Just Some Rambling Thoughts...

As you may have noticed, I tend to have time gaps between groups of postings. The root cause can pretty much be squarely blamed on writer's block. I have always written in spurts. Sometimes the distance between spurts can be somewhat substantial. Lately I have been unable to put pen to paper (or fingers on keys if you will…). It is a constant source of frustration for me. As a comic and a blogger, it gets tiresome staring at a blinking cursor, knowing that nothing is going to come of the exercise.

Hopefully I have snapped out of it for a while.

But I digress…

I had a dream the other night that roused me out of my literary slumber. (Or stupor… whatever… Shut up!)

It was an epiphany. I dreamt about President Bush. Now I know that these two things are generally considered mutually exclusive, (what with Bush's fascination with shiny objects and most likely play dough.) but in my dream something really heavy struck me.

Just over half of all eligible voters in the United States (Discounting Children, inmates in certain states, the infirm etc…) showed up for the election against Gore. Of which half of that group voted for Bush. (Just for argument's sake…) That ultimately means that only about 1 quarter of the American population actually voted for Georgie boy.

So with that in mind, less than one percent of the world's population made a decision about who would run the free world. But it gets scarier than that… The decision to discount ballots in Florida was made in court. So the ultimate decision about whether or not Bush would be president was made by just a handful of people. This distils the number of people further down from about 70 million to a few groups of 10.

If I had been Al Gore, I think I would have been spitting nails. That election was nothing but a cheap political version of double pen porno. (With Nader on top, and Bush on the bottom. Seriously gonzo shit for sure.) This was a threesome that no one in their right mind would ever have wanted to be a part of. It's a sad notion to believe that Bush wound up being "Mr. Big Stud Beefy Cock" and our world is worse off for it.

That election provided the world with Texas style diplomacy. (Well, synthetic Texas style… He was born in Connecticut after all…) I believe this we could scarcely afford.

"Don't mess with Connec… err… I mean Texas… Ha yuk yuk yuk…"

Curiously though, before America was attacked, this President had no mandate. With only one quarter of America giving him "props." He knew it too. He chose to try and inspire a nation with a treatise on "Vacationing."

But I digress… back to the epiphany…

Given how Bush was elected, it's not too much of a stretch to think he could be impeached; all it would take is impressing upon a few groups of 10 that it needs to happen. The real trick is finding the right groups.

This might seem like naïveté on my part, but history is replete with moments where a few people have made a difference.

The fall of the Berlin wall for instance. One morning a few people woke up and decided they'd had enough. We all know what happened after that.

More to come later.

Warmth at last...

Monday! It’s sunny and warm here in the heartland of the energy sector. I’m a little hung over from the elimination of my team last night. I have to stop putting so much emotion into my appreciation of sports. I think my fretting and overt hand wringing gave me more (and very unwelcome…) grey hairs. I don’t need any more, the tide in war for hair colour has turned, and the grey in marching slowly towards total victory.

The warmer weather is a nice respite from the shit we’ve put up with for the last couple of weeks. The warm wind on my face felt really wonderful, almost like a kiss on the cheek from someone you really care about. It made the early morning commute feel a little more civilized. I really thought I was beginning to crack up a little from the abuse the nearly never ending winter was plying on.

This morning, I saw a flock of birds flying in formation, like little tiny fighter planes, tweeting and twittering as they surrounded a tree, then, in unison, they all came in for a landing as if this was their very own Spruce aircraft hanger. Their frenetic chirping changed, and became more musical as they nestled into its drooping branches.

I stood on the deck stock still, with the dog in tow, convening our morning constitutional, and I managed to slip out a hushed a sigh of relief. I drew in a puff of smoke, and let the moment be what it was, perfect. Truthfully I think even Juniper was caught up by the moment.

The birds are home for the spring and summer and it’s about bloody time too. They seem to come later and later each year. (Although I have no proof of that, perhaps I’m just getting old, and it just appears to be longer…) I like the birds pretty much the same way I like the smell of warm dirt and big lilac blossoms. They all remind me of summer. (All that’s missing is a strawberry slurpee and a dozy nap in the sun.)

I’m on the road this weekend. I will be hitting the booming metropolis of Nelson on Thursday, then off to Cranbrook for a couple of weekend dates.

I’ll fill you in on the progress of this interior assault as the days go by.

More to come later.

Lee Iacocca speaks with conviction...

I thought this was interesting...

Where Have All the Leaders Gone?
By Lee Iacocca with Catherine Whitney
04/11/07

Had Enough? Am I the only guy in this country who's fed up with what's
happening?
Where the hell is our outrage? We should be screaming bloody murder. We've
got a
gang of clueless bozos steering our ship of state right over a cliff,
we've got
corporate gangsters stealing us blind, and we can't even clean up after a
hurricane
much less build a hybrid car. But instead of getting mad, everyone sits
around and
nods their heads when the politicians say, "Stay the course." Stay the
course?
You've got to be kidding. This is America, not the damned Titanic. I'll
give you a
sound bite: Throw the bums out! You might think I'm getting senile, that
I've gone
off my rocker, and maybe I have. But someone has to speak up. I hardly
recognize
this country anymore. The President of the United States is given a free
pass to
ignore the Constitution, tap our phones, and lead us to war on a pack of
lies.
Congress responds to record deficits by passing a huge tax cut for the
wealthy
(thanks, but I don't need it). The most famous business leaders are not the
innovators but the guys in handcuffs. While we're fiddling in Iraq, the
Middle East
is burning and nobody seems to know what to do. And the press is waving
pom-poms
instead of asking hard questions. That's not the promise of America my
parents and
yours traveled across the ocean for.

I've had enough. How about you? I'll go a step further. You can't call
yourself a
patriot if you're not outraged. This is a fight I'm ready and willing to
have. My
friends tell me to calm down. They say, "Lee, you're eighty-two years old.
Leave the
rage to the young people." I'd love to, as soon as I can pry them away
from their
iPods for five seconds and get them to pay attention. I'm going to speak
up because
it's my patriotic duty. I think people will listen to me. They say I have a
reputation as a straight shooter. So I'll tell you how I see it, and it's not
pretty, but at least it's real. I'm hoping to strike a nerve in those
young folks
who say they don't vote because they don't trust politicians to represent
their
interests. Hey, America, wake up. These guys work for us. Who Are These Guys,
Anyway? Why are we in this mess? How did we end up with this crowd in
Washington?
Well, we voted for them, or at least some of us did. But I'll tell you
what we
didn't do. We didn't agree to suspend the Constitution. We didn't agree to
stop
asking questions or demanding answers. Some of us are sick and tired of
people who
call free speech treason. Where I come from that's a dictatorship, not a
democracy.
And don't tell me it's all the fault of right-wing Republicans or liberal
Democrats.
That's an intellectually lazy argument, and it's part of the reason we're
in this
stew. We're not just a nation of factions. We're a people. We share common
principles and ideals. And we rise and fall together.

Where are the voices of leaders who can inspire us to action and make us
stand
taller? What happened to the strong and resolute party of Lincoln? What
happened to
the courageous, populist party of FDR and Truman? There was a time in this
country
when the voices of great leaders lifted us up and made us want to do
better. Where
have all the leaders gone?

The Test of a Leader
I've never been Commander in Chief, but I've been a CEO. I understand a
few things
about leadership at the top. I've figured out nine points, not ten (I
don't want
people accusing me of thinking I'm Moses). I call them the "Nine Cs of
Leadership."
They're not fancy or complicated. Just clear, obvious qualities that every
true
leader should have. We should look at how the current administration
stacks up. Like
it or not, this crew is going to be around until January 2009. Maybe we
can learn
something before we go to the polls in 2008. Then let's be sure we use the
leadership test to screen the candidates who say they want to run the
country. It's
up to us to choose wisely.

A leader has to show CURIOSITY. He has to listen to people outside of the
"Yes, sir"
crowd in his inner circle. He has to read voraciously, because the world
is a big,
complicated place. George W. Bush brags about never reading a newspaper.
"I just
scan the headlines," he says. Am I hearing this right? He's the President
of the
United States and he never reads a newspaper? Thomas Jefferson once said,
"Were it
left to me to decide whether we should have a government without
newspapers, or
newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate for a moment to
prefer the
latter." Bush disagrees. As long as he gets his daily hour in the gym,
with Fox News
piped through the sound system, he's ready to go.

If a leader never steps outside his comfort zone to hear different ideas,
he grows
stale. If he doesn't put his beliefs to the test, how does he know he's
right? The
inability to listen is a form of arrogance. It means either you think you
already
know it all, or you just don't care. Before the 2006 election, George Bush
made a
big point of saying he didn't listen to the polls. Yeah, that's what they
all say
when the polls stink. But maybe he should have listened, because 70
percent of the
people were saying he was on the wrong track. It took a "thumping" on
election day
to wake him up, but even then you got the feeling he wasn't listening so
much as he
was calculating how to do a better job of convincing everyone he was right.

A leader has to be CREATIVE, go out on a limb, be willing to try something
different. You know, think outside the box. George Bush prides himself on
never
changing, even as the world around him is spinning out of control. God forbid
someone should accuse him of flip-flopping. There's a disturbingly
messianic fervor
to his certainty. Senator Joe Biden recalled a conversation he had with
Bush a few
months after our troops marched into Baghdad. Joe was in the Oval Office
outlining
his concerns to the President, the explosive mix of Shiite and Sunni, the
disbanded
Iraqi army, the problems securing the oil fields. "The President was
serene," Joe
recalled. "He told me he was sure that we were on the right course and
that all
would be well. 'Mr. President,' I finally said, 'how can you be so sure
when you
don't yet know all the facts?'" Bush then reached over and put a steadying
hand on
Joe's shoulder. "My instincts," he said. "My instincts." Joe was
flabbergasted. He
told Bush,"Mr. President, your instincts aren't good enough." Joe Biden
sure didn't
think the matter was settled. And, as we all know now, it wasn't.
Leadership is all
about managing change, whether you're leading a company or leading a
country. Things
change, and you get creative. You adapt. Maybe Bush was absent the day
they covered
that at Harvard Business School.

A leader has to COMMUNICATE. I'm not talking about running off at the
mouth or
spouting sound bites. I'm talking about facing reality and telling the
truth. Nobody
in the current administration seems to know how to talk straight anymore.
Instead,
they spend most of their time trying to convince us that things are not
really as
bad as they seem. I don't know if it's denial or dishonesty, but it can
start to
drive you crazy after a while. Communication has to start with telling the
truth,
even when it's painful. The war in Iraq has been, among other things, a grand
failure of communication. Bush is like the boy who didn't cry wolf when
the wolf was
at the door. After years of being told that all is well, even as the
casualties and
chaos mount, we've stopped listening to him.

A leader has to be a person of CHARACTER. That means knowing the
difference between
right and wrong and having the guts to do the right thing. Abraham Lincoln
once
said, "If you want to test a man's character, give him power." George Bush
has a lot
of power. What does it say about his character? Bush has shown a
willingness to take
bold action on the world stage because he has the power, but he shows
little regard
for the grievous consequences. He has sent our troops (not to mention
hundreds of
thousands of innocent Iraqi citizens) to their deaths. For what? To build
our oil
reserves? To avenge his daddy because Saddam Hussein once tried to have
him killed?
To show his daddy he's tougher? The motivations behind the war in Iraq are
questionable, and the execution of the war has been a disaster. A man of
character
does not ask a single soldier to die for a failed policy.

A leader must have COURAGE. I'm talking about balls. (That even goes for
female
leaders.) Swagger isn't courage. Tough talk isn't courage. George Bush
comes from a
blue-blooded Connecticut family, but he likes to talk like a cowboy. You
know, My
gun is bigger than your gun. Courage in the twenty-first century doesn't mean
posturing and bravado. Courage is a commitment to sit down at the
negotiating table
and talk.

If you're a politician, courage means taking a position even when you know
it will
cost you votes. Bush can't even make a public appearance unless the
audience has
been handpicked and sanitized. He did a series of so-called town hall
meetings last
year, in auditoriums packed with his most devoted fans. The questions were
all
softballs.

To be a leader you've got to have CONVICTION, a fire in your belly. You've
got to
have passion. You've got to really want to get something done. How do you
measure
fire in the belly? Bush has set the all-time record for number of vacation
days
taken by a U.S. President, four hundred and counting. He'd rather clear
brush on his
ranch than immerse himself in the business of governing. He even told an
interviewer
that the high point of his presidency so far was catching a
seven-and-a-half-pound
perch in his hand-stocked lake. It's no better on Capitol Hill. Congress
was in
session only ninety-seven days in 2006. That's eleven days less than the
record set
in 1948, when President Harry Truman coined the term do-nothing Congress.
Most
people would expect to be fired if they worked so little and had nothing
to show for
it. But Congress managed to find the time to vote itself a raise. Now,
that's not
leadership.

