Ho Hum

Electrified - Dressy Bessy

As usual when I post a link I apologize if someone posted this, like, two years ago. If it's new, then give it a try:

The Cyborg Name Generator











A final one for our man abroad:



Ha ha, excellent. The results truly speak for themselves. Hmm, I've ruined it for the lot of you haven't I? Deal with it!

I can't die here. I have to be strong. I have to write this story! If I die, who will love my children? Must...clear...head...to...write!
Would having sex with me help?
Thank you, Channon, but I'm married to my work, and you have no nipples. You will be my loyal assistant instead.
Thank you! You've saved me from a life of sin!
I know!

8/31/2005 02:28:00 AM | Comments (0)

The Flu Game

I Want To Hold Your Hand - The Beatles

It was late Saturday night and I'm watching the Ultimate Jordan DVD that I recently borrowed from Max. I actually have my own copy, which I seem to have misplaced. If anyone knows of its whereabouts, let me know, eh? Anyway, I was watching game five of the 1997 NBA Finals against the Utah Jazz. More widely known as "The Flu Game". Long story short, Michael Jordan plays the entire game suffering from flu-like symptoms. He ends up with 38 points, including the game winning shot, and gives his team a 3-2 lead in a series they would later win in six. As I watched this game, two things occurred to me: 1) Karl Malone is one of the most useless players in the clutch ever. I truly despise him. 2) Jordan was faking. I mean, would that really be beyond him? You know, he probably knew he was going to beat Utah anyway and at this point he was gunning for his FIFTH NBA championship. Why not make things a little more interesting and add to his own legend by faking the flu? Maybe he'd even throw his opponents off a bit. I'd figured it out. The Flu Game was a great, big lie.

*****

I woke up Sunday morning feeling like crap. My whole body was sore and I was lightheaded. I figured that as soon as I climbed out of bed, washed up and got some fresh air I'd feel better. I had to. I needed to be at my best for an outing at the CNE with my U-mates later. I hadn't seen them in a while and I'd been sooooort of avoiding them, so I wanted to make sure that I provided some amusement for them today. They deserve that much for always including me in their plans even though I usually don't show up. I'm a dick like that. I should have known it was a bad sign when I couldn't fall asleep on the bus or on the subway. My head was just pounding. I figured all I needed was to fall asleep for a few minutes but rest never came.

When I got there, I ended up waiting about an hour and a half for people to show up. Well, that's unfair. I was waiting inside the station by myself for about half an hour. I discovered that three of the girls were already upstairs and had been there for some time. It's probably better that I didn't know they were up there because we had nothing to talk about. The girls in question were Julie, who had recently broken up with her boyfriend, Ping, who I have mentioned before in a previous post as being "cute as hell", and their friend Sheena, who was also cute as hell. After another hour (!) the rest of the gang showed up and we were on our way.

I'd forgotten how big the CNE was. After a while I wasn't even sure that I had been there before. I'm not going to go into a lot of detail describing it as I'm sure most of you have seen it. I will admit that I did play one of those carny games and I failed miserably. I decided I'd try my hand at one of the basketball shooting contests, even though I know the rims are smaller than normal. David was cautioning me and I was like, "That's only an issue if your shots actually hit the rim." $7 and at least two airballs later I was humbled. If I'd had any pride left I probably would have been more upset, but nothing can match the ordeal I once had back when I was about 13 or 14. I think we were on some sort of school field trip to the CNE or a place like it. I wanted to impress people by playing that game where you hit the scale with the large mallet in an attempt to ring the bell at the top. I couldn't even lift the fucking hammer. Compared to that, missing a few jumpshots wasn't that bad.

The day was going so well. We checked out the farm area, which was hilarious because the smell almost drove Tanya insane. Lesley Ann was petting some pigs and I suggested that she run her hand through Tanya's hair and tell her that she didn't wash her hands (she did). It was funny. We walked through the international pavillion, which I loved because of all the stereotypes it enforced. The Columbian stall only served coffee. The Italian stall was inhabited by a couple of goombahs trying to pawn off shitty jewelry. The Australian stall was cool hats, tooth necklaces and Crocodile Dundee DVDs. You figure out how much of that was a joke. There was also this area full of pimped-out hot tubs and as my friends and I checked them out, this sales clerk came by and actually asked us if we were interested in buying. My friends were surprised and didn't know what to say, but I looked her in the eye and said, "I'm interested. Definitely." Stupid ho.

