIDS; money. That shit is Magic.

Typical

2007-01-23T04:46:00.000-05:00

My grandmother has sciatica. This means that she's been in physical anguish for about 3 months now, if not more. Sunday she was in the hospital because the pain was so intense that she had to stand all night and forgo sleep. If she lays down, the pain gets that much worse.

Eight O'Clock Sunday night I've been drinking for fours at this point and I go home to pick up a teevee to give to my friends. 'Cos I'm very fucking generous. To the point of nobility, in fact. My mom tells me that my grandma has been in the hospital since 10am. I go back to my friends, giving my mom my friend's number to call in case she hears anything new. Because my family hasn't bothered to call since they called to say; "hey, morphine drip."

Typical.

Ten O'Clock Sunday night rolls around and I've been drinking for six hours and my mom calls to say that my grandma is now home. Has been home since 2pm, but they didn't bother to call. Just let my mom worry. 'Cos it's not as if it was her mother in the hospital in agony or anything.

Typical.

Eleven O'Clock [maybe it was midnight, it's all kinda a blur now] rolls around and I get smoked up, in the front seat of a beige van. I stumble around, get more booze and proceed to drink until there's none left, which happens around 4am.

I love me some 12-hour marathon drinking that would have lasted longer had there been more whiskey and vodka and Guinness.

What I won't admit to is that there is video evidence of me rocking out and singing really fucking loud to Tenacious D and the Beastie Boys. I'm just happy that at no point did my pants come off of my legs, as they did last week.

We like to switch persons

2007-01-20T20:56:00.000-05:00

If the boat doesn't rock, turn up the music. There's nothing to it, just let the treble slam the bow into the water, head first. What also is a good idea is to mix analogies, 'cos, for serious, that doesn't lead to any confusion at all.

If they say; "turn it down" flip 'em the bird and wag your dick in the wind. It's all about the presentation, baby. Because, in your eyes, you can never be wrong. Your eyes are the only things that matter, because you know that you can't be bothered to gouge out their eyes and put them in your sockets.

If they say; “turn it up” flip ‘em the bird and wag your dick in the wind. It’s still all about the presentation, baby.

Nobody cares about the view from another pair, just the tunnel they see in front of them, barrelling down on the tub of already picked apples. See what I did there? I somewhat referenced The Bible. See, I’m old school like that. We are all nothing but Adams and Eves. Shifting the blame and eating apples. Their sweet delicious transgressions.

Sometimes you’ve gotta wonder why pears don’t have the same mass appeal. Could be that the grainy texture is that much harder to swallow. Or it could be that people just like to stick to what they know. They dive straight on it on what’s available, the easy and quick fix. We are nothing but a bunch of cunts and cocks.

And we’ll be fucked if we forget it.

I think I'm being e-stalked

2007-01-20T20:24:00.000-05:00

Universe, 897986; Dan, 0

2007-01-17T13:46:00.000-05:00

If there’s one thing that you’ll learn, it’s that you don’t win.

You try to convince yourself that one day, things will get better, that one day you’ll find that golden archway of happiness. This is nothing more than an illusion. This is nothing more than a lie.

Universe, 897987; Dan, 0

Existentialism tells us that in the grand scheme, nothing we do matters, so therefore the only thing that matters is what we do. Does this hold true to what others do?

All this shit and you don’t know what you’re talking about. But, it all started with a girl, as most things that go horribly, horribly wrong do. You try to tell yourself, hey now, you’ve been alone long enough. That the gnawing loneliness has taken it’s toll long enough, it’s time to put your trust into something beyond keeping people at arm’s length.

But then you find, as to your sneaking suspicion that there’s this big cosmic joke on you, that it was all just a fabrication. That it was another person in the non-stop long line of people that take advantage of you. But you think you’ve gotten smarter, you think that your hard outer covering has made you tougher, made you less likely to get hurt.

This too, is a lie. This is what scientists call self-delusion.

Universe, 897988; Dan, 0

Was that brief time where you felt something aside from nothing, that brief time where you felt affection for something aside from your sarcasm worth the devastation? You’ll ask yourself if it was a good idea. You’ll say to yourself, I should have known better.

But then you’ll thank The Universe for teaching you another lesson. You’ll thank your lucky stars that you got kicked in the teeth again, spit in the face. Because this is what your life has always been.

Where the fuck do you get off telling yourself differently?

Universe, 897989; Dan, 0

I'm posting this so that blogger doesn't delete this blog

2007-01-10T03:19:00.000-05:00

Seriously serious, that's the only reason I'm making this post. I don't have anything interesting to say - as usual.

Weird Karma

2006-12-13T01:47:00.000-05:00

Has anyone else found that the last few days - starting Saturday night - have had a really strange vibe?

I found this funny, 'cos I'm lame

2006-12-09T00:19:00.000-05:00

dan says:
2 molson kick and i'm seriously stumbly

dan says:
but those have caffeine in them and that makes it affect you faster, through science

dan says:
the power of SCIENCE

dan says:
[exclamation point]

dan says:
well, a glass half full of jager and half full of dr pepper gets me to the drunken state that i'm in now, and considering that i can type without many typios [IRONY] i'm impressed with myself

This is what musicianship is about

2006-11-30T15:26:00.000-05:00

Baby, I'm so vain

2006-11-29T23:57:00.000-05:00

Two posts in the same day[ish]

2006-11-23T23:55:00.000-05:00

This kinda shit hasn't happened here in a long time. I'm typing this, but I don't have anything to say, I think I'm just going to ramble on for a bit. Last night I wrote the first thing I've written in about 6 months and it felt weird. Felt like getting so used to silence then having a word break through.

Or something.

I wrote this;

It’s been three weeks since she’s been dead, but every time I open my eyes I see her. It’s not like I loved her or anything; that’s just not the way I am. It’s not like I feel guilty or anything; that’s just not the way I am. There are some things that make more sense now, like her saying; “I’ll die if you leave me.”

Things like the doctor saying that she needs love and support from the one’s closest one’s to her while she recovers. Things like the nurse I fucked saying that she hates me after she found out who I was.

If I turn into a butterfly, will Mount Saint Helen’s erupt?

All semantics, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Her stomach was just swollen from the crash, not a corpse rotting inside her, being devoured by her innards, turned back into pieces of her. It’s not like I put it in therein the first place.

The mirrors, the windows, the puddles all look at me with accusing eyes. I just wonder why they don’t mind their own fucking business. Even the spam mail I get in the hundreds every morning now glare back.

Where they used to read; “GET A BIGGER PENIS” they read; “You bastard.”

I don’t know. Maybe the word that broke through the silence came from a voice that had emphysema or something. The black lung.

I did say that I was going to ramble, so here goes.

You don’t know anything if you don’t open your eyes and ears to anything beyond your own insipid, hateful rambles. You can’t learn anything if you’re always right, there’s no point to that if you’re so goddamned convinced that you’re the top shit on a pile of lesser shit.

No such luck, there’s not a damn thing that people will actually respect you for, even the ones that praise you will, ultimately feel shamed in their core, for not only supporting you, but for believing in you. You can become a god in your eyes and maybe in the eyes of others, but that in no way makes you one.

It just makes your earnings deductible. It just makes your words fall on deaf ears, but these deaf ears are easily persuaded.

Remind yourself that there ain’t no fucking way for the world to turn that’s predetermined. There is no destiny, you are not part of some grand opus, you just exist. There is only one way that the world will end. There is only one way that your life will take, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be different, because if it can’t then you may as well give up now.

If destiny is an all encompassing entity that drives the universe along it’s twisted little carousel ride than there’s no fucking point in not going up the road; not across the street.
Destiny does not exist, but that does not mean that we can escape whatever is down the line. Choices are what shape the road we stumble blindly down, not some unforeseen dark cloud passing down judgement and tossing obstacles in our way. There is no test, no studying, sometimes we trip and fall off the path but then wherever it is that we end up landing becomes the new path.

If you look in the mirror and love what you see staring back at you, you need what some people would call a “punch in the balls.” If you look in the mirror and hate what you see, you need what some people would call a “mind altering substance.”

If you look in the mirror and don’t really care about what you see staring back at you, you need what some people would call a “big fucking ribbon.”

Life’s not about love, it’s not about hate, it’s just about surviving until you can’t go on any further. And hey, if you go through wide-eyed, good on you, son.

Dig me up

2006-11-23T01:27:00.000-05:00

Been getting stoned a lot lately. And by "a lot" I mean twice in a week. So, yeah, good times. What I've learned is that when I'm stoned I should not go to a pool hall and actually try to win a game. I also re-learned that I can't roll a joint properly to save my ass.

Where's a Listerine bottle when you need one anyways?

I thought to myself; "you know Dan," - 'cos I carry on a conversation with myself when I think to myself - "you haven't written anything new in like six months, maybe if you get stoned you'll be able to write something."

Oh boy, did I ever come up with brilliant shit. But did I remember any of it by the time I got home? Fuck no. So I just watched Dogma over and over until I fell asleep. Also, Tool lyrics somehow felt deeper, and yet, still as confusing.

Stepping away from the "gettin' stoned" train for a moment, I'm really looking forward to Incubus' new album. Not really diggin' Anna Molly, but I am diggin' Dig

Also, I resigned up on Myspace, so add me - http://www.myspace.com/danubdegrove
[I'm looking at you Rube]

I'm on the outside and I still can't sing

2006-11-16T01:46:00.000-05:00

I just heard Staind's cover of Tool's Sober. I've been sitting here for a half hour typing and re-typing sentences to express my absolute horror and disgust and rage and other words that mean ill towards a subject.

But none came close to covering it, so I'm just going to with one simple sound; "ugh."

On a happier, less "good-song-being-raped" note; I just finished watching the first season of Supernatural on DVD. Now that show is a prime example of a kickass premise. Sure it's nothing that hasn't been done before, it is based on every folk lore and urban legend out there, but it's entertainment.

I'm going to write a sentence not dripping with sarcasm now.

I'm fucking happy with myself and my life right now.

I've really lost my desire to write over the last few months. When my computer died and comploded and took with it [almost] everything I've written over the last few years it kinda broke me. But I've got that itching in the back of my eyes and the insides of my lips and that tingling sensation behind my ears and that twitchy neurotic mess that my brain turns me into when I'm not writing is starting to make a comeback.

Also, St Catharines has really grown on me.

Dear Fucker And/Or Fuckers That Cancelled Stargate SG-1,

2006-10-28T01:05:00.000-04:00

The fuck?

No, seriously, the fuck?

Now, I know this is kinda old news by now, but dude, how high are you? Now I know, I know, Sci-Fi fucked everybody when they decided to push the Season 3 Opener of Battlestar Galactica to October and while yes, I adore that show it's by no means Stargate.

While yes, comparing Battlestar and Stargate is like comparing a delicious kiwi with say, delicious pineapple, it's not what I'm here to do. What I'm here to do is to call you out, ‘cos it's go time.

While yes, pushing Battlestar to October, effectively breaking up three hour block of the best science fiction programming in recent history is a huge mistake, well so is your face.

While yes, I’m sure that there’s a more appropriate sentence to use their I’m going to go with my first impulse; you suck. I’m now realising that I’ve started the last three paragraphs with “While yes” and now I feel silly.

But not as silly as your mom did when you’re face popped out and she was all; “why didn’t I get an abortion, ‘cos clearly this kid is going to fuck up some quality television programming.” Why do you think the Doctor slapped you? To make you breathe? No motherfucker, he was trying to kill you!

And now this straight to DVD business. How insulting is that? I mean, Firefly got it’s own Theatrical Release, well deserved as it was the best thing that Fox ever fucked up [also RIP Futurama, Arrested Development… etcetera… etcetera] but c’mon, dude. Don’t you put any faith in the fans? Apparently not ‘cos there’s going to be a Stargate II now, headed up by Dean Devlin, master of the hackneyed shit movies. Yes, Stargate was a great concept, but SG-1 is what made it great entertainment, made it great science fiction.