A leader should have CHARISMA. I'm not talking about being flashy.
Charisma is the
quality that makes people want to follow you. It's the ability to inspire.
People
follow a leader because they trust him. That's my definition of charisma.
Maybe
George Bush is a great guy to hang out with at a barbecue or a ball game.
But put
him at a global summit where the future of our planet is at stake, and he
doesn't
look very presidential. Those frat-boy pranks and the kidding around he
enjoys so
much don't go over that well with world leaders. Just ask German
Chancellor Angela
Merkel, who received an unwelcome shoulder massage from our President at a
G-8
Summit. When he came up behind her and started squeezing, I thought she
was going to
go right through the roof.

A leader has to be COMPETENT. That seems obvious, doesn't it? You've got
to know
what you're doing. More important than that, you've got to surround
yourself with
people who know what they're doing. Bush brags about being our first MBA
President.
Does that make him competent? Well, let's see. Thanks to our first MBA
President,
we've got the largest deficit in history, Social Security is on life
support, and
we've run up a half-a-trillion-dollar price tag (so far) in Iraq. And
that's just
for starters. A leader has to be a problem solver, and the biggest
problems we face
as a nation seem to be on the back burner.

You can't be a leader if you don't have COMMON SENSE. I call this Charlie
Beacham's
rule. When I was a young guy just starting out in the car business, one of
my first
jobs was as Ford's zone manager in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. My boss was
a guy
named Charlie Beacham, who was the East Coast regional manager. Charlie
was a big
Southerner, with a warm drawl, a huge smile, and a core of steel. Charlie
used to
tell me, "Remember, Lee, the only thing you've got going for you as a
human being is
your ability to reason and your common sense. If you don't know a dip of
horseshit
from a dip of vanilla ice cream, you'll never make it." George Bush
doesn't have
common sense. He just has a lot of sound bites. You know,
Mr.they'll-welcome-us-as-liberators-no-child-left-behind-heck-of-a-job-Brownie-mission-accomplished
Bush. Former President Bill Clinton once said, "I grew up in an alcoholic
home. I
spent half my childhood trying to get into the reality-based world, and I
like it
here." I think our current President should visit the real world once in a
while.

The Biggest C is Crisis Leaders are made, not born. Leadership is forged
in times of
crisis. It's easy to sit there with your feet up on the desk and talk
theory. Or
send someone else's kids off to war when you've never seen a battlefield
yourself.
It's another thing to lead when your world comes tumbling down. On
September 11,
2001, we needed a strong leader more than any other time in our history.
We needed a
steady hand to guide us out of the ashes. Where was George Bush? He was
reading a
story about a pet goat to kids in Florida when he heard about the attacks.
He kept
sitting there for twenty minutes with a baffled look on his face. It's all
on tape.
You can see it for yourself. Then, instead of taking the quickest route
back to
Washington and immediately going on the air to reassure the panicked
people of this
country, he decided it wasn't safe to return to the White House. He
basically went
into hiding for the day, and he told Vice President Dick Cheney to stay
put in his
bunker. We were all frozen in front of our TVs, scared out of our wits,
waiting for
our leaders to tell us that we were going to be okay, and there was nobody
home. It
took Bush a couple of days to get his bearings and devise the right photo
op at
Ground Zero. That was George Bush's moment of truth, and he was paralyzed.
And what
did he do when he'd regained his composure? He led us down the road to
Iraq, a road
his own father had considered disastrous when he was President. But Bush
didn't
listen to Daddy. He listened to a higher father. He prides himself on
being faith
based, not reality based. If that doesn't scare the crap out of you,I
don't know
what will.

A Hell of a Mess.
So here's where we stand. We're immersed in a bloody war with no plan for
winning
and no plan for leaving. We're running the biggest deficit in the history
of the
country. We're losing the manufacturing edge to Asia, while our once-great
companies
are getting slaughtered by health care costs. Gas prices are skyrocketing,
and
nobody in power has a coherent energy policy. Our schools are in trouble. Our
borders are like sieves. The middle class is being squeezed every which
way. These
are times that cry out for leadership.

But when you look around, you've got to ask: "Where have all the leaders
gone?"
Where are the curious, creative communicators? Where are the people of
character,
courage, conviction, competence, and common sense? I may be a sucker for
alliteration, but I think you get the point.

Name me a leader who has a better idea for homeland security than making
us take off
our shoes in airports and throw away our shampoo? We've spent billions of
dollars
building a huge new bureaucracy, and all we know how to do is react to
things that
have already happened. Name me one leader who emerged from the crisis of
Hurricane
Katrina. Congress has yet to spend a single day evaluating the response to
the
hurricane, or demanding accountability for the decisions that were made in
the
crucial hours after the storm. Everyone's hunkering down, fingers crossed,
hoping it
doesn't happen again. Now, that's just crazy. Storms happen. Deal with it.
Make a
plan. Figure out what you're going to do the next time.

Name me an industry leader who is thinking creatively about how we can
restore our
competitive edge in manufacturing. Who would have believed that there
could ever be
a time when "the Big Three" referred to Japanese car companies? How did
this happen,
and more important, what are we going to do about it? Name me a government
leader
who can articulate a plan for paying down the debt, or solving the energy
crisis, or
managing the health care problem. The silence is deafening. But these are
the crises
that are eating away at our country and milking the middle class dry.

I have news for the gang in Congress. We didn't elect you to sit on your
asses and
do nothing and remain silent while our democracy is being hijacked and our
greatness
is being replaced with mediocrity. What is everybody so afraid of? That some
bobblehead on Fox News will call them a name? Give me a break. Why don't
you guys
show some spine for a change? Had Enough? Hey, I'm not trying to be the
voice of
gloom and doom here. I'm trying to light a fire. I'm speaking out because
I have
hope. I believe in America. In my lifetime I've had the privilege of
living through
some of America's greatest moments. I've also experienced some of our
worst crises,
the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War, the Kennedy
assassination, the
Vietnam War, the 1970s oil crisis, and the struggles of recent years
culminating
with 9/11. If I've learned one thing, it's this: You don't get anywhere by
standing
on the sidelines waiting for somebody else to take action. Whether it's
building a
better car or building a better future for our children, we all have a
role to play.
That's the challenge I'm raising in this book. It's a call to action for
people who,
like me, believe in America. It's not too late, but it's getting pretty
close. So
let's shake off the horseshit and go to work. Let's tell 'em all we've had
enough.

GO FLAMES GO!!!

Go Flames Go!

Good News Everyone!

Well, I spent the weekend working on DVD's. First I took Shane Ogden's and guided it from cradle to grave. It looks pretty good. The iLife suite sure makes things a hell of a lot easier than it used to be. His DVD looks so good, you'd swear it was made by someone other than my butter fingered self.

Once his was finished, I started work on my own, and it's starting to looking pretty damn good too. The title I've chosen for this first effort is "This Hole I've Dug is Mine Forever!" and it should be ready over the next week or so. I found a cool tutorial that showed me how to do a cool DVD box cover too, so I think I'm gonna go all out with the packaging rather than just a jewel case.

It's about time I got off my lazy ass with this stuff, and I must say, I'm really excited about it. I was beginning to think I'd never get the process started. Other stuff always seemed to get in the way, but now I'm energized by it, and focused on the task at hand. Given the time table I've given myself, I should have them available for the Nelson and Cranbrook gigs.

My agent will be happy too, she's been asking me for promo for eons, and until now I just kept looking at her, and then staring at my feet like an idiot savant. (Sometimes drooling, sometimes not…)

After the release of this disc, I will be retiring the "Shovel Photo." It's time for some new promo, and I have a few ideas that are going to be pretty slick I think. It's time for a bit of a re-branding. (That just sounds wrong though, doesn't it? Re-branding, like I'm little more than a product…It's actually kinda sad when you distil it down like that.)

So that will involve a new press kit, and new pictures. (Especially a new headshot…) I love the shovel pics, but truthfully they don't really give an honest representation of what my show is all about. (They seem to imply that I'm either wacky, or that I'm some sort of psychotic grave digging zombie hunter. So far I think I can safely claim to be neither.)

Anyway… More to come later.

I'm Pissed OFF...

I'm tired this morning. You'd swear I got no rest all weekend, but you'd be wrong. I was as lazy as lazy can be. The black circles under my eyes seem to have gotten deeper, almost sunken. I looked in the mirror this morning, and I almost didn't recognize myself.

I've also noticed that I'm quick to be agitated lately. I'm pretty sure nothing good can come from that.

Other stuff…

Over the weekend, I got lambasted on a post from about a year ago about the seal hunt. It was someone who decided to take a pot shot at me. I have never been called a slime ball or a hick before. It rocked me a little. Those who generally read my blog seem to go the other way with the stuff that I have to say. (Mind you it wasn't so much the insults that stung… Just that it seemed particularly vicious. I have never been called an agent of terror before either. Imagine that! Me… an agent of terror… I'm about as evil as a Hagar The Horrible cartoon.)

Now I'll admit, I should have been more thorough, and really check the sources I used for that post, but after being accused of "not having the facts" It made me think, did this guy read anything else I've ever written. Give the nature of his attack I don't think so.

Truth is, over the last year, I have evolved somewhat. I must admit I no longer support the hunt. I have taken a complete 180 position. Over the past year, I took the time to learn a little more about it, and have decided on my own accord that I fundamentally disagree with it. However I have also decided not to preach about it, other than to say this.

The commons will only hold so long. Then one day, if we do not take steps to re-establish it, it will disappear forever. (This can be said about a great many things.)

The only other thing I have to say is this. Peter Moss, you can suck my ass. You criticized me, and accused me of many things I consider unspeakable. You didn't get all your facts about me, and for that you Sir are a hypocrite. So… Fuck you very much you callow fuckwit.

I can't even believe this email.

Someone sent this email to me. I found it incredibly offensive. So I decided to add my two cents.

My responses are in brackets.


PROUD TO BE WHITE... Kramer's defense speech in court

(Ok first of his name is Michael Richards. Kramer is a fictitious character. Secondly this is an email that's been circling around the internet for years. What Richards did wasn't illegal, just stupid.)

Someone finally said it. How many are actually paying
attention to this?

(What on earth do you mean by finally... Rednecks have been spouting this nonsense for decades.)

There are African Americans, Mexican Americans, Asian
Americans, Arab Americans, etc. And then there are just Americans.

(The distinction is made as a sign of respect for minorities that have been historically marginalized by whites.)

You pass me on the street and sneer in my direction. You Call
me "White boy," "Cracker," "Honkey," "Whitey," "Caveman" ... and that's OK.

(A Canadian sent this too me. How many minorities have you met that have called you a cracker, or Honkey? In my 36 years of life it's never happened to me once. I've heard lots and lots of white people spout racist nonsense however. If I had a nickel for every time I heard the word "Nigger" or "Chug" or "Kike" said by a white person, I'd be a very very very wealthy man.)

But when I call you, Nigger, Kike, Towel head, Sand-nigger,
Camel Jockey, Beaner, Gook, or Chink ..You call me a racist.

(I would hope that in this civilized society of ours, that you would just naturally refrain from using racial slurs. Besides all those terms are horrific. In order to get respect, one must give it too. Reciprocity is the nature of all things.)

You say that whites commit a lot of violence against you, so
why are the ghettos the most dangerous places to live?

(Hmmm... Historically Whites have been vicious towards non whites. Here's a list: 1) The Holocaust, 2) Slavery, 3) The Current war in Iraq, 4) The occupations of Nicaragua, and Panama, 5) Apartheid in South Africa, and The American south for that matter. 6) Colonialism - The occupation of India, and the majority of Africa by white european powers. We have an awful lot to answer for.

As for the ghettos. We made them. White city councils issue permits for liquor and fire arm sales. Ever wonder why there are so many liquor stores and gun shops in the hood? We make it easy for blacks to bump each other off so we don't have to.

One need only look at Katrina to see exactly what America thinks of it's African American Citizens.)

You have the United Negro College Fund. (An organization designed to help blacks who have been marginalized by expensive and traditionally white schools.)

You have Martin Luther King Day.

(What's wrong with celebrating the life of a man who believed in racial harmony and equality? HE JUST HAPPENED TO BE BLACK.)

You have Black History Month.

(Good we have 11 months of the year...)

You have Caesar Chavez Day.

(He stood up to white's treating hispanics like lesser beings.)

You have Yom Hashoah.

(What could the Jews be wanting to protect and support? Lord knows they've never had any problems with white people...Except for that crazy Holocaust, or 2000 other years of white people's hate mongering...)

You have Ma'uled Al-Nabi.

