Choking Yak
Process Oriented Methodologies
I've been on this big flowchart thing lately. Thought I'd share some with you here while I charge up meter for my next post.
- Remember those crazy Choose Your Own Adventure books you used to read at the library as a child, along with all those Encyclopedia Brown books and Chickadee magazines? Yeeaaaaah you do. Well someone took the time to actually create a mapping of all possible paths in one of them. Turns out that you die horribly in most outcomes, regardless of what you do. Who knew that Journey Under The Sea was such an apt allegorical illustration of life itself and such a damning commentary on the illusion of free will and determinism? All I remember from my life at that age was how much I hated going to swimming lessons every weekend.
- How to play Ken, a strategy guide. I estimate the chances that I've already posted this link to be well over 70%. What's great about this chart is that it's funny, but it's also true.
- Flip Flop Fly Ball is probably the coolest baseball site I've stumbled upon recently (which isn't saying much - they're not very cool usually). The most relevant one is probably this chart of team Interleague records. You'll notice that over the span of 12 years, the Blue Jays have the worst record in Interleague play in the entire American League. One of those things you've always suspected, but never really knew for sure up until now. Like Lady Gaga having a penis...for example.
- The racial flowchart from what can only be one of the five worst movies ever created by man, Domino. The whole movie is filmed like that, it's like being high on PCP the whole time...only crushingly boring. And a DeVry joke? Goddamn, this movie is dated! "Japanic" is funny though.
- The lyrics of Total Eclipse Of The Heart in flowchart form. Fantastic stuff. (Obligatory link posting.)
You see, it would be this mat...that you would put on the floor...and it would have different...CONCLUSIONS...written on it...that you could JUMP TO!
Big Al
Angry Blog Writing
Battlefield - Jordin Sparks
Shirley calls me today. She's been in Scotland for the last month or so and yes, yes, I admit it...I missed her. Is that okay?
I knew she was getting back this month though I didn't remember when so for the last week or so I've been psyched waiting for her to call me. Why am I admitting this? Shit, I don't know.
I got sent home early from work today, probably because they could smell the scotch in my breath. The recent storms have wreaked havoc on the course and they didn't need as many people as usual today. I wanted to stay, but they threatened to call the cops again so I reluctantly put away my blackjack and drove home.
She calls around 11:30. I do my best to not sound excited. I decide to bypass all the questions about her trip and all that because I figure she's calling me to make plans and we can talk later. We don't set anything in stone, but I tell her we'll talk after I have lunch and we'll do something. Smooth sailing so far.
I eat and fall asleep on the couch. I see that it's about 2:00 and I'm kind of disappointed that she hasn't called to check up on me. I call her back and she asks if I want to go to a Passion Pit concert tonight. I absolutely DO NOT WANT TO, but I want to see her so I half-heartedly agree. My enthusiasm is further squashed by the prospect of having to meet some of her friends from work. Wow, that sounds like it would be fun for me. She knows how much I love meeting new people. She even says we can meet up with her buddy Colin for dinner and all three of us can spend time together. Oh man, this is going to be a blast. I tell her I'll call her after I get my mom from work.
To my surprise, Shirley has already left the house when I get back to her. She tells me that she's going to meet Colin around 6:30 so she decided to head down. We are a five minute drive away from each other and she couldn't wait for me. I'm hurt. I also find out that she's been back in town since last Thursday. I'm very, very hurt. In all fairness, I had sort of made up my mind to not go out...but she didn't know that and she certainly could have made an attempt to persuade me to do otherwise.
I know, I know, I know.
Don't say anything. Just don't. I know this isn't about me. She's back home, she has things to take care of, I shouldn't take this personally. Well, I've been mulling this over for the last hour and I've considered the facts and damn it, I am choosing to take this personally. Why can't this person who I care about so much take a couple of hours out of her day to hang out with me? Why am I being a bitch about this? Why can't I just be honest with her? Trust me, I'm far more mad at myself for making a big deal out of this. I'm super pissed right now. I know I shouldn't even be posting about this, but there's no going back now. How it will pain me to click that "Publish Post" button.
I swear - I swear to whatever God you think I believe in - I swear that if she calls me tonight to pick her up from somewhere...it's not going to be good.
*****
Now, the real reason for this post. Links. *sigh*
Yeah, Cracked.com is nothing but a website of half baked lists. But sometimes those lists fan be pretty funny. Here are 6 Famous Characters You Didn't Know Were Shameless Rip Offs. And now it's time for some ultra-violence: The Top 10 Ragdoll Physics Moments in Mixed Martial Arts. I would advise that you not be eating anything if you watch #3. It's magically delicious.