I can understand maybe a mini-series, that would be perfectly acceptable, I mean if it’s good enough for Farscape it sure as shit is good enough for Ben Browder and Claudia Black’s new job. I’m not ragging on them, just on whomever it is that thinks that a Direct-to-DVD is something that the fans will go for. Yes, I admit, I will buy it the day it comes out, and I admit I’ll buy whatever special edition and then the director’s cut and then the special-director’s-extended-too-hot-for-direct-to-dvd edition.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like.

Let’s comprise, ok? Maybe put out a Direct-to-DVD first to finish out the Ori storyline. Then, get this, this is the hard part, might be a little scary, a little ambitions, a little “out there.”

Make a SG-1 movie. A real one. One that will be seen in movie theatres. Maybe [here’s some free money right] use the Theatrical Release as a stepping stone to the third show that you’re planning. I know you’re planning it, you know that I know you’re planning it, so let’s not be coy.

Give the writers, the actors, the directors, the producers a chance to show the world what good science fiction is, not aliens coming to Earth and being taken down by the Fresh Prince and Seth Brundle. What’s the worst that could happen? Maybe lose a few million, right? In that case, go with the Gay James Bond idea, that’s a sure winner.

No Love & Certainly No Lollipops,
-Dan

Me and the face of the Earth have had a falling out

2006-10-18T18:59:00.000-04:00

It's very weird having my days off in the middle of the week. Wednesday and Thursday roll around and I'm all; yay time off. Friday rolls around and I'm all; boo Mondays and everyone else is all; el oh el, tee gee eye eff, which in turn makes me all; grr, I want fun times too.

Apparently some people are trying to start up a union at work, which makes me all; feh and them all; yay, special brownies.

There's a message on my phone right now, but I don't know how to get it. Got a new number when the move happened and I don't know what the voice mail pass is. The blinking red light is mocking me.

I don't have any food in the house and I want someplace to deliver me some tasty foods, any suggestions?

P.S. Rube, I'll call you tonight, quit your whinning.

P.P.S. I may forget in which case I'll call you tomorrow, so you may have to whine for an extra day.

P.P.P.S. I may forget tomorrow in which case, I'll see you November 1st or something.

Clap

2006-10-11T15:52:00.000-04:00

I heard an interesting rumour about Dallas Green the other day. It made me laugh.

Today the cable guy came and hooked up the internets and cable, but, apparently I broke the teevee in the livingroom on moving day and it won't ever turn on. Not that I really watch teevee anymore.

Working, for reals, has got to be the shittiest thing to do for a living. I'm so fucking tired all the time. Why can't being a vagrant be a high paying job?

I just realised that I didn't make a single blog post in September. That is remarkably shameful.

I forgot to title this post

2006-08-31T10:29:00.000-04:00

Stargate SG-1 has been cancelled/not renewed/whatever, which now means that the number one asshole in the world is no longer Pat Robinson, but is now whoever is responcible for said cancellation/non-renewing/whatever.

The other day at work I was sitting outside having a smoke and chatting with a co-worker. We ended up talking about relationships (co-worker is female - it was bound to happen) and I stated that I was single after the question was posed to me.

She said; "I have a friend who could use a guy like you."

What I heard; "I have a guy friend just like you."

I go; "Hala marlama, what?"

Awkward silence and furious sucking on my smoke ensues. Tip on how to not look gay #1: Don't put things in your mouth.

I say; "Uh, you know I'm not gay right?"

She looks at me as if I'm retarded, which, fair enough, I am, and says; "I know."

More awkward silence and I go; "Well, that's good."

Also, this story is quite possibly the most disturbing thing I've ever read.

Dr Pepper isn't as good since they changed their packaging

2006-08-24T21:23:00.000-04:00

Seriously, Dr Pepper tastes different now. I know that it's in my head, but my long time love affair with the stomach ulcer causing liquid is seriously on the rocks. Seriously serious. It's like, if Belmont Milds changed their packaging, I'd quit smoking. Ok, I wouldn't, but I'd do very, angrily like.

This city, this city is haunted

2006-08-23T19:33:00.000-04:00

I picked up the latest release from Alexisonfire, a band I'm not a big fan of, but thought I'd give them a chance, and frankly, I'm glad I did. I didn't even know that they had a new album out, which goes to show how on top of the music world I am. I mean, I live in St Catharines, and the biggest thing to come out of there, I'm oblivious to it.

But hey, it's me.

Anyways, before Rube makes any comments about me being a douche or whatever for buying an Alexisonfire album, let me just say - fuck you man. Fuck you and your wicked cool Spider-Man mask.

/Envy.

dan says:
so what's new in LincolnLand?

A.D.I.D.A.S. says:
Not too much man...I went home a little while ago. That was ok. I took my pregnant girlfriend with me...that was interesting.

dan says:
hahahaha, i can imagine

dan says:
did your parents try to splash her with Holy Water?

A.D.I.D.A.S. says:
Hahah, no, they're cool about it. They've known about it for awhile...and it's not mine.

dan says:
I heard 'bout it actually, 'cos Rube was all; "I hope my parents aren't going to be dicks when Link's pregnant girlfriend's here..." and I was all; "Dude! He knocked a girl up?" and he was all; "No, it's not his." and I was all; "Gee-Wilikers Batman, I'm speechless." and he was all; "She was pregnant and didn't know it before they started going out." and I was all; "Ohhhhh.... Okay."

/End Scene

A.D.I.D.A.S. says:
Hahaha, that was awesome.

dan says:
Shakespere ain't got shit on me

Money money money... MONEY

2006-08-16T21:17:00.000-04:00

Next week, I've already picked up eight hours of overtime and I'm all of two days out of training. Hooray for capitalism. I'm really going to be bringing in the dough, which means I'll a) be able to buy a guitar soon b) be able to buy a computer soon and c) visit Rube in Orillia from the First of November to the Third. I am very much looking forward to that.

I just got back from seeing Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and while I can say that it was far superior to that two hour long trailer that Brent-Douchebag-Ratner had the gall to call X-Men 3, Pirates 2 was no where near as good as the first.

The whole movie had me scratching my head going; "how is the monkey still undead since the curse was lifted?" and; "damn that Elizabeth is an opportunistic whore."

Getting back to the subject of work, there are a number of people that look like "celebrities." Such as;
-Fat Joe
-Horatio Sanz
-Parker Posey
-Stephen King

Work seems like it's going to be a job that I can do very well and still have time to read a book during the course of a shift, which is awesome, because I'm all about the slacking. I mean, the reading and the bettering of myself. In all seriousness though, I'd like to stick out this job, you know, not have a nervous breakdown and quit and then spend two years all un-kept and slothy. It interests me to get into the training program as a "mentor."

'Cos at this point, I'm thinking that film school is going to be a no-go. I'm all poor and shit and there's this little thing about my lack of talent standing in the way of a life of creativity. Speaking of which, my computer died recently and everything on it is gone, every page I've filled in with words, just gone, every last fucking thing from the last three years, whipped from existence.

Le Tear.

It's been hotter than a monkey's asshole on jalapeno pepper day at the zoo

2006-08-05T20:00:00.000-04:00

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Those three days, Jesus thinks it's a great idea to turn the heat up on the little EasyBake Oven that he's nicknamed Earth. Never in my life have I walked outside in the summer and had my glasses fog up. But Tuesday the EasyBake Oven nicknamed Earth is so fucking hot that bam! I'm temporarily blinded. (I typed "blonded" instead of "blinded" and it's totally my new word to use from now on.)

Getting up every morning at 5am is starting to really eff me up. I mean, today, my day off I woke up at 5am and stumbled around going; "uhga, me be late..." until I realised that, shit, it's Saturday and I can sleep in as long as I want. 7am rolls around and there's me stumbling around going; "uhga, me be late..." Oh. Right. Saturday.

9am, same deal, so I said; "fuck it, I'm going for a smokerette."

Yes, 'smokerette.' When I'm not fully awake I blend words together (and many times whilst fully awake) and smokerette is my second new word to use from now on.

I'm totally not getting a tattoo now, 'cos I forgot that I'm a complete fucking pussy.

Dear Buddha, please bring me a pony and one of those little plastic rockets...

2006-07-27T21:06:00.000-04:00

I've been wanting to get a tattoo for some time now (despite stating multiple times that I have no intention of it) and I've decided on getting a Peace Symbol. I'm also considering the Chinese symbol for 'serenity.' Now, I am aware that Oriental tattoos are somewhat of a cliché these days, but if you know me, or are a fan of Joss Whedon's Firefly, it makes very much sense.

I'll probably be looking into it next Friday or Saturday, when I get paid. God Bless Capitalism, it keeps the Commies at bay. Them and their fucking sharing.

Seriously, where do they get off?

I am vraiment tired

2006-07-24T19:18:00.000-04:00

Amos Moses by Jerry Reed has got to be my favourite song at the moment. Yes I realise that it's roots are country, but damn if it ain't a great tune.

I got up this morning at 5:00am for my first day of work. That was the earliest I've gotten up since never. All I can say is thank Jebus for whoever it was that invented the coffee machine. Work seems like it could be interesting, but today I was le bored, as it was "this is where you can park your car" and "this is how to tie a shoelace" and "holding the scissors like this is a good way to get your dick chopped off" ecetera... ecetera...

You know, common sense stuff.

I know I have other non-work related things to say, but my brain is fried so I bid you adieu.

Employed? Moi!?

2006-07-22T11:56:00.000-04:00

I got a job. Finally.

After a year and a half of slacking, I start work on Monday. I'm really looking forward to having a paycheck so that I can; buy CDs, buy DVDs, go back home to visit, and other fun shit. I'll be blogging more regularily now, 'cos now I'm actually gonna have shit to blog about, instead of "Yeah, so, I played San Andreas today."

More to come.

Ew-gah-dy-goo-gah-dy

2006-06-22T22:01:00.000-04:00

Do you like kumquats? I like kumquats, the way that they make my jaw tingle 'cos of the sour insides and yet the skin is oh-so sweet. I was unsure as to why they were called "kum-quats" until i popped the first one into my mouth and bit into it, causing and explosion of juice and pulp.

It would have been erotic if a) I liked things to go ka-boom in my mouth or b) someone other than my grandmother had given them to me. True story.

Kumquats also go quite well with pineapples. My mom's birthday was on the 20th of this month and I made her kumquat/pineapple/brown sugar pork. It was however lacking of ginger, so it was way too fucking rich.

This man is my fucking hero

2006-06-15T22:01:00.000-04:00

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-869183917758574879

And now, he catches those kisses

2006-06-13T20:52:00.000-04:00

So yeah, yesterday I turned 21. I now know that I'm getting older (in a good way) because I had forgotten that my birthday was coming up a few days earlier. Such trivialities no longer hold any stock with me.

Yeah, sure, you betcha it's cool to hang out with family and get free shit, but really, it ain't as if a birthday is an accomplishment that really needs to be pointed out. Unless you're a baby, then in that case it does need to be pointed out; "Hurrah! You didn't die of the croup!"

I haven’t posted here in a long time, mostly because it doesn’t interest me as much as it used to. I like having a blog and I will keep this blog until I die at the ripe old age of 42, but right now - at 20 and now 21 - I don’t really have anything to say that I haven’t said before. And yes, I’m a man who loves to repeat himself, but even I know when a one-track Willy needs to shut his pie-hole.

Not sayin’ goodnight, just sayin’…

and now, we blow him kisses

2006-06-12T23:56:00.000-04:00

according to the intraweb giants (myspace and the bored)
today is daniel's birthday. 21, eh? 21. finally beer legal in the us.
matters not to you, does it, hoser?
let us all hope that this day was better than an average dan day,
and that the naked person jumping out of his cake was not rube.