(Nothing bad is happening to Arabs these days?)

You have the NAACP.

(Advancement for blacks? What's wrong with that? Given that there has never been a black president of the United States, or a black Prime Minister of Canada / UK... And how many fortune 500 companies are run by blacks?)

You have BET.

If we had WET (White Entertainment Television) we'd be
racists.
(I believe it's call FOX NEWS! And it is racist!)

If we had a White Pride Day, you would call us racists.

(WHY ON EARTH WOULD WE EVEN NEED IT. WE AS A CULTURE HAVE NEVER EVER BEEN MARGINALIZED! White folks run the world. We have every advantage there is. We even got to make up the rules.)

If we had White History Month , we'd be racists. (Most of the modern history we learn in school is about whites. I'd say one month out of the year is actually short changing Blacks.)

If we had any organization for only whites to "advance" OUR
lives

We'd be racists.

(Except for that first 200 years or so... Ever met a black "Knight of Columbus, or Free Mason? I bet you haven't!)

We have a Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, a Black Chamber of Commerce, and then we just have the plain Chamber of Commerce.

Wonder who pays for that?

(Nope... And I couldn't care less...)

A white woman could not be in the Miss Black American pageant,
but any color can be in the Miss America pageant.

(Who really cares? Pageants are dumb anyway! Just as JonBenet Ramsey!)

If we had a college fund that only gave white students scholarships you know we'd be racists. There are over 60 openly proclaimed Black Colleges in the US. Yet if there were "White colleges" THAT would be a racist college.

(At one point in America there were hundreds of Colleges that were White's only. And for a remarkable amount of time they were MEN only too. White MEN!)

In the Million Man March, you believed that you were marching
for your race and rights. If we marched for our race and rights, you would call us racists.

(Nazi Germany did a lot of that "Million man March thing. It didn't go over well...)

You are proud to be black, brown, yellow and orange, and you're not afraid to announce it. But when we announce our white pride, you call us racists.

(Who the fuck is orange? Most of the time it's the Aryan Nations and Ku KLUX KLAN members screaming that stuff out loud. The Nazis did that too. Another thing that didn't go to well for them...)

You rob us, car-jack us, and shoot at us. But, when a white police officer shoots a black gang member or beats up a black drug-dealer running from the law and posing a threat to society, you call him a racist.

(White people never commit crimes? White people never shoot one another? This is utter nonsense. Given that Blacks out number whites 10 - 1 in American Prisons, and that Blacks are statistically more likely to be convicted for a crime, I'd being willing to say with some certainty that the system is racist.)

I am proud. But you call me a racist.

(I'm proud of my culture, but I don't even see colour any more.)

Why is it that only whites can be racists?

(Anyone can be racist. We just happen to be good at it.)

There is nothing improper about this e-mail. Let's see which
of you are proud enough to send it on.

(This email is a sad commentary on a world gone horribly awry. I hope there's a flood one day.)

Just a little catch up...

I have spent the last several days trying to ram engineering standards into my head. I find my self being reminded why I went to film school rather than try any technical discipline. I am a dough head. All the information I've been trying to cram in, pretty much looks like total gibberish to me. It takes a different kind of person to be able to absorb this stuff.

Clearly I was not built for this stuff. Gimme some sort of philosophical "high level" thinking and I'm right in there. Give me math and naming conventions, and you might as well put a leash on me. I would be better off spending my days trying to lick my nether regions that ever trying to learn this stuff. It's a wonder of the world that they keep me here. I am convinced at this moment that the only thing that separates me from a Neanderthal is my ability to actually spell the word Neanderthal. Other than that, I think we are both still impressed with the notion of thumbs.

Some other complaints and grievances…

The weather as you may have guessed is still driving me mad. I now believe that we will never see spring again. I shall never feel the warmth of the sun's rays on my face anymore. Curse my love of hairspray in the 80's, if only I had known that it would eventually freeze me to death. (Die Alberto V05! You cursed styling aid…What evil have you wrought?) What a hate filled irony. The world is getting warmer, and yet I'm freezing my ass off. It makes no sense to me. Bring on global cooling then you bastards.

Huge changes in the works at Yuks these days. The old guard from the agency is out, and a new Cracker Jack squad of leaders is being flown in from Toronto to take the reigns. It should be interesting to see what changes occur in the next little while. Hopefully things won't go too haywire.

Next…

This whole thing with Iran and America (and Britain too…) is really frightening to me. Apparently George Bush's understand of peace and democracy includes Armageddon. Could it be any more transparent that he has a hard on to go kick some Persian ass. Fucking up Iraq isn't enough apparently. He's like a fucking 2 year old with a bag of toys. No attention span to speak of and someone else will be left to clean up the mess when he shits the bed. Apparently no one ever told him the adage "Finish what you started before you go on to something new."

More to come as I think of it…

Yikes...

Yikes...

I had to take the Golf in for a minor repair this morning. The damn airbag sensor light came on again. I love my car, but I hate that nagging little light. Hopefully VW will get it sorted so I can once again love the car, and not worry about that bitch of a light.

The waiting room at the dealership had just a couple of people in it. One guy in a suit, an accountant to be sure, was chatty, but without being annoying. (As so many waiting room sorts can be. Especially at bus terminals or hospitals, where for some reason, you always wind up being a captive audience.) We talked about what folks generally talk about at dealerships, namely our cars.

He was a gentle sort, and projected the notion of being trustworthy. I liked him… Well as much as one can like a person based on a conversation in the lobby of a dealer while waiting for the courtesy van.

The ride in from the dealer took forever. Traffic in Calgary has become quite the grind. When we finally pulled up outside my office, I saw a guy on a bike get hit by a car. This seems like a fairly ominous start to the day. It's only 8:30 and the shit's already hit the fan for some poor bastard. Such is the working life downtown I guess.

The guy on the bike was huge and kinda scruffy looking; the Toyota that hit him was relatively small but shiny. His bike seemed to be the only real victim of this unfortunate encounter. When the huge man picked it up, you could see that the front fork was bent, and the wheel had a wicked wobble to it. He did not look amused. (I suppose though if I had been struck by a car, and my only visible means of transportation had just become an accordion, I would probably not be terribly amused either.)

I hate it when I see stuff like this. It puts me on edge all day. Happily though, it appears that he wasn't hurt.

Stuffy Stuff Stuff stuff... vol # 2

So far today I've made 3 trips to the printer. I'm enjoying huffing my lazy carcass up and down several flights of stairs and trundling off to pick up and drop stuff off. Truthfully the exercise is good for me and more specifically my chunk like midriff. Although at this point one might argue that the band "Weezer" was named after me. (Except that I really don't look that much like Buddy Holly, I know very few "homies", and none of whom of the ones I do know are currently dissing me or my girl

I've just gotten over some sort of stomach thing. I spent yesterday running between the couch and the lavatory (I prefer this term, it sounds more scientific that washroom.). Somewhere in the mix though, I finally got around to posting video clips.

In fact sitting at home all day can do wonders for productivity. Boredom can be a great motivator. I even managed to tweeze my eyebrows, which is good, because I was starting to look like Wolfman Jack. (Well, before he took his eternal dirt nap.)

"Bushy eyebrows aren't all that hip and groovy, you crazy kiddies. How ooooooow"

I recently got an Xbox 360, and so I spent a little time killing terrorists yesterday. This thing is far more realistic that I would have expected. All that's missing is the smell of smoke, and the waft of the shit left in a dying soldier's pants.

I think we should just give Bush an Xbox, that way he won't be wasting anymore money on "The War Against Terrorism" (T.W.A.T.) and will still accomplish about the same amount of progress. There will be a lot fewer grief stricken mothers if the whole thing got distilled down to a few hours of "Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon – Advance War Fighter."

More to come later…

Just a thought...

I have always been fascinated by the notion that some species eat their young. It’s a splendid concept. I’m not entirely sure it’s true, but I do seem to recall a story about a male bear that killed its cubs, so as to not be challenged for dominance. It’s an almost Shakespearean concept. Rumour has it, that a “lost” sequel to Hamlet had a similar plot. (Involving homicidal bears… dressed up as fops and what not…)

I think it’s time humans adopted a more positive view about cannibalism. Sure there have been extreme cases, usually involving stranded soccer players, or lost artic explorers, but generally we as a whole have frowned on the thought. That my friends, is being wickedly short sighted on our part.

It might solve a few problems all at once. Let’s face it, a significant portion of the world’s population is hungry, and we have a lot of socially retarded dirt bags that would make some pretty tasty eating.

Who wouldn’t love to hear Chuck Heston bellow out “Soylent Green is made from Hilton”?

And now that the Olsen twins aren’t little kids, they need to be put into the stock pot too.

“What’s that flavour? I can’t put my finger on it. It has a gamey taste, but there’s also a whiff of disappointment to it,”

“Oh that’s just Mary Kate and Ashley…”

It would be a dream come true. If other species can do, I know that in my heart that with a little practice, with our collective nose to the grindstone, we could get into it. Let’s face it, with a little Montreal steak spice, and a few cloves of garlic, you can make anything taste edible.

K… Perhaps that’s an extreme thought. Think of it this way. If you are a useless waste of flesh and bone, and your existence has done nothing to help this species out, perhaps you were meant to meet your end this way. What if this was supposed to be your destiny? Perhaps your talent is to become a rib roast.

Besides, Britney Burgers has a ring to it. Say it with me now… “K-Fed for the underfed.”

It’s not that crazy.

Snow... Nikki, Shane, and Me...

There is more Goddamn snow in Calgary today. That is too cruel for words. This is like some sort of sick Groundhog Day joke. Today is supposed to be the first day of spring. It is as if Mother Nature just said "Fuck You!" and skipped on by. I personally believe she's an evil bitch, and I am convinced she must be stopped at all costs. She in my humble estimation represents a "clear and present danger" to my health and sanity. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells, and so far I'm laying the root causes on her evil wake...

But I digress, on to other stuff…

Edmonton came off without any hitches. All four shows were sold out. The club was packed to the absolute rafters. All of the shows rocked. Nikki and Shane were both fantastic, which made my job as smooth as silk. I love it when things run without a snag.

The bus ride up to Edmonton was tiring. The second we got off of the Red Arrow, we were whisked away to the studios of Sonic 102.9. That was really fun, the folks there are super friendly, and they loaded us down with swag. Nikki said sweaty genitals a lot while we were there. I liked that very much.

On the way to the club, before the shows on Friday, we found out that Yuks had hired extra security for the shows. Initially we were led to believe that they would be carrying tazers, which we all thought would have been fun. (A little excessive, but fun nonetheless) We all wanted to shock Shane. Nikki thought it would have made for a very funny new closer. I agreed. Shane seemed open to the idea. Alas we were misinformed. They just had handcuffs and bear spray. Shane was less open to that concept.

The shows went great, and then Shane and I got drunk. Really really really stinking drunk, and yet somehow we were still able to sell a pile of CDs and sign some autographs.

Saturday started with a trip to the West Ed, (After recuperating from the Friday's drinking…) where we managed a decent lunch, and did some shopping. I love the HMV at the West Ed. It's the biggest one in Canada, and I always managed to find some cool stuff there.

Then we headed back to the hotel to clean up before the evening's shows. Both shows rocked, and we managed to sell another pile of CDs and sign some more autographs. Much to my amazement, people had travelled far and wide to come see the show. (That Nikki Payne is a superstar for real…) There were folks from Winnipeg that came just for the show, and I met some folks from Fort McMurray too. All in all, I was mighty mighty (So much so I had to say mighty twice…) Impressed.

If only all gigs were like that. Happy belated St. Patrick's day to all.

Dear Captain, My Captain,

The Prime Minister is trying to buy your vote. He wants a majority, and he's willing to pay for it. This new federal budget smacks of a party on a mission. It's as if the Conservatives are looking at the Liberals and saying "Bring it Bitches!" In a single tabled document he's trying to buy families, seniors and the Bloc. (If I were a Quebecer I would be furious with my elected representation right about now…) You can practically see the saliva dripping off of the new budget.

I suspect in true Harper fashion, the jibes and jeers are going to get louder and louder, as they try to goad the Liberals into a showdown. (Let's not forget that the Prime Minister is a bully, and quite frankly a mean spirited prick.) This is a full on drama queen battle royal. Its gonna be really fun to watch, but will it be good for the country? Likely not. (But, it's not going to be boring.)

If Dion was smart, he'd just sit and smile. If I were the liberal leader, I'd drag out every agonizing moment. I'd bring a rocking chair into the House of Commons and just sit tight. The louder it got, the more I'd rock. (I might even learn how to knit.) Sadly though, Dion is a bit of a simpering wimp. I suspect he'll take the bait sooner rather than later, if only to try and rough up his weenie image. That would have some seriously tragic consequences. (Namely a Conservative Majority...)