You know what? There was a lot of cool stuff, but the whole time I was distracted by the pain coursing through my body. Honestly, all day it felt like someone had stabbed me with a knife...in my anus. I wanted to make merry, but I was constantly looking for a place to sit down. When Julius said that he had to leave early I was more than happy to go with him. I didn't even have a chance to say bye to everyone. I felt bad about it too, because I was genuinely enjoying myself and I didn't mean to be a drag. On the other hand, I'm sure my absence was hardly noticed.

The trip home seemed to take forever and when I finally arrived I collapsed on my bed for about three hours. I'm not even sure I was actually sleeping, just not moving. I had to call Natasha and cancel our outing on Monday just in case, which totally SUCKED because I'd been planning on seeing her for a while now and things keep getting in the way. She was completely understanding, as she always is, and we agreed to meet at a later date.

As I lay in bed, I realized that my affliction was directly related to my criticism of the Greatest Of All Time himself, Michael Jordan. How dare I even begin to question His Airness and his achievements? With the tiniest fraction of his power, MJ had obviously decided that I needed to be taught a lesson. I imagine the symptoms I felt on Sunday were not unlike those he felt during that fateful game against the Jazz. Knowing that I had to make immediate reparations, I crawled downstairs and popped in the Ultimate Jordan DVD again while attempting to ingest a late dinner. This time, I watched his last game, which was also against the Utah Jazz. No criticisms. No questions. I lay there in agony and awe, watching Jordan will his team over the Jazz for his sixth and final championship. I even sat through the post-game interviews. I had insulted Michael Jordan and I could only hope that my appreciation of his final moments would result in forgiveness.

I woke up Monday morning feeling perfectly fine.

*****

William, go watch The 40-Year Old Virgin if you haven't already.

Okay. There's an African foodstall down the street. I need two monkey-burgers, roast potato skins and a tub of matoke.
Hold it, hold it. Assistant, yes. Spider Jerusalem's slave, no.
I thought you wanted to be a journalist?
I do.
Then let me finish talking. When you get back, you're going to sit down with me over monkey-burgers and tell me everything you saw on the way.
Why?
Because if you're going to be a real journalist, you're going to need to learn how to look. Now get out of here. I need monkey.
One request.
Shoot.
Be dressed when I get back, okay? I'm never going to be able to keep food down if I have to watch that while I'm eating.
Everyone's a fucking editor.

8/29/2005 06:36:00 PM | Comments (0)

And I Awoke To The Bluest Of Skies

More Adventurous - Rilo Kiley

This post is going to be about the Kingston trip. Some other stuff, but mostly the trip. Since about 95% of the readers of this site were actually there and Jess is going to hear all about it on Saturday, I guess this post is just for Will's, and posterity's, sake. Seems worth it.

I should start by talking about Friday. Annia and I were going to watch March Of The Penguins. For those of you who don't know, it's a documentary. About pengins. I was hesitant. Don't get me wrong, I like documentaries (sort of) and I love nature (love it), but this seemed like the kind of flick that people who pretend to be cultured go out and see. I can already imagine asking someone if they saw any good movies this summer and having them respond, "The usual pap. Caught that March Of The Penguins though. Breathtaking." Then I'll be all like, "I saw Batman Begins three fucking times! Slammage dude! Hurt!" Add in the fact that we had to go to Kennedy Commons to catch it and the whole thing seemed ill-advised. I realize now that ill-fated is probably more accurate.

First, we ended up just missing a bus. As you know, the weather on Friday was balls crazy. Instead of waiting inside the station like intelligent human beings, we decided to stand outside and watch as the storm tossed debris here and there. Annia was compelled to record the whole thing on her digital camera. Documenting our "last moments" as she so nicely put it. Eventually the bus came, understandably a bit late. As we rode to Kennedy Commons, Annia fidgeted with the shutter speeds on her camera and I watched the world get flooded. Cars and people were desperately trying to push through enormous puddles. Annia couldn't help but take a picture of this poor bastard who was up to his waste in muddy water. As the bus struggled along, we decided we weren't going to catch our show, so Annia said we should head back to Scarborough Town and catch Red Eye instead. Here's my brief review in Rorschach-ian style:

Cillian Murphy. Soft C. Rachel McAdams. Good. Little thought necessary. I enjoyed it. Hrm.