I should say more stuff

2006-05-24T20:03:00.000-04:00

I really should post more, for reals. However, I don't really have anything to blog about, 'cos, you know, you're supposed to have a life to talk about in the first place.

I should post something about how awesome 10,000 Days is. Something about how strange it is that I consider an album from a "metal" band to be at times, beautiful.

I should post about how I shaved only the right side of my face because I was bored and because it amused me to do so.

But that would take effort.

Le Audible Sigh.

Funniest Thing I've seen in a while

2006-05-18T18:48:00.000-04:00

What Dan has done over the last week or so

2006-05-17T12:22:00.000-04:00

Started smoking, again
Brought his mother to the emergency room because she was doubled over in pain, where I then waited with her for over 6 hours (a surprisingly short wait) to see a doctor
I began referring to himself in both the 3rd and 1st person all within the same sentence
Bought a shirt
Bought pants
Wore pants
Washed pants
Wore Shorts
Had a cashier peg him as a stoner
He almost cried when the various main characters died in Serenity
He was shocked at the ending of Scrubs' season finale
He read 3 books by Chuck Palahniuk
Ran out of shaving cream and was forced to shave using only hot water
Remembered what shaving cream was made out of and vowed never to use it again, not out of any sort ethical or moral reasons, but rather because of the "Ick-Factor"
Went to the falls in Niagara Falls, a place he hadn't been to in about 8 years, even though he's been in the City of Niagara Falls quite often over the last year or so.
Began recording a miniature-tape to include in the package he will be sending to Christy.
Enjoyed Tool's 10,000 Days immensely

Dear Boston Legal,

2006-05-12T20:31:00.000-04:00

Boston Legal, you don't know me personally, but I am a big admirer of yours. Over the last year I have become accustom to your sight and your sounds. You are, as far as teevee can be, near-perfect. If you were a teddy bear, I’d hug you and if you were a woman, I’d try (and fail) to fuck you.

I do have a question for you however; what’s with the whole ‘soap-opera’ vibe that you’ve been giving off the last few weeks? I totally saw the whole Brad/Denise thing from way back at the time when Brad chopped off the priest’s fingers and then the cat ran away with one of them (that was hilarious by the way). And now Denise’s ex, Danny, is coming back next week, apparently NOT dead from cancer. What gives? I mean, I love his character and I love Michael J. Fox, but him coming back NOT dead only two episodes after Brad and Denise hook up is some seriously cheap antics. For reals, Denny shooting somebody every week was kind of funny at first, but now it’s getting old. And from the previews of next week’s episode it looks like Denny’s gonna shoot someone else. What is that, five (that's fucking 5) people this season? It’s getting old and let me say, you are way above this.

Boston Legal, my friend, my buddy, old pal, you are way above this kind of thing. You are one of the most brilliantly directed, written and acted shows on teevee today. I love it when you give those little nods, those little smiles to the fact that you are a fictional teevee show, with lines like; “I can’t wait until next week,” and; “I’ve hardly seen you this episode,” and; “and here we are, with old footage.” It’s fantastic. I have to say, Boston Legal you are my most favourite non-sci-fi show in the history of non-sci-fi shows. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Scrubs and my occasional episode of CSI, but you my dear friend, go above and beyond the mundane and insipid shows of today.

You take time to make a stand, to make a statement, to push the envelope, not with inferior high-jinks like a drug addict doctor or vulgarities or excessive and brutal violence. Instead you use strong, poignant dialogue and believable characters.

I care about you Boston Legal, I really do and I don’t want to see you fall into the rut of soapy-ness that many shows do. Like I said; you’re beyond that and I hope that you can stop yourself before you end up in said rut.

Yours truly,
-Dan

P.S. - What's with writing off Garrett Wells without explanation? His character was at least worth a C-story where he gets hired by a rival firm, or some such thing.

The Ripe Canal

2006-05-06T15:59:00.000-04:00

The ground is flat but it rounds out the further along we go. Were they wrong? Or were they right, in all the ways that actually matter? Who knows, it actually doesn’t matter either way. Water always runs downhill and everywhere is downhill from somewhere, so hold your breath. It’s hard to breathe underwater when you’re trying to float but the oxygen helps with the floating. Can’t stop floating because if you stop floating then you become food for the fishes. Food for the fishes means food for the food of man and that would make someone, somewhere a cannibal.

Cannibalism leads to brain damage and brain damage leads to cannibalism. Good God, good food let’s eat the motherfucker.

But what’s the point of all of this? I know that there’s no story, no tale here and I’m sure that you’ve figured that out by now too. Which begs the questions; “why are you still reading?” and “why and I still typing away like a jackal reaching for the top apple of the tree of mediocrity?” There are so many questions to ask and so many past humiliations to re-live.

Kids Tip: Don’t ever speak.

It only leads to foot-in-mouth-itis. Any good doctor will tell you that. Foot-in-mouth-itis can lead to athlete’s mouth and we don’t want our mouths to run off like an Olympiad running match. Well, maybe Special Olympiad running match. There’s so much misreading there and it’s better to be humiliated by some good old-fashioned misunderstanding than the truth, that way you can still have plausible self-deniability.

Sip from the glass and wipe the boxed-wine off your face with the velvet ribbon. Because everyone gets a ribbon, we can’t have the children getting the wrong idea. We have to make them get the impression that everyone gets a piece of the pie and that everyone’s equal. When the reality of it all is, is that nobody is equal. Nobody is equal because there’s this little bastard called “money” that’s got a best friend named “greed” and they’ve got a third point in their little hate-triangle marked “indifference.” They get together and fuck the children and rape the mothers because some people just need a little more and to have a little more it means that someone, somewhere has to have a little less.

So fuck the insignificants because it’s their own fault for not doing the fucking and the raping in the first place, right? It’s a “first cum, first served” fish buffet today.

Morning!

That poor Howard.

I bet he tastes good and I know that sometimes even a vegetarian gets tempted to eat some flesh. Nothing beats a good soy steak. And if by “soy” I mean “cow” and by “steak” I mean “steak” then yes, yes nothing beats a soy steak.

And of course I mean cow steak. Why eat the placebo when the reality is sitting on your plate, having been tortured and exquisitely bled for the honour of getting turned into the juices that get squeezed out your backside? The juices go into the grass and the cows eat the grass and their own juices make the grass grow more and the cows eat more grass and then we slit their throats and eat and drink them.

Cannibalism leads to brain damage and brain damage leads to cannibalism. Good God y’all, what isn’t it good for?

So eat up Greedy Gus, you’ve got some brain cells that ain’t done been corrupted yet, Yuk-Yuk.

You know talking like this is making me a little hungry. There used to be this little restaurant in my hometown that made the best sandwiches. Actually the sandwiches weren’t the greatest, the bread was always dried out and they always put too much mustard on them, but they had the best and biggest pickles ever. I’ll bet you that they were kosher pickles.

Pickles give you bad dreams and bad dreams lead to cannibalism.

Compare a brain-damaged brain to a pickle and I’m sure that you’re going to find some amazing visual similarities. At least that’s what I’m betting on. Five to One odds baby, I’m calling Vegas right now. Don’t you dare try to stop me, ‘cos I know that someday you’re going to be placing your own bet. So you can’t step out of line today and break the mould if you want THE MAN someday. If you’re going to become THE MAN, just remember that sooner or later you’re going to have to eat from that all you can eat buffet and that would make someone, somewhere a victim of a cannibal.

You can’t deny it, you can’t play the “I won’t be a bastard” card, because everyone knows that you’re lying. I know it, they all know it, your family, your friends and more importantly, the people that you’re going to eventually push out your backside.

It’s one big happy family on this little speck of interstellar dust, this cosmic high school farce called Earth.

Incidentally, we should think up a new name. We’re totally the laughing stock of the solar system. You know that when Earth went to school all the other planets poked fun at him. Even Mars – who you know was just a big tool in school – got some jabs in on Earth.

“Hey there Earth, say, what’s that growing on your face? Life?” says Mars with a snide laugh.

“Gross, I’m totally not going to The Formal with you now Earth,” says Venus. “I’m going with Mars, he knows how to show a lady a good time and he sure as hell doesn’t have any life growing on his face.”

“Oh burn!” laughs Mars as he wraps his lips around Venus’ neck. Earth gets pissed and head-butts Mars in the face, transferring the tinniest of living creatures. But Mars keeps his face so clean that nothing can stay alive on him for long. Mars just laughs at Earth’s pitiful attempt and proceeds to get lucky with Earth’s one true love.

“Alright, fuck you guys, I can’t take anymore of your juvenile shit,” says Pluto, gunning it out of the solar system. “I’m going to Orion’s Belt.”

Then Earth cries and the oceans up heave and the dinosaurs go extinct and the crazy old bastard that locked his family away in his pleasure yatch gets to say that he got a message from God.

After formal – and after the water has settled – the popular kids still make fun of poor old Earth.

“Makeover!” says Mercury.

“A facial cleanser will take care of that nasty case of life,” he says.

“Exfoliate, exfoliate, exfoliate!”

You know that if any of the planets are gay that’s it’s going to be Mercury. He’s so close to the sun that he’s got no choice but to be a flamer.

“You’ve gotta rub the cleanser in real hard, like a meteor shower,” says Mercury.

Oh my! Wrong area.

“Wrong area,” giggles Mercury, not that he minds.

“Not that I mind,” says Mercury and then he cries out in ecstasy as the sun spews it’s hot fire across his face. He loves it like that.

And all the while Earth sits there with his only friend the Moon. But he still can’t get any respect from his only friend. The Moon mocks him every night by having a party with THE MAN and they’re never invited Earth. They hide the party every time that Earth looks around, so Earth is stuck at home every night with his Self watching the cosmic dust settle on his pickles and cow steak. Earth’s thought about switching to soy steak, but that would cut into his exfoliation time.

Earth’s just a poor young lad with a bad case of acne. Think about that the next time you see a zit in the middle of your forehead and you decide to pop it. For all you know it could be a new form of superior life, far greater than your face could be on it’s own. It is after a part of you, no matter how much disdain you feel towards it.

Which reminds me, I’ve got to go clean my face, it’s almost suppertime.

--------------------------------------

That's one of my favourite things I've written, a little snippet from Shoddy Penmanship.

My skin hurts

2006-04-27T22:00:00.000-04:00

I have probably the worst sunburn on the back of my neck and arms that I've ever had. Without fail I burn every year in the early spring and then I avoid the outdoors for the rest of spring and summer like I'm a goddamn vampire.

Yesterday I bought and read Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk, my favourite writer. It's not my favourite book by him - that honour is held by Choke - but I did appreciate how the book was put together. If you've read it you know what I mean.

I also bought the new Eagles of Death Metal album yesterday and while it does make me shake - not gyrate - my hips, it's not as good as I had hoped it would be. It'll probably grow on me.

Today I bought and read SeinLanguage by Jerry Seinfeld and a little eye juice trickled out of my eye from too much laughing. I also bought Sideways by Rex Pickett, which is the book that the film is based on. I enjoyed the film, but to me writing a book about a novelist is akin to the author masturbating in front of a mirror. Decent book, better movie. I'm really not one to say that very often.

I'm going to go rub aloe vera all over myself now.

The Headphone Society

2006-04-21T16:17:00.000-04:00

I sit on the bus and as I look around I see that I'm not the only member of the Headphone Society on board. I have my headphones on and that means that I’m not going to speak to anybody, unless of course they have a cigarette that I could bum off of them.

We – The Headphone Society – don’t have meetings or anything. There is no membership fee, save the price of music. But some assholes still manage to get in free. If we had some sort of head committee we’d probably kick them out, but that cut into the interpersonal activity avoidance time.