I'm pretty sure that I'd let Harper trip over himself, because sooner or later the great ship Conservative is going to make a fatal mistake. There will be an iceberg in its future. Without question, they will eventually "chum" the waters themselves. It is the nature of government to implode; sometimes it just takes a while. (Ever notice that Finance Minister Jim Flaherty looks a lot like Boris Badinoff from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons? Come to think of it, Rona Ambrose looks like a chunky Natasha!)

"izzzz Vicked Boris?"

"Ja, is Vicked Natasha!"

The longer Harper and the other sausage fingered "brown shirts" have to wait, the better off the country will be. (It's like Jenga but with red necks in expensive suits… Not to mention a misplaced sense of entitlement.) Truthfully we need to let them lose their way, and start to get fat off the hog. I'm tempted to dangle a ham in front of them, just to see what happens.

My Grandpa gave me a great piece of advice once about politics. "Never trust a Conservative when he wants to spend money."

To me, it's kinda like watching a desperate poker player splash the pot, hoping that antics rather than the pair of deuces in hand, will cause the other players to fold

Don't get me wrong, for the time being, (I'm thinking short term here…) there is nothing wrong with a Conservative Minority. They can't get too uppity the way things stand, and while they're busy being little beavers trying to shore up their Dam, the country can lap up some of the spoils. After all, their spending, regardless of motivation, is currently at least somewhat helpful. (Although, it really doesn't go far enough… but that's for another post.)

My Pony's Name is John...

The Democratic primaries are going to be really damn interesting. Clinton vs. Obama is likely going to be the main event battle, but I'm not convinced that's the real part of the contest everyone should be paying attention to. I suspect that the dark horse in this race is really John Edwards.

He's young, and dynamic, from the south, and not a challenge for Middle America. He won't ruffle the feathers of rural folk (not based on appearance anyway… This in 2007 is a sad commentary!) Nor will the religious right get too uppity with him. He's a bigger liberal that Clinton and Obama put together, and most importantly he's eloquent while still managing to be a "plain" speaker. He smacks of vox populi.

I like his affable southern charm, but what I like more is that he's willing to admit when he's wrong. He apologized to the American public for voting yes to Baby Bush's war. Clinton couldn't bring herself to do that, instead opting for the notion of "being misled" which is not at all the same thing. Truthfully Hillary comes off as arrogant, but with a sense of entitlement attached to it. I think that puts an unelectable stink on her and will ultimately crucify her chances over the long haul. (There is also something about her I find stifling. I bet poor ole Bill has a short leash these days…)

As for Obama, his admission of using drugs in college (actually inhaling pot smoke, and hitting the snow a little…) is refreshing, and clearly his level of intelligence, and sensibility have "serious contender" written all over him, but I think he's still too green around the edges. He needs to mature a little more, but once that happens I suspect he will be unstoppable. I believe one day he will be President. Just not anytime in the near future.

Which brings me back to John Edwards, who I totally believe should be the "here and now" candidate for the Democrats. It would be incredibly stupid for them not to see this. He shows something they've been missing for some time, namely strength of character. He doesn't strike me as the dithering liberal that the neo cons like to lambaste.

Ann Coulter called him a faggot, (In this day and age Ann Coulter condeming you is practically an endorsement...) but she just couldn't make it stick, mostly because no one would believe it anyway. He's done nothing but show interest in public service, and regardless of political stripe, no ones sees that as a bad thing. (Ann seems to forget that no one cares anymore… her day in the fascist sun is done. She's a liar and the entire world knows it. I suspect even her parents would be likely to tell her to the fuck shut up.)

Anyhoo… more on this as I think of it.

Stuffy Stuff Stuff Stuff...

This morning was met with less resistance than normal on my part. I’m feeling pretty good. I wouldn’t go so far as to say “Hale and Hearty” but at least I’m not crabby. The drive into work was quicker than normal, and light years better than the shit show that was yesterday’s commute. (Snow + Calgary drivers = shit show…) I swear to God, when the weather is bad here, people begin to very quickly show that their DNA is only a few strands away from a monkey’s. (Let the poo flinging begin…)

I’ve spent most of my day so far packing. I’m heading to a new project, which means yet another move to yet another building. This is the 5th time in four months that I’ve had to pack. I’m becoming some sort of packing wizard. I hope this is the last one for a while. Living out of boxes is one thing, but trying to work out of them is a total different story. (Why must I be a man in a suitcase?)

Other stuff,

I’ve been on a bit of a writing binge lately. There are a few new jokes that are starting to take some decent shape. They still need to be wrung out on stage, but their framework is looking very promising. I’m hoping to excise a significant chunk of older material in the next little while, and these could be really great replacements with just a little bit more polishing.

Still More Stuff…

I’ve given up meat for a while. I made the mistake of watching “Fast Food Nation.” There is a really graphic scene that takes place on the “kill floor” and it horrified me. It literally took all of my stamina not to get sick afterwards. It was so jarring and brutal. (I’ve seen some pretty heavy pictures from Iraq that seemed less brutal… Although that’s probably a sad commentary on its own…) I’m generally not sensitive or squeamish, but that really rattled me. At this point, regardless of my love of cheeseburgers, I’m not sure I want to eat meat again anytime soon. So for me now I shall gorge on “Boca Burgers” with cheese instead.

More to come as I think of it…

Morning

The alarm went off a little too early this morning. One of my eyes had been glued shut from the sleepy gunk that built up during the night. I was cranky. I fumbled out of bed, and tried to find my housecoat in the dark.

It's not unusual for me to stub my toe along the way. I curse a lot in the morning. It's a solid benchmark for my distain of all things morning related. I hate the fuckin' morning. Even the sounds of birds chirping, has a seeming negative effect on me. If only they had some sort of volume control.

To my way of thinking the only good morning thing is breakfast. I love me a good breakfast. But thanks to Denny's, Humpty's and a litany of other restaurants, you can get that stuff 24 hours a day. I tend to like my breakfast at noon, which is a much more civilized time of day to my way of thinking. I'm usually feeling pretty hale and hearty at that point in the day.

Due to some sort of genetic pre disposition, (The damn Irish side of me I suspect…) my feet hurt like a son of bitch in the morning. I need to walk on them for a little bit before the feeling goes away. It almost feels like the tendons have shrunk during the night, and they need to stretch back out before things feel right. Usually the first handful of steps are the worst. Even in my fuzzy slippers, I am uncomfortable.

I have a routine that I generally stick to. It seems to keep me going. (Sort of…) I get up, feed the dog, then she and I both go out on to the deck to have a smoke. (Well… I have the smoke, and she just sits there, a couple of inches ahead of my feet, waiting patiently. I am however considering trying to teach her to smoke… but that's another blog for another time.) It's our quiet waking up time. We both stare out onto the parking lot next to the house. We are two peas in a premature pod.

There we are man and dog, both of us having a slightly glazed over look about us. She sits befuddled, after being roused out of a dream most likely involving helpless cats and big meaty bones, and me left slack jawed with the sinking feeling that work is just a mere 45 minutes away from this point. Somehow, this has become our bonding ritual.

We are both immediately aware of how stock still and quiet the other is. These are the moments before my neck gets kinked up with the stress of the day. Juniper on the other hand will likely just slump over and catch some more sleep. I'm jealous of my dog, and that is truly sad. I'm beginning to wonder what she thinks of when she looks at me.

She's generally a nice dog, a little over eager, but affectionate and charming enough. This early though, she just tends to be a furry little zombie. (Sort of a furry little Muppet version of a zombie…) Her normal frenetic pace has been replaced with the occasional clumsy stretch and wide mouthed yawn. I am no better. (Just larger mostly…)

Once we go back into the house, she heads for her training mat, and goes about her business. We both have predictable routines. I stumble up the stairs and try and make my lazy carcass look somewhat presentable. Generally the dog has better luck with her task than I do with mine. Life would be great if all I had to wear was a collar.

If I could move slower I would. This is the daily process and quite truthfully it begins to feel like a Herculean effort by the end of the week. Somewhere along the way, I became a member of the rat race. I'm not sure how that happened, and worse still, I'm not sure quite what to do about it. Again I come to the realization that I'm jealous of my dog.

Got it, Got it, Got it, Need it, Got it...

I think it's tragic that we pay very little attention to the people we elect into office. Given the scope and responsibility of the job, you'd think people would want to "interview" the candidate before they got hired. Sure there's a lot of banter, and half hearted character assassinations, but do we ever really get to see the real deal? (I've given some really killer interviews over the years, and then been total crap at a job.)

But… Try to imagine any other job where the employer didn't interview the applicant. Imagine how many shitty buildings would get built or unsuccessful criminal convictions there would be, or really shitty hamburgers you'd have to eat.

The truth is we have to be more critical of those we elect. So many Canadians complain that "it doesn't matter who I vote for, they don't listen…" or "my vote doesn't matter" or my favorite "they're all the same anyway…" What we don't realize is that it's a vicious circle. It is with the absence of our watchful eyes that they have become corrupted.

Only when we truly pay attention do they follow the straight and narrow. Our future has to be in our own hands. If we take a fatalistic approach, we get what we deserve, namely shitty politicians. Sure it can be difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff, but if we don't take the time, who will? Sadly the answer is "no one!"

But I have an idea… (Another one…)

I think we should make budding politicians fight it out in the area. I want them to fight with tridents, nets, spears and swords. I want gladiators, and most assuredly I want blood. You want my vote? Are you willing to kill for it? More importantly are you willing to die for it? Picture this, "Those of you about to die, we elect you!" (Although picturing Harper in a loin cloth trying to "work" a sword is just about all my little brain can handle…)

We should make a sport out of it. Perhaps we could even print trading cards with the politicians on them. Like any other sports card, we could have their stats on the back. (As well as which party "drafted" them, and when they sold out and got "traded.") I love the idea of making each individual voting record more widely accessible.

Try to imagine kids in the school yard trading them. "I'll give you a Harper and a Dion for that Joe Clark and a Trudeau!" (That sounds like an awesome deal to me…) It's a brilliant thought isn't it?

Let's Party...

I watched Man of The Year last night. I liked it. More specifically I liked the spirit of it. I've been chewing over the premise, and I have an idea. This one is just kooky enough that it just might work.

First though, I'd like you to think about these questions for a second. (Copy them and paste them into your comments... With answers...)

1)Do you think "The New Canadian Government" is creepy, and is ultimately run by a dick? (These aren't your daddy's Conservatives... Unless your daddy's last name was Goebbles...)
Is it just me, or does Stephen Harper's hair look like it once belonged to a Playmoblie action figure?

2)Are you convinced that Stephane Dion is a wimp? (It's hard to believe the Liberals could get even more shiftless.) I think he's more flacid than a pedophile's junk on a retirement cruise. Sure it might be all inclusive, and dinner's at 4pm, but it's all AC and no DC.

3)Does the notion of voting for Jack Layton invoke images of an eastern european car salesman. (Lada – made from recycled soviet era tank parts. Drives good Yes?) Besides he's got a moustache, and no good can come from that!

4)Are all the other Canadian political parties just a little too flaky and or freaky?

I think it's time for a real party of inclusion. We need a party for the rest of us. Don't you think it's time to vote for things you actually care about? Wouldn't it be great to not feel the need to vote defensively? I don't know about you, but the idea of voting for any of these rejects makes my skin crawl. This era of American style attack ads and smarmy bullshit in the house of commons, makes my stomach churn. Wouldn't it be great if we remembered that public debate doesn't need to lack civility. (I wish someone would remind Harper... He'd likely come off less dickish...)

It's time that Canadian politics excised personal agendas. It's time that social policy actually reflects the values of real Canadians. From this point on, there should be no room for closed minds. All it takes is a few disenfranchised people to stir the pot. Will you stir the pot with me?

Every year in Toronto there is a conclave of ideas. Artists, Politicians, Musicians, Scientists, and a plethora of other interesting professionals come together to share ideas. Imagine if we did that with our governance, oh what a wonderful world it would be.

One last thing, Talk minus action equals zero.

Harpo and The Goonies...

Stephen Harper and his band of power drunken neo cons seem to be flying pretty fast and loose these days. They're up in the polls, and figure now is the time to strike. The proverbial iron is hot, and the liberal body is not. (So to speak…)

His strategy so far has been to taunt the opposition parties, trying desperately to draw them into an election. His handlers, taking a lesson from their American counterparts in the Republican Party, (Yes the Democrats do it too…) have launched a volley of personal attack ads to goad, chide and persuade. It's very heavy handed though, much like dropping a nuclear bomb on a country whose army fights with sticks. (Hmmm… that sounds familiar for some reason… Bunker busters and what not…)

His agenda is to make the attacks so personal that he manages to push the right button. I hope for the country's sake, Layton and Dion will remind themselves that the P.M. is a dick, (A big one at that…) and that his bullying tactics are nothing but an obvious ploy to greedily get his sausage shaped fingers on a majority.