The third strike came after we got out of Red Eye. Annia called the theatre at Kennedy Commons to get the next showtime for March Of The Penguins and they told her they were closed for the day due to flooding. Rather than speculate over what might have happened to us had we ACTUALLY caught our original showtime, I realized that maybe God just did not want us to watch this film. Sorry Annia.

*****

The Kingston trip went off without a hitch. Ha ha ha, yeah right. Hrm.

It started off with Gary, Max and myself not being able to board the bus due to a lack of space. We ended up having to wait a little over an hour for the next one. Gary went to talk to some old guy who was travelling with his family and when he came back to us I asked him if he found out the age of the guy's daughter. He didn't. The second bus came and we were on our way! Hottie count so far: At least 3. Hottie count that I won't get arrested for eye-fucking so far: At least 2.

Gary and I slept for most of the ride. Max says he listened to the new Kanye West during the ride, but I'm pretty sure he was listening to Good Times by Tommy Lee for two straight hours.

When we arrived at Brian's place, we found he had mutated into a bizarre creature that can only be described as the lovechild of Howard Hughes and Tom Hanks in Castaway: Freakishly long nails, skin covered in spots, hair growing wildly, all that. After boiling him in a vat of acid and beating him with a sock full of pennies, he was the old Brian again. In other words, no improvement. His parents were nice enough to drop by that night and treat us all to dinner at Swiss Chalet. Don't even begin to try and figure out the logistics of their driving about 6 hours back and forth to spend about 3 hours with their son. I guess they love him or something.

Showing traces of his father's generosity, Brian also treated Max and I to a unique experience the next day: A 3 hour experiment! Yay!!! Without getting into too much detail, the experiment was composed of Brian attaching sticky things to our heads, tossing us into a dark room and having us stare at six lights as they blinked on and off. There's probably more to it, but no amount of description is going to make it anymore interesting. I went first and Max went second, so yes, that was six hours of our day gone right there. On the positive side, we were given cookies, juice and thirty dollars for our troubles. I have also developed a nasty case of optic blasts.

It's probably good that we didn't do anything crazy during the day because later that night we went clubbing! Yeah, baby! Gary stayed at home to study for his music exam the next day (he passed y'all, whoo!), so Max, Brian and myself were free to hit the dance floor without that old maid holding us back. We thought we'd be cool and stop by the club around 11:00. You know, give the place some time to fill out before we roll up on 'em. When we showed up, there was noone there. Besides the hot bartenders...bartendras...bartenderesses...drink saleswomen and the hired muscle, it was just three skinny chinks. Suffice to say, the drinking began immediately. By 11:45, the place had filled up nicely. Unfortunately, by about midnight, I'd already hit my limit. Max and I got up for Rihanna's Pon De Replay, Brian got lei'd by this chick who lives a floor below him, and I went from "just fine" to openly dry heaving in a span of about thirty seconds. I actually felt okay, but I knew as soon as I stood I was going to puke. We left the joint, the boys escorted me over to a bush and I let it out. As with all vomit-related experiences, it was oddly liberating.

I awoke the next day with nary an ill effect and, like clockwork, affirmed that I was never going to drink again. Brian offered me a glass of scotch to start the day, which I quickly drank and then I threw myself out the window splattering my brains out on the street below. We ate lunch with Gary, who had to leave in the afternoon to take care of some business back in Markham. As Max and I waited for Brian to come back from work, we watched Closer on his computer. A devestating work. I'm still reeling.

A quick scan of this blog reveals that there is a lot of time unaccounted for. I'll tell you what we did. We played Magic a lot. A LOT. In all fairness, I mostly watched while Max, Brian and Gary, these men of iron, played their hearts out. All in all, I wouldn't hesitate to say that there was about 15-20 hours of Magic playing in there. No exaggerations. The boys were nice enough to let me DJ while they played, not that their non-Magic related senses were registering anything anyway. I hit 'em up with Old World Underground, Where Are You? by Metric, More Adventurous by Rilo Kiley (thank you, Annia) and Rumors by Fleetwood Mac.