We all ride around the biosphere in our musical bubble, oblivious to the world that moves around us. The eyes blur over when we’re engrossed in the auditory pleasures being whispered into our ears. We break the organic flow, step out in traffic when we're not supposed to and we never pay attention when someone starts to talk to us.

And then we look at them as if it's them that’s being the dick.

It's not as bad as the people who sit on the bus and discuss Chomsky or other brilliant literature. For sure it's like a verbal make-out session. You know that all they want to do is fuck each other but they're too afraid to shut up and just dive in tongue first.

Then there's the asshole that sits in the back of the bus yammering away on his cell phone.

"Yeah, I totally made her suck my dick."

He says, "had to get her drunk before she'd let me drop the pants."

As he's laughing and grandstanding all I can do is turn the volume up on my Discman. I’d get up and punch the horndog, but there’s a good tune pumping into my ears. I'm old school. It's a funny concept, that because I use technology based on lasers - fucking lasers man - I'm old school. I don't like mp3 players; they go against what music is supposed to be. An album goes on and it gets listened to from beginning to end, which is why Discmans will always be my Headphone Society weapon of choice.

The woman sitting in front of me turns around and frowns at me and I stare back blankly.

I’m like, listen, its my eardrums that I’m damaging, its not as if I’m giving you ass cancer or anything. But of course I don’t say anything, I just stare into the back of her head and shake my head as I curl my lips in unpleasant manner.

She gets off at her stop and on steps a blonde with small tits and a tiny ass and a white cord dangling from her ears to her waist. They all wear the same uniform. I’d catch her eyes and flash her The Society’s secret symbol, you know, if we actually had one.

But instead I just stare out the window and watch her reflection doing the same on the other side of the bus.

I do not fear Medusa

2006-04-18T20:21:00.000-04:00

I’m in love with a girl I’ve never met. What’s her name? I don’t know. What’s her sign? I don’t know. Where’s she from? I don’t know.

She might be a blonde of a redhead, but she’s probably a brunette. If she’s blonde; she’s tall, if she’s a red head; she’s average-ish, if she’s a brunette; she’s short. She might have hazel eyes or blue eyes, but they could be brown. She might have a few piercings, but she’s not a pincushion. She might have a few tattoos, but she’s not hidden under layers of ink. She has little to no facial hair, emphasis on the “none” part.

She could be Black, White, Asian, Native, Jewish, Latina or a combination of any or all of the above or anything not mentioned. She is not someone who would wear a white sheet over her head, unless she was going as a ghost on Halloween. She probably refrains from the disgusting habit of eating the flesh of dead animals but won’t mind the fact that I decided against becoming a vegetarian due solely on the fact that I love Mayonnaise way too much. Not that low-fat shit either, the artery clogging goodness kind.

She buys her clothes at thrift stores because she prefers clothes with personality to the soulless items found at Wal Mart and Zellers. She buys her music at a local store and hates HMV. She does not listen to whatever is popular that day; she listens to what moves her heart. Her musical tastes will be comparable to my own. She probably plays a stringed instrument and is not afraid to sing. She won’t mind the fact that I often sing, off-key and flat with more than just a little gusto.

She will like Dr Pepper and playing the odd video game. She will like watching cheesy crappy movies and making fun of them.

She might speak more than one language but she will speak English, not American. She will spell it “centre” and not “center.” She will spell it "humour" and not "humor." She will know who Sir John A. Macdonald was and she will be a conscientious voter. She will be pro human rights and gay marriage and will have a zero xenophobic content.

She will be quick to laugh and will have a clever wit and will tolerate my juvenile need to make a joke about every single last thing. She will like my friend(s) and will not try to come between us, ‘cos Rueben, for reals bro, I’d choose you.

If she has less than perfect eyesight she will not hesitate to wear glasses.

She will be a monogamist ‘cos I’m as far away from a hustler as a guy can be and I don't believe in polygamy, whether it be in the institute of marriage or out. She will be amazing between the sheets and will have had other boyfriends, but she will not talk about them all the damn time, as that would damage my fragile sense of manhoodliness. She will take my misogyny and she will cram it back down my throat and she will not put up with my stupid shit, but she will accept my excessive geek factor.

She will enjoy the odd drink but will not partake too excessively too often, because if you spend your reality in a fog you cheapen yourself and life itself.

She will of course be way smarter than I am and she will [not] be impressed that I am [not] a successful writer.

I've been drinking

2006-04-16T20:30:00.000-04:00

Every time that I go to my cousin's house I end up getting drunk.

I am a cheap drunk and I am a giddy and happy drunk.

In other uninteresting - actually this is interesting to me - news; I found out that my Uncle Tom is in the process of getting a patent for an invention that's going to help the process away from fossil fuels and into the future of not-murdering-the-planet-with-pollution-from-carmobiles.

Awesometologist for life

2006-04-12T20:41:00.000-04:00

Brandon says:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v345/BrandonC/awesome1.jpg

dan says:
awesome

Brandon says:
Totally

Brandon says:
You too can be an Awesomeologist, for a nominal fee!

dan says:
i don't know, are there any celebrities that are Awesometologists?

Brandon says:
Duh, me!

dan says:
gotcha

Brandon says:
But you get to kill scientologists!

dan says:
SIGN ME UP!

Brandon says:
Sign by the X

dan says:
ok

dan says:
:(now the computer monitor has Sharpie all over it

Brandon says:
:(

Brandon says:
Thats not awesome

dan says:
no :(

This bothers me

2006-04-10T14:04:00.000-04:00

http://ca.news.yahoo.com/cbc/s/10042006/3/novascotia-friendly-fire-pilot-sues-u-s-air-force.html

You fucking disappoint me

2006-04-07T22:04:00.000-04:00

I make fun of shit a lot. There probably isn't a subject on the face of the Earth that I haven't mocked at some point, whether or not I actually know a damn thing about it. Whether the subject is Scientology, Vegetarians or Religion I've mocked it without cause or accuracy.

I've been in a reflective mood lately, mostly due to boredom and partly due to other, more 8-year anniversary-y reasons. I'm disappointed in myself, but maybe thats just the silence talking.

I have nothing to prove that I exist

2006-04-05T15:25:00.000-04:00

If I were arrested or died today I would have no way of proving that I am Daniel Thomas Ubdegrove. I have no Photo ID - no driver's license, no age of majority card, no health card with my picture on it. I don't even have a birth certificate because I'm a retard and it got left in a shirt pocket that went on a washing machine trip. I used to think that it was great, that it was liberating to have my own little way of 'non-existence.' But now it's bugging the hell out of me. 'Cos if you don't exist you can't move forward.

A week plus 8 years ago my father was murdered, during an argument over a hit of heroin. It’s my biggest fear to end up like him; a half paralysed – both physically and emotionally – drunken drug-addicted burden, an embarrassment. Not that I was ever embarrassed by my father, I just wanted him to do the impossible - to love me the 7 days out of the year that I was able to see him.

Every year or two during the summer my mom would pack me up on a Greyhound Bus and send me off on the 6-7 hour journey to Sudbury. I felt like such a big boy, all on my own on a Big Adventure. The bus ride to and from my father’s was always my favourite part. I loved watching the countryside whipping by as I starred out the window. I never slept on the bus because then I would miss something. The bus ride to Sudbury was the best because of the anticipation of seeing my dad. The bus ride home was the best because I was going home, away from Sudbury.

When I’d get to Sudbury my dad would set me in front of the teevee where I would watch Due South and Law & Order while he'd proceed to get stoned. Sometimes we’d walk for hours and hours and I don’t think we ever got to where ever it was that we were supposed to be going to. He had two cats, Max and Smokey. Smokey scratched my face badly once and another time I cut my left index finger right open on a can of cat food and I had to get stitches. I still have the scar, but you have to look really close to see it.

I hate doctors now, so much so that I haven’t been to one in over 5 years. Not even last year when I was damn near deaf and in constant pain/unbalance due to a nasty ear infection.

My first thought when he died was ‘what’s going to happen to the cats?’ I didn’t go to his funeral and I don’t know where he is buried. All I know is that I’m still that scared little 12 year-old boy who’s afraid of growing up. I’m still that 12 year-old boy who just found out his dad died and doesn’t want to face reality.

I don’t exist because then I would have to face that reality, I’d have to move on and grow up. It’s not happening because I can’t let go - I’m afraid that if I do then somehow I’ll forget.

Today I was filling in an application on ServiceOntario[dot]Ca to get another copy of my birth certificate and part-way through the website went down.

God can be such an ironic bastard sometimes.

Solitaire is a poor metaphor

2006-04-03T14:29:00.000-04:00

My editor sent me back the first edited story for Shoddy Penmanship. And thankfully my editor was brutally honest about things. And unfortunately - for my editor - I think that my editor is going to be doing a lot of; "holy jesus, how many times do i have to say the same thing over again? you're so fucking redundant."

I used no capitals in that fake quote because my editor never uses them and I wanted to be as accurate as possible. My editor is right though - I am incredibly redundant in my writings, something that I hadn't noticed until my editor pointed it out.

Captain Redundancy, away!

I'll sue you in England!

2006-04-01T15:56:00.000-05:00

Last night my favourite episode of South Park was on, the infamous Scientology episode - Trapped in the Closet. Has there ever been a funnier 30-minutes of teevee programming? I think not.

It's April 1st, the ever fun April Fool's Day. Sadly I don't think I've ever pulled a prank.

I totally have to get a job now. I haven't worked in a year and people that don't work for a year with no good reason a] are Orillians b] are Bums. It's funny how both a] and b] are pretty much the same damned thing.

I also have to do some cleaning up in the list of The Sexy People. Some people don't update anymore.

Edit - Cleaning up is le fini. The Sexy People list looks so empty.

I said shit, goddamn, I'm a man

2006-03-30T23:20:00.000-05:00

I almost chopped my index finger off today while I was making a salad. Rube told me today that it was important for me to never, ever date again. We talked about garden gnomes.

Good times.

I am coming to realise that a solitary existence is not a desirable one, but that just might be the morning wood talking. Who knows, and more importantly, who gives a good golly-gee?

I can't wait to get a job/tax return 'cos I'm in desperate need of buying new music. The world is a very dark place when you stare at your music collection and go; "meh, I'm bored with all of these."

Dark days indeed.

Baked beans

2006-03-29T22:33:00.000-05:00

I'm getting tired of spam mail. For every 'real' e-mail I get I get a couple dozen messages telling me that I can't bring a woman to orgasm and that my penis is too small. Its like, Jesus, I already know these things, I don't need strangers telling me it too.

Anyways.

I was reading GateWorld[dot]Net yesterday and apparently Richard Dean Anderson's going to be coming back to Stargate SG-1 for a couple guest spots and it totally made my day. That, in turn ruined my day because I realised that the only thing that made my day not suck was the temporary return of a fictional character to a science fiction show.

Le Sigh.

Wander My Friends

2006-03-29T00:32:00.000-05:00

One thing I don't get about Blogger is sometimes you'll get three/four hits from a blog and you'll go "oh cool, some random fellow e-ho linking me, what's the deal?" and then you'll go to the blog and it'll be in fucking spanish, chinese or french and you're all "the eff? I can't make heads or tails of this blog, what's the deal?"

and then you can't find your link anywhere on the page and then you're all "the eff?" again and then you obsess about it because you have no life and you read the entire archive even though it's in a language you can't understand except for the apparently randomly placed emoticons that express joy, sadness, winking, flat and round mouths and licking and you think to yourself "golly gee, I sure do hope that the reason this person is sticking out their tongue is a sanitary one."

Battlestar Operatica

2006-03-28T23:03:00.000-05:00

I got a hold of Battlestar Galactica's Season One Original Soundtrack, as composed by Bear McCreary today. It's quite possibly one of the best scores I've ever had the pleasure of flooding into my auditory passages. One thing that has always impressed me about Battlestar Galactica [actually, everything impresses me] is the score.