I don't think it's news that Natalie Imbruglia's first single was actually a cover, but I never got around to listening to the original version of Torn. There were actually two versions written and recorded by the obscure LA rock group Ednaswap. Here is the slower, more different version, which I find quite enjoyable. Obviously, it's missing Natalie's more radio-friendly vocals and video-friendly hotness that would later make the song a massive hit.
Somewhat more recent (though still old) is this official video from Marie Digby that nobody ever got around to posting. Maybe everyone watched it except for me. Regardless, if you haven't seen it, here it is. Decent tune, cute video, Marie lookin' fine as hell. What else do you need?
Courtesy of ESPN's Patrick Hruby (an excellent sportswriter), Dana Carvey's Choppin Broccoli.
And lastly, the Kenny Powers baseball card. Cool stuff, except for the GS (Games Started) statistic. He started 49 games with Atlanta? Am I reading that wrong? What is this, 1906?
If you're really strapped for cash, sell the jet ski.
I don't tell you what to do with your money. Don't fuckin' tell me what to do with mine, okay? And Cassie, do not stare at me with those dead eyes you church bitch!
Kenny!
Instantly, I regret saying that. That was a horrible thing to say. It's just...I'M KENNY POWERS and I'm very upset with how I'm acting right now! I just have a very hard time expressing my emotions and I can't stop from yelling! So I am very sorry! I don't mean to offend you Wayne! You have fuckin' pissed me off but I'm just very upset right now! So I'm going to go ahead and go, but I'm not going to stop yelling because then that'll mean I lost the fight! So please leave a key under the mat! I love y'all very much! Peace out!
Choking Yak
Wisdom
August 5th catches me by surprise every single time. Starting tomorrow, we will have entered into the seventh year of The WAMBAG. And that is a rather long time, even by non-internet standards.
I'd like to say that if I had some more time that I would have had prepared a nicer post in honour of this occasion...but that would be a lie, I have no real interest in celebrating this occasion. It'd be like throwing a party every year to commemorate the day you first realized just exactly how much of a dickless piece of trash you are and forever will be.
(My personal top pick, out of dozens and dozens of nominees...
"Hey, so my parents are out of town and my house is empty...do you want to walk me home and teach me how to play Marvel vs. Capcom 2 on my Dreamcast?"
"...nah, I better study for this Al-Geo test. See ya tomorrow!")
In all honestly I'd rather just acknowledge it with a quick nod and move on as fast as I can - it's best if we don't linger too long on the fact that seven years is a ridiculous amount of time to keep a blog. I don't even remember who it was we were talking to recently that exclaimed like "The WAMBAG? Are you guys still doing that!?!" And I nervously laughed it off, but in my mind I was like..."Goddamn!"
I mean...what!?! "Still doing it!?!" Bitch, I write like three thousand words a month for this piece of shit blog, I've been trying to work up the courage to kill myself for the last seven years! Please believe me!
To illustrate that point, check out the top hit of 2002, when this site first crawled out of the metaphorical primordial muck...do you remember this little doozy? Yes, a bit of history that we all probably want to collectively forget as a society, but yet something we will never ever be able to do. (Just like in the song!) And when August 5th rolls around every year...this is how you remind me, of what I really am.
Are we having fun yet?
No, no.
This place is starting to drive me crazy. If I am still here seven more years from now, then something has gone horribly wrong for me. Or, that is, something has continued to go horribly wrong for me.
But whatever. Year Seven. We still here. Still taking the time to perfect the beat, still got love for the street. It's The WAM-B-A-G. Every year, same old shit.
Get money, fuck bitches, smoke trees.
It's all there is to it.
If he hangs himself over this, I could put an orange in his mouth and say it was a fatal wanking accident.
Big Al
In August
Slapped Actress - The Hold Steady
I'm not depressed, I told Sarah. I understood why she was asking. From her perspective, I seemed unmotivated and confused and distant. Her thoughtfulness was appreciated. It was easy for me to deny it, but difficult to explain exactly what state I was in. Is there anyone who finds that easy? As I glanced away, I poked at my lukewarm pasta and considered what to say next to alleviate her concerns. This was two years ago.
*****
My latest trek downtown began where it often does, at the Sonic Boom used record store. In order to curb my own habits, I've trained myself to not spend in excess of $100 there on any given day. Unfortunately, this usually means that I spend around $95 whenever I shop there.
After gorging myself on CDs old (Stevie Nicks) and new (Dinosaur Jr.), I began to wander. As I approached the UofT campus, I could see a gathering of people next to the 7-11. Apparently, someone had either passed out from heat exhaustion or a homeless dude dropped dead (or a combination of those two things). I passed by the scene, entered the 7-11 and immediately grabbed two large Gatorades in preparation for a hot day and a long walk.