Tuesday night we caught the The 40-Year-Old Virgin. No spoilers here if you haven't seen it yet. Go watch it, it's awesome. I should note that we got last on the way to the theatre if you hadn't assumed that already. We were already late so we were running up and down the streets like a bunch of jagoffs. One girl who we passed by a couple of times noted to her friend that it looked like we were doing laps.

On Wednesday, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a sky so blue and so clear. I didn't want to move and I didn't for about two or three hours. I saw Brian as he was leaving and then I dozed off again. When he came back for lunch, I was like, "Didn't you just leave 2 minutes ago?" Not much happened that day as Max and I prepared to leave our friend's house. I had work on Thursday, but I probably would have left anyway since we already drank all of Brian's orange juice and ate his Nutrigrain bars. Not much left to do, really. We unexpectedly ran into Eileen as we were going out for lunch. I was unprepared for such an encounter so I could only offer sarcasm and cynicism which is a shame since things are actually going well lately. Eileen, if you read this, I'm actually doing real good these days. Pardon the bad jokes.

On the bus ride home, Max and I played gay jukebox as we took turns picking out tunes from his iPod. I kept playing Good Times over and over again to see if I could break both of our minds. Finally, the song seemed to have no effect, but as we got off the bus I could hear the weak-ass guitar riff as if off in the distance. The song was no longer in my head, but burrowed in my marrow. On a completely unrelated note, if one looks up at the clouds and sees nothing but penises, does that make one gay? A strictly hypothetical query of course.

I know I'm leaving out all sorts of shit, but I'm tired and I'm going to go to bed. It was a great trip and much thanks to Brian and Gary for letting us be.

*****

Will, if you could pick me up some ruby quartz while you're digging around the caves of Europe that would be great. Peace out, brotha.

The air grows too warm, too quickly. I want very much for a beautiful woman to hand me a glass of very cold beer. All the atoms in the test chamber are screaming at once. The light...the light is taking me to pieces.

8/25/2005 03:45:00 AM | Comments (0)

Despite your best efforts, I am alive. Barely. That hitman you bastards hired almost got me though - good stuff on that. He disguised himself as an old lady and everything too. Good thing I noticed him reaching for his purse-gun at the last second and snapped his neck and threw him out the plane. His act was so good that he had convinced a nearby family into actually mistaking him for "Granny Ester." That was awkward for awhile.

I'm in this place called Munich. And I'm paying like six Euros for thirty minutes of internet - I think that's like a billion dollars, our money. So I might have to settle for...I don't know...like the Dominican Republic instead of Cuba for now.

Good airplane movies though. Two Will Shatner classics - Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan and Miss Congeniality 2. They were after him, not the girl! What a twist.

I was hoping that the person sitting next to me on the flight would be Scarlett Johansson, but instead I got this fat German woman who took over the shared arm rest, snored, and kicked me in her sleep. Fuckin' bull-dyke.

And I haven't seen a dirty chink for a whole day here...I imagine that's how heaven's like.

But I miss home. I don't like to travel.

"KHAAAAAAAN!!!"

8/20/2005 06:27:00 AM | Comments (0)

So I'll be gone until September 6th. If I can find an internet connection I might drop some quick pictures or tales of adventure if there are any...but you know well enough at this point not to expect any.

Here's one more link before I go.

And on a totally unrelated topic, I thought that I should mention - for absolutely no reason at all - that the 2005 CNAnime Expo will be the weekend of August 26th (otherwise known as "next weekend"). God forbid you parasites actually go somewhere without a personal chauffeur to whisk you around the city.

"Sorry I'm late fellows, but I was teaching Sunday school at the local orphanage."
"On Wednesday."
"I consider every day to be Sunday."

8/19/2005 12:30:00 AM | Comments (0)

!!!

- I just had this really awkward sneeze, and I think I ended up breaking one of my ribs. Now whenever I sneeze, it hurts more and more. And I can't stop sneezing...you can't really tell, because I haven't yet been able to figure out how to properly convey sneezing through blog posts. But I feel a little bit like this. "I don't wanna, I don't wanna - BLAGYAAAGAH!!!" Man, that hurts.

- Confused lions "hunt" small cars. Hurm...