At times it is so understated that it’s like a friendly buzz in the back of your ear and yet sometimes it’s so brazen that it almost outshines the action taking place on screen. An example of this is “Baltar Panics,” which is so bold it can cure cancer.

Well, maybe not, but I like to pretend.

I love hating on me

2006-03-28T16:48:00.000-05:00

I don't think a white person should ever say the word nigger. says:
sometimes you lose me man

I don't think a white person should ever say the word nigger. says:
no i'm sorry, many times you lose me

I don't think a white person should ever say the word nigger. says:
and i still stick by your side

dan says:
haha

dan says:
it's 'cos i like to wander around aimlessly like a penguin on heroin

I don't think a white person should ever say the word nigger. says:
you fucking do.

I modified the "Blogebrity" button[as seen on the right side of the page] to suit my own self-serving and self-deprecating needs. I'm currently on my 4th or 5th pot of coffee and I haven't slept since Sunday night, but for serious, I laughed so damn hard at that modified button.

I'm on the Z-List! May I requisition a 'Hell Yeah'?

I just hope that I'm the first one to think this up, or I'm gonna look like a real douche. Chances are that someone already has thought it up. In that case, sorry to whomever I'm ripping off.

In the case that it is a rare original idea, feel free to steal the image and use it for your purposes/amusement.

301st Post Extravangaza

2006-03-28T00:47:00.000-05:00

I meant to do a 300th post extravaganza, you know, a "Look At Me I'm A Blogger" type of deal but when I made my last post I forgot that it was the Almighty 300th Post. I had a plan and everything and it was all self-gratifying and it was glorious. There's nothing like self-congratulations.

Instead this will be a regular post - a post where I explain how big of a retard I am.

What's funny about this post - to me at least - is that I'm taking a break from typing Run-On Sentences and Shoddy Penmanship by typing a blog post. There's nothing like changing lanes by... not changing lanes at all. There was imagery in my head there that made a lot more sense in my brain than it does written down. That's the way it is with most things, they make sense or they're fucking hilarious in my head and then it comes out and everyone's all; "Are you stupid?" and I'm all; "I guess."

I think that I have become addicted to writing. It's all I do anymore. Aside from Shoddy Penmanship I've written the first four chapters of something I've called Cigarettes and Half-Truths, as well as the first chapters for UGLI and Planet 86.

It's like crack to me man, for serious.

I'm so used to being wrong, so put me where I belong

2006-03-27T21:15:00.000-05:00

The Grace by Neverending White Lights has got to be one of the best songs released in a long, long time. I know that I've said to various people that I dislike Alexisonfire, and I really do. I really dislike Alexisonfire. For Reals. However, I think that Dallas Green has the second best voice in Canadian male vocals. First place of course belongs to Matthew Good.

Anyhows, I'm about to embark on the long ass process of retyping a piss load of text. It's going to be very, very 'fun.'

I'd say I was an enigma if I wasn't such a cliche

2006-03-22T21:22:00.000-05:00

I miss Orillia. I really do, which is a weird thing because the only thing I could think of when I was growing up was getting out of Orillia. I had a tentative talk with with my ninja [Rube] about moving back to Orillia, but I don't think that's a good idea. As much as I'd like to hang out with him more often - haven't seen him since I left Orillia almost year ago - the idea of going back to Orillia doesn't make sense. Orillia is a town that traps you, feeds on you and kills you. To use a Matthew Good lyric; "Once you're in you're pretty much fucked."

I really dislike St Catharines. Sure, the weather is nice, but you can get that anywhere. Sure they have a couple malls, but who with a penis likes shopping anyways? Sure there's a great place downtown called Vinyl Frontier [greatest name ever], but it'll eventually get shut down when fucktards kill the music scene by downloading all the music without paying for it.

Bah. I'll just stay here until I'm financially secure enough to move to Toronto or some such place.

Christy, I'm going to start on the final draft of Shoddy Penmanship sometime this week or next, so you should get an e-mail within the next couple weeks with the document for you to edit.

P.S. Brush your teeth everyday Rube.

I'm so needy

2006-03-19T15:30:00.000-05:00

I want a world where people can walk down the street without fear. I want a world where the people actually give a damn about how their lives are run, controlled and manipulated. I want a world where I can speak my mind freely and listen to others speak their minds freely. I want a world where homophobia and racism are embarrassing footnotes in the history of humanity.

I need a world where art retakes it's throne back from product. I need a world where people no longer have a need or want to carry a gun. I need a world where a woman can walk alone in a park in the middle of the night and not fear being raped. I need a place to call my own, a place that I can call everybody's.

I want truth to be spoken freely without having to disguise itself in a sea of jokes. I want those that would lie, cheat and kill to gain power and money to be held accountable for their crimes. I want people to know the difference between patriotism and blind obedience. I want a world where people can lighten the hell up.

I need a world with religious freedom. I need a world where those that practice their religious freedoms, don't force their beliefs and ideals on others.

I need a world with checks and balances. I want a world that I can be proud of.

I <3 Pineapples

2006-03-17T20:21:00.000-05:00

I've been writing a lot lately, I'm almost finished the second draft of Shoddy Penmanship. I've also started working on a full length novel tentatively titled "UGLI."

Call me Captain Jumps-The-Gun.

It's about stuff. I couldn't be more vague could I?

Religious bigotry my ass

2006-03-15T19:44:00.000-05:00

Isaac Hayes has quit South Park due to "religious bigotry." What a load of shit. He just got his panties in a bunch because South Park made fun of Scientology in the episode "Trapped in the Closet" which incidentally, is my favourite South Park episode to date.

Stick to what I know is real

2006-03-10T21:00:00.000-05:00

The line

Why don't you ask the kids at Tiananmen Square,
Was fashion the reason why they were there?

from the titular track from System of a Down's - Hypnotize has been running through my head ever since I first heard it back whenever it was that I first heard it. I simply adore it.

Today's telephone interview went well, I was actually sans stuttering-fool-Dan and I was stuck with charming-fool-Dan. Which I have to say is a much better version of me. The worst has got to be dancing-fool-Dan or maybe drunken-"lemme-tell-you-sumting"-fool-Dan.

The interviewer asked me; "Why do you think you'd be a good addition to Possible Employers Inc.?" and I responded; "Well... I have a charming personality."

Ugh.

But now I have to wait a week to a week and a half while The Powers That Be at Possible Employers Inc. "review" my interview information from today's call, the IQ test that they made me do, as well as the computer literacy testing they made me do.

And I told them I'm very patient. Ok, this guy right here, is a Grade-A Bullshitter. I should teach a course on it. Then again, if you take into consideration the Angie-Fiasco [which I never went into on here, which is surprising, considering it is hi-goddamn-larious].

I should talk about it sometime.

Homer Adolph Plessy is an unsung hero

2006-03-08T19:16:00.000-05:00

Today while I was downtown, I bumped into someone that I went to high school with. Which is an odd thing, considering that I no longer live in the town that I went to high school in. I can't remember the girl's name and I don't think I ever had a class with her, but we were in the same grade.

I think that it was actually the first I'd ever spoken with her, which actually isn't all that weird, considering how uncool I was in high school.

Those were the days.

In other, uninteresting news, I have a job interview tomorrow at 9am. Wish me luck.

Jon Stewart = Best Oscar Host Ever

2006-03-07T20:36:00.000-05:00

This year I watched the Oscars for the first time. Usually I don't care to watch them, due to the blandness and generally pretentious nature I perceive the Academy of fostering, but I tuned in this year solely based on the fact that Jon Stewart was hosting.

My God can that man ever make me laugh.

The attack ads that Rob Corddry [or was it Stephen Colbert?] narrated were hilarious as was the introduction to the Oscars. I say kudos Jon Stewart, kudos.

"For those at you keeping score, that's Scorsese 0 Oscars; Three-Six Mafia, 1."

Curse of the jeans

2006-03-06T19:55:00.000-05:00

I didn't get the call centre job they didn't give me a call, so I'm all "boo-hoo-y" right now. Well, not quite. I maintain that my ass looked too good in them jeans, so they were all "AH! Too sexy!"

It's not fault I was born this ugly.

Good looking.

I meant to say good looking.

It's almost done

2006-03-02T18:46:00.000-05:00

1st draft of Shoddy Penmanship is finished.

Hurray for dress codes

2006-02-28T20:50:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I had an interview at a call centre, which provides much the same shit as Teletech did and today I went back for a second interview, 'cos, you know, they asked me to come back.

And I always do what I'm told, 'cos I'm a good boy.

Anyways, I grabbed the first pair of pants that I saw this morning, which means I grabbed the only pair of pants that weren't in the laundry basket.

Little known fact about me; I like wearing clothing that doesn't smell like a septic tank.

To back track a little, the interview I had yesterday was the usual nerve-wracking event in which the interviewer pays you little to no attention as he or she writes down the words that escape from your shaky mouth. I stuttered like an electrician who was having a seizure while at the same time also being electrocuted.

I thought for sure they were just going to say "thanks for coming, goodbye." To my surprise I was asked for a second interview today, which would involve further one-on-one time as well as a tour of the facilities, with other prospective employees.

I apparently made the most terrible faux pas possible while going for an interview. The most horrifying thing that an interviewee can do. The most disgusting of all the socially unacceptable.

I wore jeans.

I thought nothing of it, I mean, my ass looks fantastic in jeans, for real. I got to the interview about 20 minutes early, 'cos it's always best to be early than late.

The manager that was to lead us, The Prospective Ones, on the magical journey around the land that was to be our Hopeful Hiring noticed my Unspeakable Act.

It was not my time to enter The Land of the Ringing Machines. I had to embark on a different, more embarassing journey. I had to go home and change my pants, for jeans are banned in The Land of the Ringing Machines.

I did manage to get home and change into "dress pants," though I did consider wearing a different pair of jeans, a pair that has a large rip in the knee. But I figured that that joke would be in poor taste.

I had less than 2 hours to get home, change and then get back to a 3 o'clock interview. I takes an hour just to get home by bus, so I was pretty much fucked, but thankfully I have an aunt who has this strange device called a "Automobile." Apparently these things run on a combustible substance that gets injected into a machine called an "engine." I don't think that is very safe, but then again I don't think that going "outside" is very safe either.

Well, all that seemed a lot more interesting in my head when I was remembering it.

Sorry to bore you.

I'm much more intelligence-y than you are, part deux

2006-02-22T19:11:00.000-05:00

Today I was making a sandwich - I make the best sandwiches ever - and I stood staring at my ingredients and the kitchen counter for about half an hour. I knew something was missing, but what could it be? I knew it was important, I had the mayonnaise, the ham, the cheese, the lettuce and the basil vinaigrette dressing I always put on.

This dumbfuck forgot that you need bread to make a sandwich. Yeah, much more intelligence-y for sure.

I'm much more intelligence-y than you are

2006-02-21T21:54:00.000-05:00

The other day I was reminded of one of the few good memories I have from high school. Not that I have many bad ones, or for that matter, it's not as if I have many memories of high school in general.

Not that I abused drugs or alcohol or anything.

I swear, for real.

Seriously, honestly and frankly though, I'm more square than a cube, so there wasn't much of the abusing of mind altering substances.

I spent most of high school avoided situations that would result in a memory. So that ends my digression from the point.

In Grade 10 Social Studies class I had a man named James Sammon as my teacher. Mr. Sammon ended up, for me, being on e of the most influential voices in the developement of my mind. I'm sure at the time he thought that I was just another slacker student, 'cos frankly, seriously and honestly, I was. But all slacking aside he tought me life's most important lesson; 'think for yourself.'

It still took me years to actually comprehend the lesson, but that's another story about the fact that I'm much more intelligence-y than you are.

Anyways, in that class we had an assignment, we were to create a fake political party with a fake platform and a fake leader and we were going to hold fake elections. We could team up with a partner or go it alone.

