(A Random Post)

Staccato

The Fake Headlines – The New Pornographers

It is hell of a thing when you are suddenly forced to realize what a minor figure you are in someone else’s life. Or that the part you play in their show is not the part you want.

Gary is a musical genius. You know someone is gifted when you can walk up them, tell them to invent some musical interludes based on the song Mass Romantic and he just cranks them out as easy as you and I (well, you) make pancakes.

Here’s a unique statistic. The Toronto Blue Jays record over the last 12 games when we all watch the games by ourselves was 11-0. Their record over the last 12 games when I decide to have William over to watch the game because I though it might be “fun” is 0-1. We won’t be having any of that anymore.

Last weekend had to be the perfect weekend. Friday night in Ajax until one in the morning beating Castle Crashers. Five games of softball on Saturday. Spent all of Sunday watching football. To quote a great Frenchman, Life don’t get much betta den’ dis’.

If you’ve never read Orbiter by Warren Ellis…well, you should.

The worst thing someone could say to me during a disagreement is, Oh what, you think you’re better than me? because I truly believe that I am.

I went down to my basement to get some cereal and I was extremely excited to find a box of Frosted Flakes. The fact that the best before date was well over a year ago did nothing to diminish this feeling. Is that wrong?

With Rock Band 2 coming out this weekend, I’ve been doing some research to prepare myself (read: listening to a lot of music). The designers made the brilliant decision to put Chop Suey! in there, which according to the official rankings is a difficult vocal track. I’m not worried. I should do better than Avril anyway.

An actual conversation between my father and I:

It looks like Gary’s finally going to bring his girlfriend around to meet us this Saturday.
Gary has a girlfriend?
Yeah, but there’s a chance that he’s just making the whole thing up. He’s always had a twisted sense of humour. It could all be an elaborate ruse.
What could he possibly gain from lying to you?
That’s what I want to know!

It’s my father’s birthday today and, like me, he doesn’t like to make a big deal out of it. There is no chance that he is going to read this, so I will just use this space to say Happy Birthday Dad! and watch my sentiment ascend into the ether.

Ever since William posted that Glengarry Glen Ross link, I haven’t been able to get over Alec Baldwin yelling at Jack Lemmon. The leads are weak? The FUCKING leads are weak? You’re weak. The tragedy is that there is just no way for me to fit that line into everyday conversation. Perhaps if I replaced the word “leads”. Look, just don’t use the word “weak” around me anytime soon, okay? You’ve been warned.

I’m said it once before, but it bears repeating now. Depending on the time and the place and the company, we’re all three people. The person you are, the person you think you are and the person you want to be. As I languish in the void that is not being employed or enrolled I struggle to find context for that deeply personal mantra.

A nun, a rabbi, a minister and a monk walk into a bar. And the bartender says “What is this, a joke?”

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Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.

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