His lusting for a majority government is unkindly reminiscent of a crack whore trying to draw in an unwitting John. It couldn't be any more thinly veiled. Sheets of exercise paper have more thickness. (And substance for that matter…)

As if that wasn't enough, his courting of the ADQ in Quebec should be setting off klaxon horns all over the country. Why mess with the ruling Liberals? Especially since the Premier is really a conservative? Mr. Harper, are you really that petty? Instead of propping up a majority federalist party, you choose to prop up a party with the "chance" of a minority government. How does this help the country?

Why poke the sleeping sovereignty movement with a stick? Oh I know… Because you're a pretty and vendictive dick. I know... Cause I'm a vendictive dick too, and as they say "It takes one to know one!"

Grumble...

Grumble...

I'm tired. It's been a really long week. This day job thing is really kicking my ass. I spent my entire week doing rudimentary data entry. Nothing is as boring as data entry. 40 hours staring at a screen. Much to my chagrin, the pile of documents I've been dealing with doesn't seem to be diminishing I'm convinced that someone is sneaking papers into my pile.

Working for a living sucks ass. I really hate it.

The small of my back aches like a son of a bitch, and my shoulders feel like someone was kneeling on them. I now understand the plight of millions of office workers who suffer from repetitive strains. How people carry on day in and day out in offices mystifies me.

On Monday, I turn 36. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet. I've been feeling "old" lately. I seem to be unable reconcile the feeling that I'm behind schedule in some fashion. I can't put my finger on what exactly, but I feel like I can't catch up. (Fuck that sounds like the premise for some shitty Alabama song…)

Is this normal? I wish there was some sort of proper manual that could explain some of how I'm feeling. (Not some piece of shit 'Chicken Soup for the Soul" pile of crap… Which to me is as fake and contrived as an Anne Geddes photo. I'd rather run my gums across a belt sander than waste my time with that nonsense.)

I feel like I'm getting dumber too. I'm just a few moments away from giggling when I fart, and while part of me appreciates the simplicity of that, I'm also aghast by it. I've been unable to finish reading books, and my tragically basic understanding of English grammar has diminished greatly. I'm hoping that with some sleep these things might return to me. I'm not holding my breath though.

More to come later…

Some species eat their young...

Some species eat their young...

The shows on the weekend went really well. New material is forming quickly, as this character further cements itself into the act. I feel really strong on stage, and I seem to be getting faster in terms of "funny on the fly." It's a nice feeling.

I've started getting into some new concepts, one in particular about "notorious lifestyles" vs. genuine abilities and talents. I've touched on it a little in the past, but now it is becoming more thematic, as it starts to fit more ergonomically. I'm starting to believe that if you make a case for it, (And more importantly if it's funny…) then people will start to pay it a little more attention. I think over the next little while, I'm going to see how far I can take it.

The question I keep asking myself is "what is the john q public's threshold?" We humans by our nature (and especially us Canadians it seems…) love to see someone crater. The bigger the explosion in a social persona, the better it is. I am certainly no exception to this observation. I love it. It's like porn to me. It's like butter on popcorn, or jam on my toast. I lap this shit up willingly, and I'm okay with it.

But it doesn't mean that I don't see the harm in it. Part of what makes comedy good (in my most humble estimation…) it being able to point out, in no small measure, my own double standards and hypocrisy. I'm the first one to say "Hey, I'm a big retard, and I got some issues…"

It's hard not to take notice too, because let's face it, a traffic accident is still a traffic accident. The grisly details can't help but appeal to something very dark and primal inside us. I think we as humans get off on suffering, but only if the drama that leads up to it is flavorful enough. "It's gotta be juicy Junior!!! Real damn juicy…"

Watching the fallout from Anna Nicole Smith, Michael Richards, and Brittney certainly has gotten too much attention. Does it matter though? Do we use these people as a yard stick? Do we compare our relatively stayed lives to the super fantastic?

I think watching these personal explosions go off, permits us to feel better about ourselves. No matter how much we fuck up in our own lives, we are not nearly as doomed as they are. Is that fair? Does anyone really care? Fuelling our own neurosis in such a fashion can't be healthy. We are quickly becoming a species that "eats" it's own. Too bad it's out of sport and not from a necessity.

Just some thoughts...

"Send lawyers, guns and money, the shit has hit the fan!" – Warren Zevon

The office is all a flutter this morning. Things have gone about as far south as they can. (Save for ice skating with Satan, but even as I look over, he's lacing them up…)
Such is the curse of the Canadian comedian. The day job, while being necessary, has a tendency to come with their own steaming heap of problems.

I'm starting to itch for the road. This is rarely a good sign. Long drives, other comics shit, bad food, terrible service (because I'm little more than a living karaoke machine, and the comic before me was a dick…), not to mention time away from the homestead makes the prospects less than gleeful. Much like t he day job though, it's a necessary evil.

I need to get my sorry ass out there for an extended period. Playing the clubs is a lot of fun, but I have shit I need to hash out, and nothing works better than the road for that. (Some would argue differently, but this is what works for me.) Bouncing stuff off of cagey, less than appreciative audiences tends to temper material. The more battle tested the better. Once you stroll into a club with shiny new shit, you feel like a God.


Anyhoo… More to come soon.

I feel like jamming a spoon into my eyes...

Hopefully at some point over the next 48 hours, I'll have posted some live performance video clips on the page. I've been wanting to for some time, but I just never seem to be able to get to it. My humble little life is more hectic than one might initially imagine. (Or so it seems lately.)

I've had the last four days off, and you'd figure that sounds like enough time to get in some rest, and get down to the "business end" of stand up land. No such luck for me. I did manage to squeak in a hockey game on Sunday, but the rest of my time was taken up with other obligations. I tried working on some stuff tonight, like disc replication, and I managed to make a whopping total of one! (Now that's productivity…)

Needless to say, I've been out of the loop lately. It took my army of Myspace spies to clue me into the whole Britney "haircut" incident. Normally I'm on this stuff like flies on proverbial shit, but I missed this one. Mind you, I've been trying to severely curtail my watching of all things infotainment related. (I believe it's killing me, and blackening my soul.)

Truthfully I believe that smoking is far less harmful than infotainment. I may be killing myself slowly with every sweet, and lovely lingering drag, but at least I'm generally conscious for it. Once the TV hits "Entertainment Tonight"; my brain turns to a sort of frothing, undulating, angry mush. The sad part being that I sop this shit up like bread in a pan of gravy.

I rant and rave about how socially fucked the entertainment industry is (the irony of me being an entertainer… Well that just might kill me faster…), and regardless I permit myself to have my intelligence insulted in hourly chunks like I'm fully retarded. (Sponsored by Pepsi…)

But I digress…

I wanted to take a kick at Britney, but she's already doing a better job of it than I could ever hope to do. Its looks as if the 8:15 to Whacko Town is right on schedule. (She should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque…)

I feel no swell of pity for her. It's nice to see a superstar see that "real life" is a great big steaming bag of shit sometimes.

Here's a fun checklist. It's a step by step on How Brit got to here. Lemme Know if I missed something.

1) As a child, go to a zillion talent contests. Win some; lose some (Then get hit with a wire hanger…)
2) Get on the New Mouseketeers; meet future boyfriend, and not one but two future mortal enemies.
3) Play the virginal good girl card, even though it's rumored that Daddy got you new tits, and you dance like you just might have a future as a call girl.
4) Make a shitty movie that everyone hates. (Even good ole Grammy and Grampy want their money back. Cause let's face it; even "Plan 9 From Outer Space" was less wooden and forced…)
5) Dump Mouseketeer boyfriend, and make a huge public spectacle of it. The louder the better. Now is the time to pitch that whole virgin thing.
6) Marry a "friend" then have it annulled the very next day. When the media asks, "What on earth is this all about?" Just tell them something stupid like "I just wanted to know what it was like to be married."
7) Marry the male "Anna Nicole" and grunt out his love puppies. Support his lazy ass, and help him crank out a piece of shit hip-hop album. (One that gives Vanilla Ice instant street cred…)
8) Make a home porno flick with Male "Anna Nicole."
9) Drop your baby, and have social services pop by for a "visit"
10) Dump Male "Anna Nicole" and Party hard with Paris Hilton. Make sure to show your shaved "cooter" to the paparazzi.
11) Meet halfway credible musician, play head games with him, and watch him head for the hills as fast as his little legs can carry him.
12) Dump Paris.
13) Shave head.

Anyhoo more to come as I think of it.

Don't Get VD!

Why do we really celebrate St.Valentine's Day? Every single person I know hates it. There's a level of bitterness towards this yearly event (Not holiday… No day off equals no holiday... Besides St. Patrick and his travelling snake act don't get one so why should good ole Valentine?) that makes even my head spin.

The first thing I noticed about this day, when I say it's name out loud, is that "Saint" has been all but completely truncated from the name, in favour of the less obviously religious Valentine's Day. This is dumb. The original point of the day was to honour a man who was murdered for his beliefs. (A martyr… that's kinda sexy…Right?) I'm not so sure that romantic love was ever intended to be celebrated on this day. "Hey Honey, did you hear? Valentine got torched on a stake, now let's fuck…)

How we got to roses, candies, and tacky cards with even tackier sayings is a real mystery to me. (Very much like, "Hey our Lord and Saviour has been born, let's cut down a tree, bring it in to the house, and cover it with shiny shit.") But you can bet that the chairman of the board and Hallmark gets pretty randy looking at all those sales figures.

Near as I can tell, this day is for the young, and those who are stunted emotionally. (Although I do know some seemingly rational and sane people who do enjoy the day…) "Red roses will best express my love… YEECH!)

Every Valentines Day I've ever had the interesting fortune to be apart of, has in a word Sucked! It's has the same level of expectations that New Year's Eve has, and just as much of the let down. (Baring of course, the St. Valentine's Day Massacre… which must have been a hoot. Nothing says lovin' like gangland reciprocity.)

Before I got married, I used to spend this blockbuster day going to the annual "Elvis Presley" impersonators at the Ship and Anchor. I always thought that was the perfect antithesis to Valentine's Day. Fake fat Elvis and I, getting smashed and both touching ourselves in a wildly inappropriate fashion. "Fools rush in my ass!"

For the record I hate cinnamon hearts for two reasons, 1) to me they taste like the crud that forms on the lip of the cough syrup bottle after it's been in the fridge for a few months. (Don't judge me!) And 2) that's not cinnamon, that's a crime. What retard invented this crap? Apparently taste buds were not factored in as a requirement of the job.

I'm Fucking Freezing...

It's cold here. Not Nunavut cold, but cold enough for sure. The people who live that far up north need help. I would argue it to be a very special kind of help. The cold has clearly frozen them on the spot, and is sucking their will to live even as you read this. Hell, not even thoughts can form in that kind of cold. Having them live there is cruel. I wouldn't wish that on an enemy let alone some poor schmuck.

Whoever it was that decided to come settle in North America (I'm looking at you Vikings… and you too Plymouth Rock people…) really should have been shot for even suggesting it. Not just shot, but dragged into the town square and flogged mercilessly first, and then had a nice lemon juice and turpentine bath… and then shot!

Even better yet, strap the bastards naked to a tree in the dead of winter, and spray it down with a fire hose until all of them were encased in ice. That would have changed a mind or two I'm willing to bet.

Sure there are lots of historical arguments about "Religious Freedoms," and "Natural Resources" to consider when thinking about the initial migration to North America, but in the end, were they worth living and trying to function in a cold climate? I think not.

It was as if the early settlers (Lord Baltimore for instance…) came up along side the continent and said "Close enough Fuckers…" and then never bothered to look any further. They just stood there, scratching their frozen balls. "Well, this is a little colder than perhaps I would have liked, Hey… Why is Dave turning blue?"

The Spanish on the other hand, were smart enough to keep looking, and were rewarded for their efforts with Mexico and California. Meanwhile the French and English just kept bickering and shooting at one another. Sort of a "I claim this frozen chunk of crap for France" or "On behalf of Her majesty The Queen, I proclaim this to be our icy Hell Hole" kinda thing.

The older I get, the less and less I'm impressed with the cold. Sure global warming is making the winters here a little easier, but it's just not enough. Any number of degrees below zero is too many degrees below zero as far as I am concerned. There is snow in my car, and it refuses to melt. That's just not right.