I caught a lacrosse match being played at UofT stadium. It occurs to me that in my four and some years at UofT, I never watched a single minute of UofT athletics. I stopped to watch for a few minutes before carrying on.
*****
I take a moment to rest at the Barbara Ann Scott ice rink. It's funny, before yesterday I never thought to find out the name. I always thought of it as that circle of ice that I passed by on the way to the Eaton Centre. It was perfectly shaded on Saturday and provided cool relief for all the city folk sitting around in repose. I see a lot of people like myself, by themselves, and I wonder what their stories are. Usually, I assume that they're waiting to meet up with somebody. Is that a safe assumption? Is that girl I spy across the water waiting for someone? Something? Anything? I know I shouldn't think about it, but my mind imagines the conversations that we could have, the connections we could make if we weren't all afraid of each other.
*****
Maybe I didn't look hard enough, but I couldn't find the new Jordin Sparks CD at Sonic Boom so that meant a trip to your friendly neighbourhood HMV. There's a cute redhead working the counter and my first thought is, Oh man, I'm walking up to the counter with a Jordin Sparks CD and a Blu-Ray copy of Street Fighter: The Legend Of Chun-Li. (Happy Birthday William!) How lame does this look? I'm one of the hippest indie cats out there and this is what this girl thinks I like? I have an A.C. Newman CD in my bag! She is definitely not impressed because the first thing she asks me is if I want a gift receipt. I find this is an odd thing to say unless you're close to a major gift-giving holiday so it was like she was giving me a chance to declare these items as contraband. I...I don't know how that got there officer. Unfortunately, I have no choice but to confirm the purchases. Any chance of intelligent interaction is all but over...but then:
I like your shirt.
Now would be a good time to mention that I'm wearing my Man Of La Mancha t-shirt. I wear this shirt for two reasons:
1) Man Of La Mancha is fucking awesome.
2) The off-chance that some chick will see it and think I'm cool and have good taste.
Finally, FINALLY this happens and all I can muster is this:
Thanks, I think it was a gift...I love Man Of La Mancha.
Exciting stuff, I know. Then I scampered out of there. I have no earthly idea why I was in such a hurry to leave instead of stopping to make further conversation. There were so many reasonable threads of dialogue to pull (Do you like musicals? Have you ever seen a production of it? Do you dream the impossible dream like I do?), but rather than pursue them like any normal, socially adjusted human being would do, I bailed. Yes folks, this has been yet another installment of "Alex Lee, The Most Impotent Of All The Faggots". Tune in next time!
*****
I realize now that attempting these kinds of downtown jaunts with anyone else can be a mistake. It's not like I do anything particuarly taxing mentally or physically, but for whatever reason I prefer to keep these things solitary. I've always desired to travel unfettered and maybe I'll actually do that outside of Ontario one day.
The Harbourfront is always my goal. I don't even necessarily do anything there, I just like the idea of walking until I hit water. I ate at Oyshi Sushi. It's not a bad joint and the business was doing well even in a horrible location. I sat in the corner writing in my notepad, working on this very entry, when I noticed that the staff was shooting me the occasional concerned look. It occurs to me that my scribbling might be causing them to confuse me for a food critic. I decide not to push it, even though I probably could have won myself some free tempura.
Right next to the sushi joint is this marble fountain that I somehow never noticed before. This is why I like walking around downtown, even if it's along the same path over and over again. I miss a lot. There was a young couple on one bench and a family on another. The family had three kids, two of whom were old enough to run around on their own, which they did with glee. I wanted to join them. Instead, I stumbled over to the fountain, looking all the world like some hallucinating crackhead. I knelt down in front, letting microscopic drops of water wash over me and I began to meditate.
My parents are always telling me to keep up with the news. Why? I choose to ignore the daily atrocities of humanity, thank you very much. That must sound incredibly cynical and ignorant , but I choose to dwell on the positives. On Saturday, I felt the city beneath my feet again. There was a warm buzz in the air, both from the annual Caribana Festival and the renewed optimism that comes from a city prepared to go back to work.
On Queen Street, a man has set-up a card game on a box on the sidewalk. He barks at the passersby to try and find the queen. One-in-three chance to win, you know? It's the oldest hustle in the book and it's drawing an entirely new crowd. I pass on by. I pass by the festival and the buskers and the harbour. I tell myself that there will be another time to appreciate these sights. I have had enough for now. On this first day of August, it is the simple majesty of a marble fountain in downtown Toronto that brings me to my knees.
It's time this was done with. Go into one of the other apartments and lock the door. Don't come out until I've left.
You won't be back, will you?
No.
How do you do it, Frank?
When you said you were scared and you wanted to live in the country, do you remember what I told you?
"Just go."
That's how simple it is.