- Kinetsu Hayabusa: The Urban Ninja - post worthy if only for the random Incomplete-style sand holding. There's some other videos on the site that range from "meh" to "heh", but you can find out for yourself.

- I find the facial expressions hilarious. The elevator music is also excellent.

- Ten Mistakes Writers Don't See (But Can Easily Fix When They Do). Now I can make these mistakes purposely, instead of accidentially!

- Nedroid.com. If you're not careful, you'll lose an entire hour out of your life to this one. With bits like this, how can you lose?

I think that's enough for now.

8/16/2005 09:04:00 PM | Comments (0)

Walken for President. I can't find a "I AM JUST JOKE" disclaimer anywhere on the site, but all the same, I wouldn't really go around trying to impress people by breaking this "news story" to them. But then again, I had assumed Ahnuld's conquering of Cali state to be a joke at first too.

So while we're at it, let's check out some Christopher Walken quotes. Just scroll down to the Personal Quotes section at the bottom. I always find the Trivia bits interesting, but I'll just give you the highlights so you don't need to go through it all.

Was on Natalie Wood's yacht the night she drowned.

Worked briefly as a lion tamer in a circus at age 15.

Was George Lucas's second choice for the role of Han Solo in Star Wars (1977)

Has different-colored eyes (one blue and one hazel). This is a condition known as heterochromia.

Along with Alec Baldwin, he has a standing invitation to host "Saturday Night Live" (1975) every year (if scheduling permits).

I would think John Goodman's got one too though.

Let's thrown in a soundboard too.

So in conclusion...Christopher Walken is creepy as heck.

"She's fast enough...for YOU. Old. Man."

8/14/2005 11:12:00 AM | Comments (0)

Bedfellows

The Size Of You - Spookey Ruben

My sleepover at Arlene's house was a total bust. The party itself was as boring as shit. It went exactly as I expected. My attempts to get some alone time with the birthday girl were foiled by having to make small talk with all her friends who, Lord willin', I will never have to see again. The sleepover part was even worse. I ended up sleeping in the living room with this guy named Kevin. Instead of sharing secrets and whispering sweet nothings in the darkness with Arlene, I ended up watching cartoons with a stranger until three in the morning. Then I had to get up at 6:30. Bad times.

I came home, slept for about five hours, chilled with Max for a minute and woke up at work. I found myself at the register right next to Adriana's. For those who have never been to a supermarket, the registers are divided into bunkers of two. So 1+2 share a "workspace", 3+4, etc. She was 1. I was 2. You would think that that wouldn't be the most conducive environment for conversation, what with the customers and all, but it was a slow day. And there's always a few seconds to chat when people decide they want to pay with debit. I find time to look at her and she finds time to smile in those precious moments between the cards.

He was a great man, wasn't he Connie?
He was just a man, Tommy. He wasn't a great man. Or a good man, or some kind of saint. He did some decent things and he did some evil things. He killed people. Sometimes for his country, sometimes for money. Once or twice just to help his friends. He did what he thought he had to do. He was no better and no worse than a lot of people who've walked this earth. He was just a man. And I loved him more than God Almighty.

8/14/2005 01:15:00 AM | Comments (0)

Ok, I just found someone who's as quotable as Jack Handey...

Mike Tyson!

This is ridiculous. I know absolutely nothing about the sickeningly active world of athletics, and had no idea he was THAT off his rocker.

"I love to hit people. I love to. Most celebrities are afraid someone's going to attack them. I want someone to attack me. No weapons. Just me and him. I like to beat men and beat them bad."

"I paid a worker at New York's zoo to re-open it just for me and Robin. When we got to the gorilla cage there was one big silverback gorilla there just bullying all the other gorillas. They were so powerful but their eyes were like an innocent infant. I offered the attendant $10,000 to open the cage and let me smash that silverback's snotbox! He declined."

"All praise is to Allah, I'll fight any man, any animal, if Jesus were here I'd fight him too."

"I don't know what I'm doing. I just live, I guess, get some food. But I don't cook. I go to restaurants every night."

There are just too many more to quote here, including some real gems in the miscellaneous section.

8/11/2005 07:53:00 PM | Comments (0)

Water has been discovered on Mars!

GOGOGOGOGOGO!!!

Hahahaha, I love it.