No amount of wool or Gortex is ever going to satisfy me. I hate the cold. Plain and simple. The only thing I enjoy outdoors in the winter is a pick up game of hockey, and even then, picking the icicles out of my hair afterwards in not even close to my idea of fun. Humans were not designed for this.

Just once in our evolutionary path, could we skip trying to live outside of our ideal conditions?




Anyhoo enough Bitching for now…

Just like Anna Nicole Smith, today is a double whammy.

Sometimes it's hard not to speak ill of the dead. I know it's wrong, but I just can't help myself. Last week Anna Nicole Smith expired, and in my heart of hearts, I wanted to feel like it just might be a good thing. I tried really hard to revel in it, but I just couldn't find the feeling. Instead I felt a sense of sadness.

Normally I tend to rejoice when a "Star" who's skill set is as heady as pamphlet for carpet cleaning gets it's mortal coil snipped. I usually find a certain sinister comfort in it. (It's like Mother Nature has struck a blow, or the earth is righting itself in some fashion)

Mind you, the skills she did have, while few in number, did propel her into the spot light. Few people on this planet looked as good naked, and fewer still know how to use those "advantages" to the same level that she had. I would argue that she was "The New Lesser Talented Marilyn Monroe."

In the past I had trivialized her as "The World's Hottest Hillbilly" and "The Most Shameless Gold Digger in Human History." But I'll admit, I loved her insanity. There were moments where it bordered on sheer brilliance. This of course being the counter balance to how cruelly stupid she made herself appear to be. I feel safe in attesting that this was nothing but cold calculation on her part.

She certainly wasn't the most socially graceful person on the planet, not really much more than an unfortunate cross between Yosemite Sam and Jessica Rabbit. (With a note worthy pill addiction…) and her southern drawl sounded more like someone who lived in a trailer, and lot less like someone attending a cotillion. (I suspect there were very few mint juleps on the lanai in her life time.)

But what is most important is that she was human, just like the rest of us. Maybe I'm getting old, but that notion rings a lot less hollow than it used to for me. Instead of the glib hatred, I have only sadness. There was a life that was far from ordinary, and yet it still managed to get wasted. That truly is a tragedy.

Update...

Last week turned out well. I put five shows in the can, and there wasn’t a stinker in the pile. I like weeks like that. I managed to video tape all of them too. (Keep your eyes peeled over the next little while, because I will be replacing the audio on this Myspace site with shiny new video clips.)

I had a few hecklers along the way, and I dispatched them with relative ease. Normally I like to play with them for a bit before I smack them down, (Like a cat with a mouse, or Conservative with a Liberal…) but on the Friday late show I had one that made me angry! I wound up stepping out of character for a minute to roast him… I came out swinging, and I hit way harder than I need to. I have to admit, it felt good, but I really could have been gentler and still got my point across.

The end of the week also spelled the end of a visit with a good friend. One of my most favourite comics to work with went back to America on Sunday. The weather here was less that favourable, and I really wasn’t envious of his planned one day trek back to Tacoma. (In truth, I think I would have preferred a root canal, or an “unexpected” toe nail removal.)

Other Stuff,

I’ve started thinking in earnest again about making a DVD. My last attempt at the process was less fruitful that I had hoped, but now I think I see what mistakes were made, and feel ready to entertain the notion again. Hopefully I can get it sorted out in the spring, and release it for the fall. I would really be happy with that timetable for sure.

After this most recent flurry of activity, I have some time away from stand up. I have a couple of shows on the 24th of this month at Yuks here in Calgary, but from that point on, I have some time off. I’m looking forward to that. The day job combined with the night job can really beat the life out of me, so a few weeks with just one will seem like a vacation. (Yeah right!)

This weekend is a really long one for me. I get both Friday and Monday off. I like that. 4 days of doing nothing but napping, eating, and hopefully more napping. I might take some time to play with the cult thingy again. I really need to create a new “myspace” site and dedicate it to the construction of this “order.” I will need your help dear friends to help propel it to super star status. (The more I think about it, the more myspace really needs a cult…)

Anyhoo, more to come as I think of it.

I'm feeling fine...

Last night I did a showcase for Comedy Now. I must say, it went better than I had hoped for. All day I worked hard at treating the showcase in the most ambivalent of ways, (in my head…) in an attempt to circumvent the nervousness that accompanies these sorts of things.

Perhaps this is the sign of things to come. I shall not hold my breath, (Just in case…) but it looked promising. For the first time in a while, I feel like I put a foot forward and more importantly a foot back on the path. Touring and club dates are good, but getting my lazy creative ass moving again is even better. I like the feeling inside when the rust falls off.

I’ve got a bit of a second wind these days. This new (?) character I’ve built has come roaring out of the shadows like a wild banshee. I never expected to (Or thought that I would have ever really wanted to…) drag this quirky Newf out to play, but he seems to have taken over on stage. To me it’s almost like watching a Jack in the Box uncoil, except it seems a little faster and a whole lot louder.

The character seems to almost be writing its own material. After a somewhat frustrating spell, the levee has broken, and the good funny juices are flowing again. (Finally!!!) I’m hoping to start wringing out a whole new set very quickly. (With the same invective flavour, but fresher and with more down home pluck.)

This weekend is going to be really fun for me. I have four shows, all in the Calgary Yuks club, and I’m excited. It feels really good to be on stage these days; I like stretching out, and taking those moments to wander from trusted material. I now understand where George Lucas was coming from with the “force” because in a funny way, I can almost feel it. (Yes… I know that sounds retarded, but it’s true…) I’m a lot stronger than I‘ve been in a while; and more importantly there’s a sense in the air that momentum is building.

A Post by Any Other Name is...

I always think it's funny when my parents read my blog. They get the sense of humor, but I can never tell if they really appreciate it. Hell, I'm not even sure if I appreciate it most of the time. I often think the point I'm trying to make gets lost in its scope, and winds up being mistaken for glib reactionary nonsense.

I find that a little disappointing. I try to craft the things I say in a very deliberate fashion. I don't pull punches, and I try very hard to make it an imperative to mean the things I write. Make no mistake; these words are the creed I believe, and the gospel that I preach. (But in much less grandiose terms… Think a whole lot less than messianic in nature, but a whole lot more than the credentials that penned "Friends.")

However, I do see the folly in it. To some, this blog is just another in a string of pseudo political psychobabble op Eds. (Say that 10 times fast… I double dog dare you…) to most who read my stuff, I'm just some schmo with an opinion. Still even there are some who read this would even go as far to accuse me of being the village idiot, and I'm okay with that. Disagreement I never take issue with. I like the challenge that can arise from it. To be clear though, I mostly am the village idiot, but I have the balls to say what I think. I am a simpleton of conviction. That's got to be good for something right? (That and 35 cents will get you a phone call… if you can actually find a pay phone.)

As with most writers and even more so with comedians, I have a nearly overbearing need to be understood. It's a little self-serving, but then again, if there were no reader or audience, I would be out of a job. That would suck. (To put it mildly.) The only real trap I set for myself, is that I expect my reader to be as curious, or angry, or confused as I am. When that's not the case, I find myself let down. It deflates me, and makes me wonder if I am alone. I feel alone a lot.

Today though, when I talked to the folks, it all got a little clearer for me. Dad said my posts usually make him laugh, (no small feat to be sure… He's a tough nut to crack.) even though he finds it a bit strange sometimes. My Mom on the other hand, thought it was funny that I started my own cult, and that really the only criteria for joining is to pony up some dough. (And well to drink the Kool Aid…) Happily their opinions mean more to me than just about anyone else's. To say I found it inspiring would be an understatement of galactic proportions.

Curiously though, they both noticed that I have a tendency to use subtext sparingly, which is true for the most part. I have always figured that beating around the bush never gets you anywhere.

Generally sarcasm and allegory have been the tools of my trade, (Not forgetting that sweet mistress irony, which to me is like sweet creamy chocolate, or the scent of Jasmine in the air on a warm summer night.) because they drive the point home. I'm a fan of using railway spikes, when a simple nail would do. (The true irony being that we live in times where railway spikes seem to be the only effective way after all, no matter how hard nail salesmen would tell you otherwise.)

The Kool Aid chronicles…

The weekend was pretty slack around the old ranchero. I played some hockey, and watched a couple of flicks, and generally shirked off doing anything serious. I really might as well have had an anchor tied to my ass.

I’ve started looking into the logistics of starting my own church. (All the legal stuff…) The more I think about it, the more I wanna do it... I think (not with absolute certainty mind you…) that if I really go ahead with this, I will be the first ever stand up comic to start his own legally recognized church. That will add a twist to the resume for sure.

Now I just have to start constructing the articles of faith, and the constitution of the church. And build a small army of priests and priestesses to help re-educate the masses. Holy shit this is gonna be hard work! (Which reminds me, these positions are currently for sale. Patronage, if used correctly really can work out nicely for everyone. Send me an email for the details…)

I really like the idea of using this cult idea as a platform to promote the idea of me as a dictator for life. I’ve had just about enough of this whole democracy thing; it just gets in the way of getting shit done. I’ve decided to take a couple of pages out of President Bush’s playbook. It has become all to clear to me, that too many of you morons are allowed to vote. This must stop. In order to get us back on an enlightened path, we need to break a few eggs (and perhaps crack a few skulls… I’m looking your way again Mormon David…)

I think this country needs a shake up, and I think I just might be the man for the job. If Iran can do it, then why can’t I? Hell I would be happy with just being the new “spiritual leader” because that job’s got some serious perks, not the least of which would be “sexy parties.” (Who doesn’t like a good sexy party?)

Let’s face some facts Canada. You hapless rubes don’t have a clue what you’re doing. You have become nothing more than cogs in the machine. Long gone is the hope of working towards something better. (It’s blown away like a sand castle in the wind…)

Sure calling you names isn’t winning any support, but you deserve it. You have become complacent. Happily though, I have the answer. I am Deus ex machina sprung to life from the ashes of your troubles. From Zygote to Zeitgeist, I am the answer. (Just drink the Kool Aid…) You’ll feel better one you become a member of the First Church of Marcus, Miscreant. All you have to do is surrender. I’ll do the rest. (Please note, a *minimum donation to the church is required to guarantee your place at my side.)

* 25 percent of total household income.

More dispatches from the faith soon…

The Cult...

I’ve decided to start my own cult. Initially the idea came to me as a tax dodge. I figure the less of my money “The New Canadian Government” gets the better. Since religious organizations (i.e. Churches…) get enormous tax breaks, I thought perhaps it might be time to investigate the concept further.

I first thought about a more legitimate sounding churchy type thing. But the more I labored over the idea, the clearer it became that it must be a cult. After taking a gander at the success the Mormons’ have had with theirs, it occurred to me that I could really have some fun with it.

As with any good cult, you need a killer name. A bad name can be a real deal breaker. Given the failure of some really cool cults with crappy names (Moonies, Raliens… etc…) it’s fairly obvious to me that it’s got to be a real zinger. Those crazy like a muthafucka Scientologists picked a real gooder, and look at the mileage they’ve managed to squeeze out of it. (Tom Cruise has kinda become their pope, and I have got to say, that is totally fuckin’ awesome. That poor bastard blurts out the most amazing rubbish with the conviction and sobriety of a judge. I admire that.)

So I bashed it around for a while, I kept coming back to one called “The Church Of Jesus Christ, Scientist.” It’s brilliant. To me I imagine Jesus peering through a microscope, perhaps adjusting the lens a little, then looking up and saying something like “Egads… I’ve discovered sin…” or some other such nonsense. I decided to spoof it a little. So without further ado, here it is. “The First Church or Marcus, Miscreant” I think it has a ring to it.

Now some cults have some really neat practices. The Raliens for instance believe in-group sex (with or without clones…), and wear really funny clothes. The Moonies got down and got into mass weddings. My favorite though is the Mormons. Just cause they’re a little nutty. They really think they’re normal. It’s kinda sweet, in a “There’s a sucker born every minute” way.

For some reason I picture Mormons praying to a giant robot. (Oddly enough named “Mormon.”) In my head it eats puppies and shits out dogma. (Punny I realize…) I’m almost certain this doesn’t actually happen, but hey… It’s my imagination!!!
If you are a Mormon, and I have offended you with this, you need better hobbies than reading my drivel.

Getting back to my cult for a moment…

I think the functionaries of my new “spiritual organization” should wear tweed jackets and Chuck Taylor’s in place of any more formalized vestments. Instead of using liturgical silver of any sort, I figure slurpee cups should do nicely. The cheaper and less formal this whole thing is, the better. To my way of thinking, comfort brings us that much closer to enlightenment anyway.