I, of course, gave a go at it alone. Because even then I was a sarcastic little smart ass, I decided to create the world's worst political party. I built up a party based on sterilisation and castration of the handicapped, to maintain a “clean gene pool” and I was going to sanction euthanasia for anyone in their thirties.

An obvious Logan’s Run reference, but nobody seemed to catch it. Nobody really seemed to be bothered by my “Canadian Heritage Front Party,” in fact I ended up getting 2 votes, which I believe put me in third place. Even though the leader of “CHFP” was called the “Great Unseen Leader” and was nothing more than a shadowy figure.

I found it funny at the time. Mr. Sammon was the only one that appeared to get the joke though.

And that concludes today’s episode of "I'm much more intelligence-y than you are."

Do they put liquid cancer in the drinking water?

2006-02-13T20:16:00.000-05:00

It's February 2006. Let's see, what happens in February? Not much, except if you're me, [and I know that you're not] it means that last February you quit your semi-well paying job and took a year-long self-imposed sabbatical from the human race.

I know that it can be fun, in a holy-crap-i'm-so-blasé way, which in all honesty, ain't that much fun. So tell me, why did you do such an idiotic and childish thing? Why the introvert façade? What are you doing, trying to hold on to a dream by shutting out reality?

It's not fooling anyone and it sure as hell ain't fooling me. Just because you hate yourself doesn't mean that you can sleep all day.

Stop trying to be me.

My face hurts

2006-01-31T20:13:00.000-05:00

I've wanted to post another snippet from Shoddy Penmanship for a while, so here it goes.

Planet 86

A loud moan pierced the silence and it was followed shortly by an even louder groan of pain. Damnit did he ever ache. His knees felt as if they were on fire and he had the oddest craving for kosher pickles. He opened his eyes and was blinded by the bright light that filled his vision. He couldn’t remember where he was, who he was or why he was. He rolled into a sitting position and saw that there was a shadow standing above him and he looked up, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.

The shadow eventually came into focus and the man-who-was-a-tad-blank could see it’s lips moving, but all he could hear was his own breathing. The shadow, which the man-who-knew-not-much now saw as a human male, rolled his eyes and reached down and knocked on the man’s helmet. The man-who-was-slightly-vacant just looked up in confusion as the other gestured emphatically and somewhat angrily. When the other reached down and began to pull on the helmet of the man-who-knew-too-little, he backed away in a panic.

The other continued to speak and the man-who-was-now-scared could tell that the other was now screaming at the top of his lungs. In fact the man-who-was-protective-of-his-helmet could make out a few words here and there.
“…you leave… helmet… run out… oxygen you… king moron… breathe planet’s… air,” yelled the other.

The man-who-was-being-yelled at nodded and looked at a read out on his wrist and saw that the yelling one was indeed correct; the air was breathable. He pushed a button on the same wrist panel and his helmet and his suit seemed to melt away from his body into the readout on his arm. He seemed to know immediately that his space suit was made out of nano-technology and that it could be activated and deactivated at a touch. He knew that the computer on his wrist was capable of many things, but he didn’t know how he knew that.

He took his first breath of alien air and felt the reassuring weight of his gun in his hip holster. The other rolled his eyes with a look on his face that seemed to say; “why the panic?”

“I’m Winsome,” he said. “Welcome to Planet 86.”

“I don’t know who I am,” said that man-who-was-surprised-at-understanding-the-other.

“That’s not all that uncommon around here,” said Winsome. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

It was only then that the newcomer noticed that they were in a small town filled with dozens of odd looking beings who all had the same depressed and dejected look on their faces. In some cases, on things that did not look like something that could be called a face. The newcomer’s thought was that they all looked like their parents had left them behind on a family vacation.

He followed Winsome down an alleyway, marvelling at the scope of the town. It was magnificent in its blandness and run-down features. Winsome paused when they come to what the newcomer assumed was the town’s square. A water fountain stood in the middle of the square and it seemed to be churning out mud rather than water. He saw a muscular man sitting on a bench clothed in a red spandex jump suit with “MM” embroidered on his chest. Winsome followed his eyes and saw the man that the newcomer was looking at.

“That’s Mars Man,” he said. “He was created by the same guy that thought you up, for a grade 7 art project, I believe it was. He’s got the usual powers, super strength, speed and the ability to fly and to breathe in outer space, even thought that makes no sense. Pretty standard really.”

“’Mars Man’? That’s the most retarded name I’ve ever heard,” said the newcomer. He didn’t seem to realise that it was only the second name that he had ever heard. The newcomer puckered his brow at the thought of the same guy that had thought up that weirdo in the spandex suit had created him too. He wasn’t what that meant and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Winsome saw the look on his face and smiled.

“His real name is Captain Thomas Howard, astronaut,” said Winsome. After a moments thought he said; “you’re going to need a name, what do you think about Adam?”

“As in Adam and Eve?”

“Hell no, as in Adam Baldwin of Adam Baldwin fame. He’s got his own statue and everything. He’s like a god in this galaxy.”

The newcomer liked the way that that sounded and accepted the moniker with a nod and a smile.

“You can smile. That’s good, full range of emotions? That’s more than a lot of people can say around here, isn’t it Mars Man?”
Winsome looked over at Mars Man who responded with a sneer.

“He can only feel anger and rage and fury and wrath.” Winsome lowered his voice to a conspiring level. “You know, the guy that thought the two of you up is a real menace. We’ve got almost half a province full of his half-assed creations and the porn galaxy has a full parsec. He can’t seem to follow through on anything.”

“What does that mean, our ‘creator’?” Adam asked, dismissing Mars Man’s emotional issues. His happiness over being named was replaced with his previous feeling of confusion.

“Ah yes, my usual speech. There’s this planet called Earth, heard of it?”

“That’s where I was born.”

“Wrong. You were never born. Every time that a member of Earth’s indigenous population creates a fictional character he or she pops into existence in this universe. There’s a galaxy for every genre. Two galaxies over is ‘classic literature,’ its full of Jane Austin characters and tea and crumpets. You following?”

Adam just stared at Winsome.

“It’s like an intergalactic library without a librarian or readers. This galaxy is the science-fiction galaxy and this solar system is for the ideas that didn’t pan out; the failed creations.”

“Failed creations?”

“Every time that someone writes up or thinks up a character and gives up on him or her, they pop up here, or on one of the other planets in this system. Come on.”

Winsome gestured and led Adam into a building next to the mud fountain and Adam saw a mass of what looked like yarn, that was vaguely shaped like a person.

“This guy,” said Winsome, “was thought up by a physicist. He was going to be the world’s first superhero whose powers were based on string theory. His powers are an uncanny ability to be… all stringy, I guess. String-a-ling here’s creator was killed in a car crash before finishing him. So, he was sent here, with the rest of us failings. Get it?”

“So I’m not real?” inquired Adam after a moment’s pause.

“Oh no, you’re real, you’re just fictional. One hell of an existential complex isn’t it?”

“So, if we’re real, and yet we’re not, is it even possible for us to die?” asked Adam, not believing a word of Winsome’s whimsical tale.

“Oh yeah, but remember, creation and art are fickle mistresses. It’s rare for a new idea to come along anymore. Let’s say that Mars Man there eats a bad oyster and croaks, well, there’s this magical place on Earth called ‘California’. It’s like our heaven, or more accurately, our version of reincarnation. Except it’s more of a regurgitation than a reintegration. You may cease to exist out here, but sooner or later a new version of what is essentially you will pop back into existence. Sometimes the new version is better than the old, but more often then not, the new version is more of a shell.”

“This is bullshit,” said Adam, turning and walking out the door. Winsome watched him leave and shook his head.

“You’re catching on,” called out Winsome after Adam, “everything here is bullshit. This whole concept of reality is based solely on how our creators conceive their own existence. Do you think that if we could shape out own lives we’d be hanging around this desert? No, we would build ships and we would fly away from here to better places, have adventures, but it isn’t in out nature, it isn’t our purpose. We are here because we are here. That’s it, that’s all there is.”

Adam kept his back to Winsome, not daring to face him as he spewed out Adam’s worst fear. Life for life’s sake wasn’t really life, but what else could there be? He had no purpose other than to exist. He had knowledge but he had no memory.

“You seem to have all the answers,” he said with a touch of resentment in his voice.

“I was created by an anal-retentive number-cruncher with self-esteem issues,” answered Winsome. “Why else do you think I’m called ‘Winsome’? ‘Charming or attractive’ that’s how the Collins dictionary defines me. I’ve got a seamlessly unending repertoire of knowledge and the ability to gain new knowledge without even knowing that it exists. I know everything that there is to know. I’m like God, except without the whole omnipresent and omnipotent thing.”

Winsome stepped up next to Adam and put an arm around his shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll show you a place where you can stay.”
It took a long time, maybe it was years, but eventually Adam decided that he didn’t like this existence. He didn’t like the fact that he existed only to exist. There had to be more to this reality than what was plainly available. Winsome visited him occasionally, when he wasn’t doing his tour guide routine with the newcomers.

Adam stared at the newcomers with the same vacant stare that he had seen in the eyes of the other inhabitants when he had first arrived. It brought him a sick sense of comfort to reciprocate the feeling at the new arrivals. He never shaved but he had a permanent five o’clock shadow. He never felt hungry or thirsty or tired, though he did eat and drink and sleep. But he knew that if he stopped doing these things it wouldn’t kill him. Winsome had told him that the suicide rate among the new arrivals was a high as “fifty percent within the first week” of what passed as time around the desert. There was a night time, but it was the same as the daytime and even though the sun went down, Adam had a hard time differentiating between the two.

Winsome told him that eventually he would remember his creator and that he would gain some sort of insight into who or what he was. He also warned Adam that regardless of the knowledge of what he would uncover, it wouldn’t be anything new, and it would only be what already existed in his mind. He would find some part of his creator within himself, some personality trait or habit. He found that it was a smoking habit, provided by a pack of cigarettes that he found in his jacket’s inner pocket, a pack that seemed to be perpetually full.

He occasionally sat on the bench next to Mars Man in the town square, playing round after round of ‘rock, paper scissors.’ Winsome would watch the two of them with an amused smile on his face. Mars Man seemed to do everything ‘angrily’ with his motivation being ‘anger.’ It was as if he was a tortured being with an unrelenting rage inside at being wronged and a drive to right all the wrongs but instead he was relegated to sitting on a bench in the middle of nowhere twenty-four hours a day.

“I’m a cliché,” seethed Mars Man one afternoon after losing another round of ‘rock, paper scissors.’ He always played ‘rock,’ as if he was unable to do anything with his hand other than to make a fist. But it was him that continually demanded a rematch with Adam. Adam wasn’t sure how to answer him, so he went with ‘scissors’ on their next round. Mars Man looked as if he was furious at winning.

A loud boom, something that Adam immediately recognised as the sonic boom of a spacecraft entering a planet’s atmosphere, interrupted their next round. Mars Man growled upon hearing it and Winsome stood straight up, a look of half panic in his eyes. Adam looked around and saw that the population was scattering, shutting themselves inside the buildings.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his right hand instinctively resting on the butt o his holstered gun.

“Badgers,” replied Mars Man with his usual rasp.

“Reavers?”

“Badgers,” said Winsome, drawing out each syllable of the word ‘Badger’ as though he was speaking to a child.

“Burrowing rodents?” asked Adam with a laugh.

“No idiot,” Winsome’s voice now had a hint of terror. “Badgers, as in those who ‘mock or annoy’ as the Collins dictionary defines them.”

“Interstellar insult comics?” Adam didn’t understand what the big deal was. Winsome hadn’t told him about the Badgers. Badgers were residents of the galaxy that were complete. Characters, whose creators had created a full history for, completed their story, characters whose makers had not given up on. Winsome explained it as fast as he could as he led Adam to shelter. Every door they came to they found were locked or barricaded from the inside.