8/11/2005 05:05:00 PM | Comments (0)

I should weigh in on the whole 3rd birthday thing.

But I wont.

So Jack Handey, the Deep Thoughts guy, has a column or something in the New Yorker. It's a fun read, and really encapsulates my feelings on the whole issue.

Also, in case you've forgotten about the prolific opera of Mr. Handey,here's a link.

"It's too bad that whole families have to be torn apart by something as simple as wild dogs."

NON-SEQUITUR! I did not know that a generally accepted pluralization of opus was opera. Finally, I use that word in common parlance without the bittersweet tinge of bile forming in the back of my mouth.

SEQEUNTIAL NON-SEQUITUR! I have recently picked up the disgusting habit of reading the news. Sick, I know. Anyways, have you guys heard about that Russian submarine that was rescued recently? Apparently, some piece of underwater equipment was stuck in some netting, so the sub was sent to free it - and get this - got itself stuck in the net. For some reason, that's some pretty funny imagery to me. And since it's truth, and the submariners were in mortal danger, it just makes it funnier.

Let's all share a laugh at the expense of dirty communists.

"I came here in peace, seeking gold and slaves. But you have treated me like an intruder. Maybe it is not me who is the intruder but you."

P.S. I've just rediscovered the New Pornographers, and it is glorious. I'll let you piece together what I'm talking about. Try googling those keywords - always fun.

8/11/2005 01:11:00 PM | Comments (0)

Limits

Wet Blanket - Metric

The customers at work drive me crazy. I don't remember if I've already complained about their complete disregard for the limits we set on sale items. Now I understand that setting limits on things seems pointless. Why should we care how many bags of flour are taken by each customer, as long as we get the money right? Obviously, we don't want to allow certain customers to monopolize our products. Another point that was brought to my attention was that companies like to keep track of how many families are purchasing their products in a certain area. By setting limits, they can divide how much was sold by the limit that is set and they get a rough estimate of how much of a market there is for there product in the area.

Why can't people respect these limits? I look at it in a primitive manner. We supply them with quality product at better than reasonable prices and they, in turn, should show their appreciation by exhibiting restraint. Instead, I look around and see nothing but gluttony. Not just gluttony, but pride in their faces when they think that they've gotten one over us. They're so proud that they managed to weasel an extra dozen cans of soup out of the local supermarket. A month from now they'll be checking their pantry and be like, "Goddamn it I'm sick of chicken soup. Let's see if we can return it even though it's been a month and we lost the receipt and we're a family of assholes." All I see is pride and gluttony.

I finally showed Adriana my "eight jugs" trick. For those of you who don't know, "eight jugs" is...me carrying eight empty water jugs. Now that may sound easy, but the normal human body usually only carries six jugs max. That's one under each arm and two in each hand (by squeezing the handles). Well, I found out how to lift eight and I'd been teasing for weeks that I was going to show her. But I was like, "I can't do it for no reason. This isn't some parlor trick." Today there were nine jugs at the register and so I decided it was time to whip it out. Er, the trick that is. Right after I had finished telling her that the trick wasn't for show, I dramatically lifted the eight jugs and said to her and the customers, "Check it out everybody! Eight jugs! Eight jugs. Hey everyone, come and see how good I look!" My manager walked by and could only shake her head in disgust. I later apologized to Adriana for my showboating and for performing the trick when there was an infant present. That child will now grow up dreaming of one day lifting eight jugs and inevitably paralyzing himself attempting it.

By the way, she fucking loved it. *sigh* She looks so good to me. I think the best way of summing up how I feel about her is that...that when I check my schedule every week it's half because I need to know when I'm working and half because I need to know when she's working. I always look forward to coming in if I know she's going to be there.

Making her laugh makes me happy.

*****

I was just thinking about that SNL skit with Richard Pryor and Chevy Chase spewing racial slurs at each other and lo and behold, so was The Sports Guy in his latest article. Here's the link to the skit. If you've never seen it, I pity you my friend.

Dan, please...sit with me. I need you.
I need you too.
No. I mean I need you. Need you now. Dan, all those people, they're dead. They can't disagree or eat Indian food, or love each other...oh, it's sweet. Being alive is so damn sweet.
Laurie? Wh-what do you want me to do?
I want you to love me. I want you to love me because we're not dead.