Instead of passing around a sacrament of bread or wine, I think huffing gas fits better. Again, it’s cheap, and it gets you fucked up. How can that be bad? (High and frugal, it’s hard to believe it’s legal. And tax breaks, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…)

More important to fathom is the language used to entice what will be the rank and file members of the cult. Gone are the Amen’s, and the Testifies… In my organization, a simple “Giver” is all that is required. It’s nothing that isn’t already in the common lexicon of your average Canadian. Sure it’s a little low brow, but I’m not looking for Oxford scholars here. Without the schmos (see “The Faithful” in the dictionary…) this whole thing will head straight for the shitter.

I think it might be mighty amusing to serve Kool Aid to my committed flock. (Someone’s gotta drink it.) This cult is going to be awesome, and will likely taste great too. “OH YEAH!

As the spiritual leader of this newfound faith, my entourage must be heavily laden with preening Thai Lady boys. Nothing lends credibility like a collection of “rent a hermaphrodites.” Screw you Gwen Stephanie, I got me an Asian posse too.

Anyhoo, more to come as I think of it.

Cranky Shit

My ire has returned, it came back nearly as fast as I could profess its dissipation. All it took was a by-line in the newspaper. The next few sentences that proceeded the by-line dumped gallons of kerosene on the fire.

Why is it that every time the Prime Minister opens his fool mouth, I get a headache?

That right wing “Baby Bush” wannabe in a cheaper suit, (That’s right Bitches… it’s your Daddy’s Boulevard club! You know… From Sears!) Stephen Harper has arrogantly intimated that we should prepare for a general election. His platform would be based on the erroneous belief that we should stay the course in Afghanistan. (God Damn, I really wish someone would smack the grin off of that man’s cocksure face. And while they’re at it, how about a whack or two at Rona Ambrose… Someone’s got to tell her that she’s nothing more than the new “less interesting” Belinda Stronach. It would be an act of compassion. A kindness I wouldn’t normally offer a conservative, but one I think she deserves.)

But I digress, I’m floored by the sheer audacity of Harper to try and make political hay over the war. It’s a cheap, grubby attempt to gather a majority in the House of Commons. More importantly, it further proves that he devaluates the lives of Canadian soldiers. All this says is “You are all dispensable, and the only importance you have is to fulfill my agenda.” This is shabby sir. You’ve become the fat cat you rallied against. Instead of abusing public funds, you differ only in that you abuse the public.

To Mr. Harper I say this, “prove me wrong!” How many of our soldiers have perished on your watch? How many more will die? What gives you the right to use them for your agenda? (Especially since you are a minority PM. Kinda ballsy, but kinda stupid too.)

Mr. Harper, you remind me of a stern and shrewish old nurse, holding out a spoon laden with cod liver oil, demanding that we take it for our own good. (Except the medicine is tainted in this case.)

What happened to the mission to help reconstruct Afghanistan’s infrastructure? Wasn’t that what we were supposed to be doing? Weren’t we supposed to be helping the Afghanis to learn to defend themselves from the Taliban? How did we wind up being an occupation force?

Didn’t we used to be peacekeepers? On behalf of this glorious nation, I would like to thank you for following America’s path. Thanks for chewing up the goodwill we had, and for replacing it with frustration and contempt. I agree that the Taliban needs to be excised from the face of the earth, but just plain ole killing them doesn’t seem to be working. Wouldn’t it reflect better on everyone involved if we were to say “HELP THESE FUCKING PEOPLE DIG OUT OF ABJECT POVERTY,”

Remember the parable about giving a man a fish vs. teaching a man to fish? Oddly it seems to work.

Stuff...

All has been pretty quiet lately. Gearing up for Xmas has pretty much put the brakes on the stuff that I like to rant about. Perhaps I’ve managed to imbibe myself on the highly commercialized, yet still enjoyable Xmas spirit. It’s likely that that is tempering my usual distemper. I want to rage, riot, and snarl, but I feel a lot like a junkyard dog who’s just been given a meaty hambone. My attention has been essentially diverted by a pleasant distraction. (For now…)

I know a lot of people who are down on Xmas. For the record, I don’t really like most of them. (Well about half of them…) I’m a sucker for this time of year. I love it. I love buying things for others. It’s fun, plain and simple. I wish everyday could be Xmas.

Other stuff…

I did a show in Bassano with Kevin McGrath and Paul Myerhaug on Saturday night. It was a content restricted show. (No swearing, or ahem… grotesque sexual content. Not my usual cup of tea by any stretch.) I was surprised at how well it went. The organizers were more than very accommodating. (An understatement for sure. They really bent over backwards for us. It would be a pleasant fiction to believe that all gigs should be this way.)

Our dressing room had been loaded down with snacks of all sorts, and they really worked hard at trying to make sure we were comfortable. They even had a proper stage with a decent spotlight. (Which is mighty rare at a corporate gig… usually it’s a karaoke machine and couple of pallets with a sheet of plywood on it.)

The crowd turned out in droves. There must have been close to 300 people. I tried to mill around a bit, but I find it hard to glad hand. I hate it soooo much. I always feel awkward. (Partially because people insist on telling you all the sordid minutia of their lives, or worse, a horrifically racist joke.)

It was nice to hook up with both Paul and Kevin. These two guys are some of my favourites in stand up land. Kevin and I wound up having a great conversation. I forgot how good a dude he really is.

More stuff…

I took the Golf in for some minor servicing this morning. (The annoying little yellow airbag light seems to be stuck on. I hate little yellow lights! For that matter, I pretty much hate yellow… Nothing good is yellow, with the notable exception of Lemon Meringue Pie. Which if made well can be quite lovely.) I have to say, the good people at Volkswagen were mighty nice, especially since I had to be there at 8 this morning.

Their car service took me to work this morning. (Actually it was an enormous passenger van…) The driver was a German. (Not too big a stretch that a German would work for VW I guess.) He was a hoot. At one point the car in front of us was speeding up and slowing down for no apparent reason. He screamed “I AM COMING FOR YOU NOW LADY.”

I roared with what can only be described as glee. The tone and pitch of his voice was brilliantly psychotic. This driver truly had an awesome sense of humour. (Or he was brilliantly psychotic for real… either way I was happy…)

Politics Abound...

Saturday was a weird day. It almost seemed like a day of renewal for Canadian politics. The Liberals picked a new leader, and most likely the wrong one. (Again! Damn it’s getting harder and harder to be a Liberal in this country. If it wasn’t for the fact that I find both the New Democrats and the Conservatives so smarmy and vacant, I’d head for different political waters…)

Stephan Dion, while certainly very nice, and clearly a man willing to put his money where his mouth is, seems too soft to get into the muck with Harpo and his cronies. Much like the Democrats in America, the grits here need a fighter, a fire brand if you will. Soft gets you nothing but second place.

Truth be told, the man to take down Harper is Ignatief. This is a man who understands the Conservatives, and has the gears of war in tow. More to the point, Ignatief is smarter than Harper, and they both know it. The fight between these two parties is likely going to be a full on fist fight. Regardless of who wins, both sides are going to get bloodied. (For some reason, I imagine Jack Layton weeping uncontrollably, and begging hysterically for the fight to stop… “Stop the punching… I’m going to pee myself, and Olivia is out of wet wipes…”)

Dion appears to be more of a Xmas present to the ruling Conservatives. Harper must be rubbing his hands with glee. (Like a fat kid peering in the window of the candy store…) He (quite correctly I suspect…) sees a Conservative majority on the horizon, and with that, the right time to unfurl his real agenda on the Canadian populace.

I could be wrong. Perhaps Dion is like a sleeping lion. Maybe the party is playing possum. “Look at us… all dishevelled and bent out of shape, we sure are easy pickings.” Perhaps the strategy is to use the entire spate of former leadership hopefuls as a sort of super team. (Much like the Super friends… but with dramatically fewer super powers…) Collectively they could blindside Harper. (Mind you, just about anything could… Like a flock of vegan lesbians hell bent on marriage… And that’s just for starters…)

Truthfully I want my Liberals to come out swinging. Beating the war drum, and ready to call Harper on everything. There is no time for niceties, not anymore, now is the time to meet every foul word in kind, and every sneer with the proper distain it deserves.

Other stuff…

I went and voted in the Alberta PC leadership race. In order to vote against the very sleazy Ted Morton, I had to join the party. (I felt more than queasy about this…) Normally it would be a very cold day in hell, but because this had an impact on who would be the Premier here, it had to be done. So… Till the end of this month, I am officially a PC.

I can hardly wait until the membership lapses. I suspect I’ll want to take a very long shower. Hmmm… I wonder if bleach can remove emotional dirt.

On the second of Jan, I will happily not be associated with any party again. (Well not in terms of membership…

More to come later…

4 Trillion... That's a Spicy Meatball...

I’m a little tired today. Last night I fell asleep on the couch. The last thing I recall was watching a classic 1973 animated Star Trek episode. It was by my recollection, pretty entertaining. (Yes I know I’m a huge geek. Not just Star Trek, but animated… As if it could get any geekier…) As if an animated Shatner isn’t that much more amusing.

The weather here is ungodly. Today was the first day of respite. That last few days here have been evil. Minus 30 is not what humans were designed for. (Especially this human.) That is the kind of cold that punches you in the face. Since when is November the month when Satan unleashes this foul arctic hatred of his.

I truly believe that hell is frosty, it has to be, because that is the worst punishment I can possibly imagine. Fuck the fires of hell; I’m willing to bet it’s nothing but giant mountainous snow banks. Satan in my humble estimation looks a lot like Frosty the Snowman. (Except his eyes are actually burning coal embers…)

Other stuff…

I listen to the pod cast of Bill Maher’s “Real Time” quite frequently. Today he said something that really struck a chord with me. The easiest path to defeating the Republicans in the next election is to remind Americans that Bush and his cronies spent 4 trillion dollars on tax cuts for the rich, (like Paris Hilton), and on a war that still hasn’t managed to capture and kill Osama Bin Laden. That’s a lot of children left behind.

How many hot meals for the poor is that? How many reconstructed homes in New Orleans? This is despicable on a level that can’t even be fathomed. Go ahead and try… I bet your brain freezes in the process. Why Americans haven’t risen up with torches and pitchforks and run this lunatic outta Washington is beyond me.

In fact the actual price of the war on a per basis is 10,000 dollars. Per minute! Imagine what the poorest family in America could do with 10 grand. The prospects are staggering.

I got to thinking what I would do with 4 trillion dollars. Here’s my list:

1) I would find permanent housing solutions for the people of New Orleans.
2) Schools are dramatically under funded. They need books, computers, and teachers that are paid fairly for the work they do. Most teachers are buckling under the weight of too many kids and next to no support.
3) I would help the people of Afghanistan. Since the invasion, their infrastructure is fucked. A decent quality of life would make the Taliban seem much less tempting I should think.
4) I would actually make a sincere effort to capture Osama Bin Laden. He is a criminal, and needs to be dragged in front of a world tribunal. I would also make a sincere effort to have George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Condi Rice, and Donald Rumsfeld arrested and charged with crimes against humanity.
5) I would rebuild Iraq. (Without the “assistance of Halliburton, or Kellogg, Brown and Root.)
6) I would sponsor a “Steel Cage Match” pitting right wing spin-doctors Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh, Anne Coulter, and Bill O’reilley against every single heart broken mother of a soldier that was lost in Iraq. Those hate-fuelled cocksuckers need a smack down in the worst kind of way. Hell Hath no fury like a mother with nothing left to loose. I’ll put the whole wad down on Cindy Sheehan. I find it easy to picture her holding Coulter’s head face down in a puddle of murky water. (I almost find a comfort in that image.)
7) I would buy Kim Jong ill out. With that kinda dough, you know you could take over North Korea. Let’s face it, the man’s whacked, but everybody’s got a price… right?
8) I would pay all the campaign expenses for a run at the presidency for Willie Nelson and Kinky Friedmen. That’s an America the world needs.
9) I would make all HIV / AIDS drugs free for all that need them.
10) I would buy FOX, and give it to Al Gore. (Just to watch Rupert Murdoch shit himself.)
11) I would hire Ralph Klein, and make him get drunk and dance for me. (Oh Yeah, and I want him to sing too… “Buffalo Girls won’t you come out tonight… Come out tonight… Come out tonight…”)
12) And lastly… I would throw a kegger the likes of which no one has ever scene.

Anyway… That’s it for now… More to come as I think of it…

Better Late Than Never...

The last several weeks have been super busy. Between touring, working and somehow managing to buy a new car, I have managed to run myself ragged. Happily Christmas is coming soon, and I’ll be able to slam on the breaks for a week or so.

For those keeping up, Cranbrook was okay. The shows were pretty much what I expected them to be. Friday sucked, and Saturday was great. Batting .500 is par for the course there.

The new car is great. Erin and I plunked down the cash for a new VW Golf. It rocks. It’s a like having a little silver rocket. I took it on the Deerfoot the other day, and I must say it handles like a dream. Those crazy Germans sure know how to build a car.