“We’re The Partials. The Completes inhabit the rest of the galaxy, outside of our solar system. The Completes and The Partials, funny right?”

“Funny.”

“Right. The Completes mostly stick with their own ‘verses, their own counterparts in whatever book, television series or movie they belong to. Some intermingle.”

Adam drew his gun and looked at Winsome with a gesture of his gun, silently asking him if he had a weapon. Winsome shook his head negative.

“Mostly everyone gets along,” Winsome said as they continued on, “though you can imagine there are an infinite amount of points of view and an infinite amount of reasons to fight. Every ‘verse or reality has its versions of bad guys and good guys and the bad guys do their usual bad guy business and the good guys do their good guy stuff. The galaxy is pretty much divided down that line, good and evil, each one within their own world, interacting with each other, fighting along side each other and against each other.”
Adam frowned as he pushed futilely against another door and turned to Winsome.

“I don’t think I’m following you,” he said.

“For example, Darth Vader and his Imperial Stormtroopers fought along side the Cylons and the Romulan Empire against The United Federation of Planets, who fought along side the Twelve Colonies and the Rebel Alliance. Good versus evil. If there ever was a universal constant, that’s it. Get it?”

Adam nodded.

“Boomer’s hot.”

Winsome stopped in his tracks and look sideways at Adam with his eyebrows raised.

“Original Battlestar Galactica or the Re-Imagined Battlestar Galactica?” he asked.

“Oh, Re-Imagined Battlestar Galactica, totally,” replied Adam, maybe a touch too quickly. A moment of awkward silence befell the two as they searched for a hiding place and Adam felt that he needed to have more clarification.

“So, where do the Badgers come in?” he asked as Winsome nodded and
pointed towards a staircase that led up to a clock tower.

“Of all the parties that remain neutral, the ones that do their own thing, some band together to exercise their superiority fixation. They come here and shove the fact that they’re full beings into our faces. Sometimes, most times, they stay for weeks, ransacking the place, blowing up buildings, killing us. Generally acting like cliché bad guys.”

“Nobody fights back?” asked Adam, taking the steps two at a time.

“It’s not our place to fight back,” said Winsome, a touch of sorrow in his voice.

They reached the top without speaking another word and Adam kicked the door in and cleared it, gun in front as he did. He supposed that he was meant to be some sort of intergalactic marine, or something similar. He looked out the clock tower’s window and as he holstered his gun he was that the Badger’s ship had landed and its crew of a half dozen men was heading towards the town’s square, firing their weapons – a particle, laser and gunpowder arsenal – randomly into the buildings. Anybody that was unlucky enough to be caught outside was gunned down.

Adam looked around and it was only now that he noticed that Mars
Man was not with them.

“Where’s Howard?” he asked, turning around to face Winsome. Winsome pointed out the window and Adam followed his finger and saw Mars Man sitting on the bench in the town’s square.

“He’s going to get himself killed, “ said Winsome softly, with a shake of the head. Adam spun; turning to walk out the door and Winsome grabbed him by the arm tightly.

“If you go after him, you’ll die.”

Adam watched helplessly as the six Badgers leisurely surrounded Mars Man in a half circle, their weapons trained on him. One of the six stepped forward, Adam assumed he was their leader, and slapped Mars Man brutally across the face. As if on cue the six holstered their guns and drew cudgels from identical sheaths on their backs. Adam struggled against Winsome’s solid grip as the Badgers began to beat Captain Thomas Howard brutally. Mars Man just sat there, taking every hit without raising a hand in his defence.

Adam let out a snarl and re-drew his gun and shoved it into Winsome’s temple.

“Let me go,” he said quietly and Winsome had no doubt that he would pull the trigger if he didn’t let him go. Adam pushed pass Winsome and rushed out the door as Winsome stared after him. He leapt down the stairs as quickly as he could and when he reached the ground floor he took off in a full sprint towards the town’s square.

****

It's a little bit of a bizarre concept, one that I’ve had kicking around for over a year. Conceptionally it was originally a first person narrative from the point of view of a character who knows that he’s a fictional character and hates his creator [i.e. me]. But it was too self-deprecating, to the point of being self-serving.

The idea stuck with me and I eventually decided to blend it with another idea I had about an astronaut who crashes on an alien world and finds out that every single science-fiction cliché is a reality on that planet.

This is only the first draft of ‘Planet 86’ and I plan on re-writing it quite a bit. The first of many changes will be changing the character ‘Winsome’ from male to female. I feel that ‘Winsome’ is a more feminine name than a masculine. Besides, Winsome’s too smart to be male.

Mars Man was really a comic book hero that I made up for a grade 7 art project. The name “Mars Man” is absolutely absurd, to the point of nearly being camp. It wasn’t intended to be camp when I made him up. Hey, I was 12 at the time. I plan on using his superhero name far less often in future drafts, just because it looks and sounds ridiculous.

Dissimulation

2006-01-10T20:11:00.000-05:00

It's easy to lie when you know that there's going to be no fall-out.
It's simpler to lie when you know what the fall-out is going to be.
But when you stare into your own wide-open eyes, sometimes you have no choice but to deceive.
It’s easier to pretend that the eyes don’t see the truth of their existence reflected off the glass.
Recurring themes make the lies easier to pile on, as if that makes it right.
But how could something so wrong make everything seem A-OK?
How can the sin gain forgiveness?

Flicker.
Inhale.
Pretend that it’s all a dream and then smile for yourself.
If you can convince others then you can convince yourself.
If you convince yourself it’s natural to rig the forecast.
It’s all in the delivery, come out swinging with a shit eating grin pasted from ear to ear like some kind of self-loathing jackal.
If we’re all animals, then we don’t really have free will, but if we have free will, there’s no God, but if there’s no God, then we’re all animals.

So just smile through the headache and push it aside, because responsibly is left for those in charge and nobody wants to be in charge if they can just reap the benefits of complacency.
Televised brainwashing for the grey matter in the skull of the rank and file.
Defile, the assemblage of the reflective element and squint to protect your skulls. Scream, to blot out the silence of the bright white light, because it can’t save you and it doesn’t want to.
Inasmuch as there is a freedom there’s a truth and the truth is that there isn’t a freedom.

Just the looking glass and the looking glass is nothing more then what you want your perception to accept.
This part’s going to hurt because now you’re going to have to stop squinting and accept the truth of what you are.
You’ve got to take responsibility for the shit you extend to everyone else.
But the white light hurts so much, doesn’t it?
It kills and it spreads like liquid over every pore and seeps in no matter how hard you try to stop it.

There’s nothing to do except to stop fighting, but if you stop fighting then you’ve kinda missed the whole point.

Best. SNL Skit. Ever.

2006-01-10T20:10:00.000-05:00

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
LAZY SUNDAY, WAKE UP IN THE LATE AFTERNOON,

Dan says:
CALL PARNELL JUST TO SEE HOW HE'S DOING

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
"HELLO?" "WHAT UP PARNS?" "YO SANBURG, WHATS CRACKING?"

Dan says:
YOU THINKING WHAT I'M THINKING?

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
NARNIA!

Dan says:
THEN IT'S HAPPENING!

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
BUT FIRST MY HUNGER PAINS ARE STICKING LIKE DUCK TAPE

Dan says:
LET'S HIT UP MAGNOLIA AND MACK ON SOME CUPCAKES

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
shit i cant make out the next line

Dan says:
MAGNOLIA BAKEY HAS GOT ALL THE BOMB FROSTING

Dan says:
*Bakery

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
I LOVE THOSE CUPCAKES LIKE MCADAMS LOVES GAWSLING

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
GAWSLING GAWSLING

Dan says:
TWO! NO SIX! NO TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
I TOLD THAT IM CRAZY FOR THESE CUPCAKES COUSIN!

Dan says:
YO WHERES THE MOVIE PLAYING?

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
UP THE WESTSDIE DUDE!

Dan says:
WELL LETS HIT UP YAHOO! MAPS TO FIND THE DOPEST ROUTE

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
I PREFER MAP QUEST!

Dan says:
THAT'S A GOOD ONE TOO

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
GOOGLE MAPS IS THE BEST

Dan says:
TRUE DAT DOUBLE TRUE

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
SIXTY EIGHTH AND BROADWAY!

Dan says:
STEP ON IT SUCKER

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
WHATCHA WANNA DO CHRIS?

Dan says:
SNACK ATTACK MOTHER FUCKER

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
the chronic WHAT? iels of narnia!

Dan says:
THATS THE CHRONIC

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
What?

Dan says:
CLES OF NARNIA

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
WE LOVE THE CHRONIC

Dan says:
WHAT?

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
CLES OF NARNIA

Dan says:
PASS THE CHRONIC

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
WHAT?

Dan says:
CLES OF NARNIA

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
YO STOP AT THE DELI, THE THEATERS OVER PRICED!

Dan says:
YOU GOT THAT BACKPACK? I'M GOING TO PACK IT UP NICE

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
DON'T WANT SECURITY TO GET SUSPICOUS

Dan says:
MR PIBBS PLUS RED VINES EQUALS CRAZY DELICIOUS

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
REACH IN MY POCKET AND PULL OUT SOME DOUGH

Dan says:
GIRL ACTED LIKE SHE NEVER SEEN A 10 BEFORE

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
ITS ALL ABOUT THE HAMILTONS BABY

Dan says:
THROW THE SNACKS IN A BAG AND I'M A GHOST LIKE SWAYZE

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
ROLL UP IN THE THEATER

Dan says:
BUYING WHAT WE'RE HANDLING

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
YOU CAN CALL US AARON BURNS

Dan says:
FROM THE WAY WE'RE DROPPING HAMILTONS

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
PARKED IN OUR SEATS, MOVIE TRIVIA'S THE ILLEST

Dan says:
WHAT FREINDS ALUM STARRED IN FILMS WITH BRUCE WILLIS

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
WE ANSWERED SO FAST IT WAS SCARY!

Dan says:
EVERYONE STAND IN AWE WHEN WE SCREAM MATTHEW PERRY!

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
NOW QUITE IN THE THEATER OR IT'S ABOUT TO GET TRAGIC!

Dan says:
WE'RE ABOUT TO BE TAKEN TO A DREAM WORLD OF MAGIC!

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
WITH THE CHRONIC

Dan says:
WHAT?

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
CLES OF NARNIA!

Dan says:
WE LOVE THAT CHRONIC

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
WHAT?

Dan says:
CLES OF NARNIA

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
PASS THAT CHRONIC

Dan says:
WHAT?

TWO! NO, SIX! NO, TWELVE! BAKERS DOZEN!! says:
CLES OF NARNIA

Dan says:
narnia... narnia... narnia

Veneration

2006-01-09T18:48:00.000-05:00

Somebody asked me [the mirror] what my "deal" is. Well let me tell you, my reflection, what my "deal" is. My "deal" is that I'm an idiot. It's true, just ask Rube, he'll vouch for that. He'll also vouch that I never forgive when I perceive myself as having been wronged by a person and/or thing. So, my "deal" is that I'm a little bitch too. No worries, because I'm not likely to change any time soon. Due to said "idiocy" and "little bitch-ness."

So then I was asked by my mirror if I bathe regularily. I scoffed and said that I may be stupid but I'm not gross. Sometimes reflections can be such a pain.

My reflection he goes; "So what's with you and reality, you two getting along?" and I go; "Yeah I guess, he can be a dick sometimes though." Then my mirror flipped me off. What a dick.

Then there's the blog that angers me the most because of it's lack of originality,
the chick who doesn't allow comments anymore 'cos people were being bitches[seriously, fuck you people],
the honourable british actor,
the goddess of stream of consciousness,
the guy whose blog doesn't seem to work anymore,
the biggest jerk ever who hasn't updated since November,
the man you can tell is a ladies' man because of the way he walks,
the prettiest girl in Hamilton
and of course,
the best canadian artist of all time.