8/11/2005 04:22:00 AM | Comments (0)

Here are some of pictures I took at the game on Saturday.

Was I supposed to send Annia and Shirley their pictures? Maybe I should have asked for their email addresses or something when I agreed to do that. As it stands, I have absolutely no way to contact them. Oh well.

Please let me know if you don't like how you look in my pictures. Because I can easily just photoshop you out. So let me know.

Big thanks to Annia, Shirley, Cheryl, and of course Jess for coming out and pretending to be entertained.

8/09/2005 01:13:00 AM | Comments (0)

Third Year

Go Your Own Way - Fleetwood Mac

First off, I'd like to say that I just found out about Paul Jenkins working on Origins II. For those of you who don't know, once upon a time (about three years ago) there was a comic book miniseries called Origins, which revealed the true origin of Wolverine. Yep, someone actually had the gonads to write a definitive origin for one of the most popular and enigmatic characters of all time.

Guess what? It sucked. I don't care about ruining it for anyone, because I don't want anyone else to read it. We find out that Wolverine's real name is James and his dark secret is that...he was a little sissy boy. Apparently, James comes from the rich Logan family and spends his time hanging out in the garden with his friend, Rose. One night there's a violent incident in his house and his mutant powers trigger and blah blah blah...honestly, I don't remember that well and I refuse to read it again. The series rambles on for six issues of semi-Victorian speak and nothing of interest happens. There's pretty much no explanation for how Wolverine becomes the super cool bad ass that we know and love today, but I guess you can find that out from reading OTHER BETTER COMICS! If I was going to explain how Wolverine got so fucked up, I would have just done six issues of him getting anally raped and then chopping off his assailants' penises. Or something.

So yeah, now there's a sequel. Paul Jenkins is a great writer, but he already screwed the pooch on the first one. Why he's even bothering to follow it up is beyond me($$$). Garbage in, garbage out, you know?

*****

I've got to remember to thank Shirley and Annia for putting up with me on Saturday and for letting me zone out at one point. Somewhere in the middle of running around during Taste of the Danforth and Masala! Mendhi! Masti!, we found some time to just sit down by the Harbourfront waters. It's one of my favourite places in the world to be. I could sit there forever watching the little waves, trying to catch all the rays bouncing off the surface. There was this great South Asian band playing on a stage behind us too. I had a thought. I realized that this is one of the main reasons that I'm looking forward to going back to school. One of the reasons I'm not afraid of going to U of T anymore. I realized that no matter how hard that place tries to beat me down, no matter how bleak an image it tries to project it can't take moments like this away from me. It can't take my appreciation of great beauty away from me. It can't take a damn thing away from me.

*****

Happy third anniversary to the WAMBAG! Much thanks to one Mr. William Cheng for giving me a place to put all my crap. I've posted well over a hundred times now, but if anyone actually bothered to go back and read my posts, you could probably sum them all up in four or five posts. "Alex complains about school." "Alex complains about work." "Alex meets a girl." "Alex sees a drop of water on a leaf and writes six hundred words about it." "Alex struggles with his homosexuality." Yep, that's my contribution to this site in a nutshell.

You've gotta admit though, three years is impressive. I mean, most people use blogs as journals to chronicle the events of their lives. We have no lives and we've managed to keep going for three years? Also, most blogs actually have readers. We have no readers and we've managed to keep going for three years? Is there any reason for this site existing?

I suppose as long as the world needs random quotes, teenage angst from people in their twenties, porn, a faction dedicated to bringing together the world's first supergroup, Elk penis humour, gay porn, links to websites far more interesting than our own, Schwarzenegger, Van Damme, VAN HELSIIIIIIIING!!!, Malaysian bear porn...well shit, I guess there is a reason this site exists.

Cheers to three more years!

*****

We drove three blocks and then she pulled the car over and just sat there...and it all came pouring out. Her pain, her fears, her whole life, y'know? I mean, ordinary people, right? All the things that happen to them...doesn't that move you more than a bunch of rubble?
No. I read atoms, Laurie. I see the ancient spectacle that birthed the rubble. Beside this, human life is brief and mundane.

8/09/2005 12:23:00 AM | Comments (0)

Oh fuck beans. I have once again forgotten that this past August 5th was the third anniversary of The WAMBAG's official first post. And instead of posting something worthy of this monumental event, I posted cat pictures. That's just how things go around here. But regardless, fact of the matter is that The WAMBAG is now over THREE YEARS OLD.

However, I will not take this opportunity to brag.

And by "not", I of course mean "now".

Three years, motherfucker! Of semi-frequently posted semi-quality posts. If that's not brag-worthy, then I don't know what is. Consider this: this will be The WAMBAG's 773th post, after 1097 days of existence. That works out to 0.70 posts per days or 1.42 days per post! Now I know you're all wondering..."How does that measure up against Barry Bonds - the greatest home run hitter of our generation - and other Hall of Fame sluggers?" Well, allow me.

Hank Aaron - 755 home runs in 3298 games = 0.23 HR/G
Barry Bonds - 703 home runs in 2716 games = 0.26 HR/G
Babe Ruth - 714 home runs in 2503 games = 0.29 HR/G
The WAMBAG - 773 posts in 1097 days = 0.70 P/D

Now that's dominance. And as far as I know, those figures are untainted by performance enhancing drugs. And yes, that's assuming that every single one of our posts is a home run. Which is true.

I still remember (very poorly) the first conversation I had with Emu about The WAMBAG, three years ago.

Me: We should make like a web...journal, or...site...thing.
Emu: Like a blog?
Me: Yes!
Emu: Like the one Sheep already has?
Me: What? Oh. Yeah. Let's just rip him off and get him to be in on it so that he can't complain.
Emu: Okay.
Me: Done and done!
Emu: I am gay.
Me: You know it!

That's all paraphrased, by the way, in case it's too hard to tell.

So on this belated third birthday for The WAMBAG, let's give a shout out to our boy Emu who is still in the motherland for another week. Which we found out yesterday after showing up at his house and freaking out his grandma.

A big kudos to my homeboys, and here's to another year.

We've been coming to the same party for three years now, and in no way is that depressing.

8/07/2005 10:34:00 PM | Comments (0)

Obligatory post to keep this site alive...

Cats! It looks like the guy lives at IKEA. But that's some nice photography - sometimes I wonder why I didn't take any art classes in highschool. Though playing the baritone sax did get me lots o' ladies.

You're kind of a bizarrely honest guy, huh?
No, just around you.

8/06/2005 11:25:00 AM | Comments (0)

Two minutes ago, I realized for the first time that Randy Johnson is named..."Randy Johnson".

...

That is hi-larious! The fact that actual years have gone by without me noticing this is surprising to me. And his nickname is "The Big Unit" - has everyone been in on the joke but me? I am so oblivious. How come no one ever mentions him as the funniest name in baseball? That completely trumps Rich Harden, Coco Crisp, and Milton Bradley combined. Especially considering that Rich Harden is still just "Rich" and Coco's real name is Covelli - making those two unpure. Or has this been an established fact already, and I'm just one step behind again? Damn me!

I don't know if it tops former White Sox and Detroit Tigers outfielder Rusty Kuntz though.

And just for future reference, I think Mamadou N'diaye and Miroslav Satan are the best names in the NBA and NHL respectively. Magic Johnson loses some points because it's only a nickname. And I don't follow football, but I understand there's a guy called Ben Gay. Now that's just awesome.

Heh heh heh. Randy Johnson.

EDIT: Don't even get me started on Miroslav Satan. For instance, just check out his profile pages at Yahoo! Sports, FOXSports, and ESPN.

http://sports.yahoo.com/nhl/players/666
http://msn.foxsports.com/nhl/player?statsId=666
http://sports.espn.go.com/nhl/players/profile?statsId=0666

I'm not even kidding. He's a free agent now. I pray every day that the New Jersey Devils sign him. Or the Detroit Red Wings if that's not possible. Just think of the headlines.

"Satan leads Devils to victory over Leafs."
"Satan red hot against Calgary Flames."
"Satan unstoppable in debut with Red Wings."
"Satan steals souls of three Avalance players - Sakic, Blake, and Konowalchuk crumble into dust as onlookers weep and gnash their teeth."
"Governor of California called in to investigate"

I believe Big AL and I must have discussed these possibilities thoroughly during one of our days at Wetmore Hall.

8/02/2005 11:47:00 AM | Comments (0)