And they all scream from the screen and it bounces off the glass in my eyes into the mirror and they question my validity; "Do you think you're worth it?" and I say "I'm not sure, but I sure hope I'm worth the Other."

All the while the mirror is surrounded by them and they have a blast and I watch the
amalgamation of thought with a growing satisfaction, like a starving child given a steak for the first time.

Biggest douche

2006-01-09T18:03:00.000-05:00

Matt Stone and Trey Parker may have said that John Edwards is the biggest douche in the universe, but I think that his position has been usurped. By a former American Presidential hopeful named Pat Robertson. First he calls for the assassination of a human being, and a few days ago he said that a man had a stroke because God smote his ass. Or rather, in this case, heart.

If that's not being a douche, I don't know what is. I myself was raised christian, with church attendance every sunday for over a dozen years and elementary school attendance at catholic schools. I'm not a practicing christian, and I haven't attended a church sermon in well over a year but I can still say this; this douche is giving christianity and christians everywhere a bad name.

I believe in God, but me and God have issues and are not on speaking terms. However, what angers me with The Church [Capital Letters!] is when people presume to say what is God's will. Unless God comes down from the Moon wearing a T-Shirt that says; "Bitch, I'm God, pay attention," I don't think that anything that is said by any man or woman preacher can be taken as anything further than personal interpretation or opinion.

But to spread hate, malice and lies in the name of God... again, let me stress that I am not a religious person, but it still shames me to think that a man like Pat Robertson has such a large audience of people that hand on his every word. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that he has the right to free speech, and that he uses it, but it would be nice if he used it for good and not evil.

Still though, biggest douche ever.

Best thing ever

2006-01-09T00:28:00.000-05:00

http://www.doubleagent.com/video.php?v=776&ct=37&lps=0&sb=

Hot Olmos Action!

2006-01-08T03:02:00.000-05:00

Good weekend for science fiction. Stargate SG-1 and Battlestar Galactica's mid-season openers aired on friday. Atlantis' did too, but were I am it airs on The Movie Network, and we're already halfway through it. So suck it. SG-1’s was rather humourous, Ben Browder’s character, Cameron Mitchell has definitely solidified himself in the show, his scenes with Michael Shanks’ Daniel Jackson were some of the best this season.

All in all I wasn't all that impressed with Battlestar Galactica's opener, but only because the final scene in it's predecessor was one of the best moments in TV history. Edward James Olmos, hands down, has the greatest gravely voice of all time. Eat your heart out James Earl Jones, eat it. It was a good episode, I’m not knocking it, but the moment at the end of the last one [Pegasus] built up so much suspense that no matter what they did to continue on it, it would have been a let down.

[/geek gushing]

My first hate mail, I'm so proud...

2006-01-07T03:12:00.000-05:00

Title: i hate u
From: [removed]

whats ur problem bitch?
ur blogs the worst taht i ever read before.
all u do is whyne liek a babie u litle bitch
why u making a book no one is going to buy it idiot.
and why do u link to tony priece lol
hes rael bloggr an ur not stupid
dont like u noone likes u u are strupid to bothor wit thta.
are you pertrending that ur friends wtih him or ur aer cool?
news flash u ar not cool luser.

fuck u
someone who is better then u

I'd like the thank the academy... *tear*.

I'm not sure why exactly, but I was rather happy to receive this hate-mail, though I do admit to being offended by the atrocious grammar and spelling. Usually people hate me because of my shitty attitude, or my lack of social etiquette, but this... individual, took the time to hate me anonymously over the internet because of my all around un-cool factor.

Good times, good times.

The Ultimate Showdown

2006-01-06T05:01:00.000-05:00

I may [Read: am] be behind in the times, but I just found out about Lemon Demon today. It's good stuff, the "music video" for 'The Ultimate Showdown' is great, but I think that 'Consumer Whore' is the best song.

What are you waiting for?
Enough of this redundancy.
Why don't you go back to my show?
No need to torture me.
It's just commercials.
Damn commercials on my plasma screen.
It's such a pain, so I complain
while drinking my caffeine.
My Nike shoes are on my feet.
I'm going out to get some McDonald's to eat.
Don't know what my brain is for.
I used to, but I don't no more.
I am a consumer whore.

I haven't mentioned the collection of short stories and other things that I've been working on in quite a while, so I thought that I'd say that it's still in progress. It's almost finished in fact. At this point there's enough to call it a finished project, with over a baker's dozen worth of stories, but I plan on writing quite a bit more before I call it 'finished.'

I'm quite proud of the re-written Laughing Man stories. Now they actually make sense, with fixed grammar and narrative and what not. I might post another snippet in the next few days so keep your eyes open, but I'm not promising anything.

You say tomatoes, I say seperation

2006-01-06T00:24:00.000-05:00

People have been on my case the last few days because I've been listening to Kanye West. Apparently, people are only allowed to listen to certain genres, based solely on the colour of their skin.

Fuck that.

If the music speaks, listen. It's as simple as that.

Me be funny

2006-01-05T01:46:00.000-05:00

the fun machine took a shit and died says:
what are liberal arts?

Dan says:
the opposite of conservative arts

i'm the captain

2006-01-04T22:01:00.000-05:00

i'm the captain. that means i'm the boss and you're not. bitch. nobody gives me shit, because i'm the fucking captain. that might be because i don't have a crew since i got my last one killed. but i highly doubt that. i was thinking of trying to becoming an admiral. because you've gotta be able to order people to die and to cause people to die. it's all in the delivery, you gotta be without emotion. except anger. and hate. it's ok to be angry or hateful if you're a captain. it's actually a preferred job skill when you sign up. they'll look you right in the eye. until they see the empty carcass of your soul floating on an inner ocean of spite and loathing. then they'll give you a carcass to travel the world with. the carcass has big mother fucking guns on it.

it's a fucking blast. but the second someone messes with your carcass. blow 'em out of the water. 'cos they're gonna try that same shit on you. can't have that now can't we?

not a chance. 'cos i'm the fucking captain.

I repeat myself because I don't actually have anything to say

2006-01-04T19:31:00.000-05:00

so I think I'll just shut up.

The First Annual "I'm Fucking Smarter Then You Are" Awards

2006-01-04T09:49:00.000-05:00

Album of the Year:
Lullabies to Paralyze - Queens of the Stone Age
Honourable Mentions:
In A Coma - Matthew Good
Mezmerize/Hypnotize - System of a Down

When I first listened to Lullabies to Paralyze I hated it. I even made a blog post about how I was disappointed with it. But for some reason, I kept listening to it, until I realised that I actually loved it. When Lullabies first came out I was expecting another Songs for the Dead, which was actually a departure for them, being a heavier album that has more in common with Metal than hard rock. Lullabies is back to the hard rock roots with a fucking vengeance and I really couldn't be happier with the results. If this award was affected by "cool packaging," I'd have a hard time picking between System of a Down's new double album and the deluxe edition of Matthew Good's In A Coma, which has the greatest DVD ever, because the cover art on both those albums are top notch. But it doesn't affect this award, therefore Queens of the Stone Age still win.

Most Disappointing Album of the Year:
In Your Honour - Foo Fighters
[Dis]Honourable Mentions:
In Your Honour - Foo Fighters
In Your Honour - Foo Fighters

I have never, ever been more disappointed in an album. Well, maybe the time I bought Different Class by PULP and found that the only good song was Common People, though William Shatner's cover blows it out of the water. In Your Honour isn't that bad of an album, but it's not that great of an album either. For a band that has put out some of the most identifiable singles out over the last 10 years or so, In Your Honour doesn't really have a single stand out track. The acoustic disk isn't bad, but again, it isn't that great either. I hate to compare it to The Colour and the Shape, because bands tend to evolve their sound over time, but this album doesn't really seem to show any. All in all, the album is just, there, with no apparent purpose.

Artist/Band of the Year:
Queens of the Stone Age
Honourable Mentions:
Matthew Good
System of a Down

I can never say enough good things about Queens of the Stone Age. They released an amazing album at the beginning of the year and more recently they released a live album/DVD entitled Over The Years And Through The Woods and, honestly, I think that the live versions of the songs blow the album versions. It was also pretty funny to watch and listen as Josh Homme points out a member of the audience that had been "throwing shit" at him and then he proceeds to call the shit thrower a cock-smoker. He then introduces the next song as the "Anti-Cock-Smoker Song." I'll say it again, I can't say enough good things about Queens of the Stone Age.

Movie of the Year:
Serenity
Honourable Mentions:
The only other new movie I saw this year was Star Wars, and it doesn't deserve to get an honourable mention.

I love Joss Whedon, in the platonic way that a person has for someone whose work they admire. Serenity is funny, sad, violent, sexy, funny again, clever, it's funny and also a slew of other adjectives that mean funny and other good things. The universe of Serenity is simple, but not in a bad way, it's simple in the way that it's easy to understand, and unlike a lot of science fiction these days, it's actually more probable then say, a sudden new species of water creatures in suburban America. There are some Joss Whedon haters out there, but remember, this is the same guy that wrote Toy Story and created one of the most widely recognised shows of the last 10 years: Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Serenity is the only movie that has made me laugh until I almost had to pee and yet almost made me cry. Simply put; this movie is better than anything that's come out in the last few years.

New TV Show of the Year:
The Colbert Report
Honourable Mentions:
Criminal Minds
Bones

The Colbert Report makes me laugh. A lot. And that's all that it has to do to make me like it.

TV Show of the Year:
Sci-fi Friday's Stargate SG-1, Stargate: Atlantis and Battlestar Galactica
Honourable Mentions:
House
Arrested Development

I know, picking 3 shows is cheating, but if you know me, you know I'm a geek, through in through. Stargate SG-1 is in the middle of it's 9th - and in my opinion, best - season and Stargate: Atlantis and Battlestar Galactica are both in their second seasons. SG-1 has always been a personal favourite of mine and it's spin off Atlantis is great too. Smart and entertaining The Stargate "Universe" has the best one-liners in TV since the last Joss Whedon show went off the air. I loved the original Battlestar Galactica [I like to pretend that Galactica 1980 doesn't exist] and when The "re-envisioned" show came out I didn't give it half a chance. But after watching the mini-series my mind was blow at the depth of the writing and the characters. The effects are top notch, but the core of the show is Drama. It bothers me that Sci-Fi isn't given half a chance by many people in North America, but Battlestar Galactica is smarter, bolder, more shocking and more real than your dime a dozen shows about suburban infidelity. The show is more real because it dares to show human beings as is, with no attempt to dress up humanity.

Bleh

2006-01-04T02:12:00.000-05:00

I will be posting posts for the next week or so.

That is all for now.

Merry Fucking Christmas

2005-12-25T00:03:00.000-05:00

and Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa and FETIVUS FOR THE REST OF US

Holy Moly it's me

2005-12-14T21:29:00.000-05:00

I'm only making this post to dissuade the notion that I'm not coming back and to explain why I was on Myspace on the 9th. I'm only online for about 5 minutes a week, thus I have little time to do anything other than check my mail and whatnot. I will be coming back as a blogger as soon as I get my computer online which will be as soon as I get my first paycheck which will be as soon as I get a job which will be as soon as I manage to get out of bed before 1 in the afternoon.

Fuck, I set my alarm to get up early so that I can be at the job bank when it opens then I moan and fall back asleep and who the fuck wants to hire someone that only shows up late in the afternoon? Seriously serious.

But in the meantime peoples, enjoy Mrs-who doesn't-want-to-post-on-her-own-blog-or-to-have-her-blog-linked-for-silly-reasons-Christy's posts. I always do.

P.S. - Yes Christy, you are one of my favourite bloggers, right up there with Tony Pierce.