This past weekend was a little taxing. I went to Grande Prairie. It can best be described this way: Two days, three shows and 1400 clicks, with little more than a migraine and a few dollars to show for it.

Friday went swimmingly, and the first show on Saturday, which was a corporate no less, went quite well. The later show started out with promise, but descended into hell in just under 20 minutes. Somehow I lost control, and wound up having to fight off three hecklers. I would have been better off if I had just punched myself in the nuts over and over again for the last ten minutes or so. It really would have been easier, and ultimately less painful.

To those drunken mullet headed fuck wits, and you bloody well know who you are. I have only this to say. I HOPE YOU FREEZE TO DEATH IN THAT CRAP HOLE YOU SLITHERED OUT OF. JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN’T READ, OR LISTEN, OR PROCESS THOUGHTS IN A COHESIVE FASHION, DOESN’T MEAN THAT YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO DISPLAY YOUR IGNORACE. I DON’T WANT OR NEED YOUR DRUNKEN BITTERNESS. I HAVE PLENTY OF MY OWN.

Other stuff…

Pammy Anderson’s pulled the plug on her 16-week marriage. Jeez, way to stick it out Pam. (After like 3 wedding ceremonies too…) now that’s what I call tenacity. With that kind of wherewithal it’s of little wonder that my kinfolk are still savagely clubbing seals. She’s truly become a fantastic little homegrown train wreck. Come home, our hearts have swelled with pride. You’re like our very own, less talented Britney Spears. But it could be worse I suppose. You could be our very own, less talented Pink.

Still more stuff…

I’ve been enjoying the fallout from the walloping Bush took in the midterm elections. He still looks pretty shell-shocked. (PTSD for the GOP…) The rats are jumping off this sinking ship faster than Ben Johnson in the middle of a steroid fuelled rage. Rush Limbaugh practically kicked baby Bush in the shins. He couldn’t have distanced himself any faster if he had been the fastest chicken in the slaughterhouse.
Seeing Rick Santorum fuck himself out of his seat was splendid too. His bigoted, anti gay, “women should be barefoot and pregnant” ass finally got the good old-fashioned hate fucking it so richly deserved. Pennsylvania should beam with pride that it has finally stepped into the late 1970’s.

Anyhoo, More to come as I think of it.

Some Thoughts on The Aftermath...

I was tickled pink at hearing Bush announce that Donald (The soulless ghoul…) Rumsfeld will no longer be the secretary of defense. Better still was listening to him try and placate the public, who dropped a bunker buster on his political majority. Seeing Bush grovel at the new Democrat masters was lovely. It was clear to all who watched his new conference this afternoon; George’s world has been rocked. (It’s about fucking time…) You’d almost swear he developed a nervous tick overnight. At least he didn’t start pouting in public. (I bet he called his mommy though…)

However, the best piece of news coming from the election yesterday was the crushing defeat of Rick Santorum. Finally that hate monger has been put in his place. His political career has been eviscerated. Now he’s nothing more than human chum. Hopefully he’ll slither back under his rock, never to be seen again. (He kinda reminds me of Golem, but in a thousand dollar business suit…)

Perhaps a new day really is dawning in America. Mind you, putting this bit in the president’s horsey mouth smacks more of protest than of any sort of real desire to change. The Democrats aren’t really all that different than the Republicans these days. (Other than they have unwillingness to engage the later on the same level.)

Can these “Shiftless” Liberals really begin the undo the damage caused by the last six years of greed orientated Conservatives? Who knows, but as near as I can figure, anything’s better than another day of unrestrained Conservative external policy.

Regardless, Bush has been refocused. He’s now officially a lame duck. He’d be better off now by turning to legacy projects and letting the real governance be handled by those newly elected folks who are still excited to be headed to Washington. (For some reason I picture them whistling while they work…)

When You Wish Upon a Star...

“All endangered species leave endangered feces,
If you knew how bad they smelt, you would gladly
Take their pelt…” – Corky and The Juice Pigs

Open Letter to Paris Hilton.

Dear Paris,

It has come to my attention via MSN that you desire to have a star on the Hollywood walk of fame. Once I wiped my eyes, caught my breath, and generally regained my composure, I quickly began to realize that you were serious.

First off, let me say that it’s entirely more likely that Hitler would get a tree planted on the path of the righteous in Jerusalem, than say… you getting a star on the walk of fame. That may sound harsh, but it’s the gospel truth. This may rain on your parade, but at least it’s not a golden shower. (For once…) Your 15 minutes of fame has already lasted too long. How you’ve managed to stretch it this far is a miracle onto itself.

Generally speaking, the people who receive a star on the walk have made some sort of tangible contribution to the entertainment industry. (Other than orally pleasuring a sleaze merchant in a home movie…) Let’s face it… So far your achievements have been somewhat dubious. Sure you’ve diversified since your first “on camera” performance, but let’s call a spade a spade here. It’s all utter shit.

Your mere musings about getting a star earn you a place in infamy. I almost admire that kind of gall. This total lack of shame is an unpleasant reminder of just how fucked Hollywood really is, and more specifically you are a cautionary tale to all those who would spoil the ever living shit out of their children.

You are like a Grim Brothers’ fairy tale come to life. You are a wolf in wolves clothing.

But let’s turn to your meagre offerings. Perhaps I’m wrong.

As near as I can tell, your music career can be best described as more artificial that Madonna’s intentions for adoption, (Fuck you Brangelina! You’re not the only ones who can get a pet African…) and that single sounds like someone smacking around a pregnant house cat with a rattan rug beater. Calling it a sack of crap is an insult to sacks of crap everywhere. It has almost caused my to question my faith in a higher power.

As for your achievements in cinema… The most inspiring moment to date has been seeing you get a shaft of wood lodged into your head (Somewhat ironic I would argue…) in the less than inspiried “House of Wax” (Equally ironic don’t you think?).

Everyone I know cheered when we saw that footage. We actually played it over and over again. It has become my Zapruder film. It brings a tear to my eye each and every time I watch it. Back and to the Right Paris… Back and to the right!!!

Watching you act is about as uncomfortable to me as watching “Deliverance” over and over again. It makes my stomach churn, and repeatedly forces me to avert my eyes. (Yet sometimes I have to peek between fanned out fingers…)

Television really wasn’t much better for you either. You and that dopey Ritchie kid’s adventures through the lands that evolutionists chose to forget about had little to write home about. Being the biggest cock tease in reality TV history leaves an indelible mark, but it’s hardly something to be proud of. For the record, it’s not HOT… It’s downright tragic.

You are a hateful, spoiled, and rotten. One-day karma will come a calling. Hopefully you’ll wind up as a permanent cast member on Hollywood Squares. Perhaps you’ll be one seat above Gordon Jump and one below the guy who played Mad Murdock on the “A-Team.” I can think of no better a punishment. The sooner you’re a footnote in entertainment history, the better for all of us.

If you really wanna leave a mark, how about starting a foundation for the victims of amoral, vapid, culturally bankrupt, wannabe stars who trample over those that they cannot fuck on their way up the social ladder.

No Star for you. Not now, not ever.

I like Touching My Balls...

Last night I did a show in Evansburg Alberta. The show went reasonably well, with only a minor hitch or two along the way. The crowd was nice, but not as rowdy as I would have expected. In every respect it was your typical rural town watering hole. (Although cleaner than most.) The first thing I noticed when I walked into the bar was a shrine to Dale Earnhardt junior. It was a little odd I thought, but not to be unexpected. People in small towns like racing. They love it in fact. The whole thing is lost on me.

I have to admit, I loathe NASCAR. I just don’t get it. Watching cars go round and round in a circle for a few hours is fucking boring. Truly I’ve a hard time imagining anything that might be more boring to me. I’ve sat through insurance seminars, and mid level marketing pitches that were light years more interesting. I would rather push needles into my eyes, and be forced to watch “Mary Kate and Ashley go to Europe” (The outtakes in Amsterdam are not to be missed! At one point Ashley gets sold by Mary Kate to a sex show for a carton of smokes and a mickey of Absinthe… And the hilarity ensues…) than ever spend an afternoon watching NASCAR.

But I digressed, after the show, the other comics and I sat with the owner of the pub, and proceeded to get blotto. It was nice to sit around a get shit faced and shoot the shit for a while. The owner of the venue likes comedy a lot, and has surprisingly very sophisticated tastes. He knew his shit, which is totally nice to see. It sure beats those venues where the staff treats you like a karaoke machine, or sees you as the latest form of trash they’ve been forced to foist on stage.

When I finally crashed out at the hotel, I wound up having a very strange dream. I dreamt that I was performing at a show, and things were going reasonably well (Not the odd part…) when suddenly the fire alarm went off. People started panicking, and for some reason the best I could muster was to stand there and jiggle my nuts.

People were screaming, smoke started to fill the room, and I just stood there with a big fat idiot grin, rooting around with my ball sack. It was the best I could do in the situation. That’s fucked. (That’s inkblot and straightjacket fucked!)

It’s important to note, that I did not panic. It was quite the opposite in fact. The world was burning around me, and I happily failed to see the sense of urgent emergency and impending doom. I was like Nero, but the fiddling was entirely different.

The dream really bothered me. I’d like to think in the middle of chaos I would react in a fashion that’s dictated by the moment.

But in a strange way, this dream is kinda like how I imagine George Bush reacts to a crisis. Given that he looks like a cross between Glen Quagmire and Alfred E. Neumann, it’s really not hard to imagine him playing pocket pool in the middle of the maelstrom.

This is what I picture in my mind’s eye. Condi Rice spinning in a circle, screaming something like “Sweet Jesus, We’re all gonna die…” and Donald Rumsfeld running around with a fire extinguisher barking out “Outta my way, I’m a fucking hero you bitches…”
Dick Cheney is putting his “Emperor” from Star Wars robes on, while rubbing his hands together like Golem. “Soon the precious will be mine… Muahahahahahahahahaha!”

And Georgie boy is just standing there having a good ole Texas style root at his berries.

Now that’s what I call “The Leader of the Free World.”

Good news, only two days left until all those evil fuckers get a massive shake up. Soon George will be an early lame duck, and congress will be run by shiftless Liberals. This will likely not change the amount ball massages in Washington, but at least the Republicans will be castrated.

End of Transmission.

The New Job.

The last few days have been a little taxing. This getting up before the sun thing sucks. That’s right folks, I have started a new day job. Gone now are the joyfully days of being a man of leisure. I have become a minute cog in the wheel of a machine. I am a man, who now must toil in the minutia of the day-to-day corporate world.

The only real catharsis for me is that I do this so I can chase my goals and have a quality of life at the same time. Being a Canadian entertainer is a tough road to hoe. The rewards are great, but the path is fraught with strange twists and turns. (And sometimes vicious circles… but that’s another story for another time.)

Oh how I long for the carefree days of just last week. A mere week ago, I only had to worry about packing for the move. That was it. (Insert moronic laugh track here…) Now, I have to politely excuse myself from offering any sort of substandard help to those who would ask. The only thing I have in my say to them in my defense is, “Sorry I’m the new guy.” Which can only really be described as pretty meager or flimsy at best. (Translation… I’m a fucking retard, who should need a license to manipulate a pencil sharpener. Fuck I cut myself again…) God forbid they should permit me to have an x-acto knife. That would spell certain doom. I wish I was kidding.

I managed two paper cuts in little less than the first hour on the job. Jealous? I knew you would be. For those that think I might be clever, the jokes on you! The current company newspaper headline reads “Retarded New Guy Cuts Himself With Paper, Officials roll eyes”

I’m willing to bet there’s already an office pool about when I get my shirt caught in a paper shredder, or get knocked out when I try to change the water in the cooler. (Likely in some sort of “Three’s Company, Jack Tripper, slapstick sort of way.”) I wonder if I can bet on myself. I really need to find the office bookie, because let’s face it, a few extra bucks never hurts.

It’s a little hard on the psyche to be judged as a simpleton because of my lack of tenure in my new position. I will survive, and likely thrive, but in the mean time, I’m the goof. It’s the cross I have to bear. I hope to Christ they hire someone else soon, so I’ll be less of a heat score.

Mind you, yesterday I suggested to my new supervisor that she should think of me as little more than a “hairless ape” when it comes to any semblance of a skill set. She laughed. I tried to convince her that I wasn’t joking. She laughed again. This is going to be interesting. It really wasn’t mean’t to be any sort of icebreaker. I really am kinda dumb sometimes.

My new hamster cage is currently missing its water bottle and wheel. I put in a request for these essential office supplies. As of yet, I have not heard back. I suspect they are on back order.

Not that it’s really a bad thing. To be sure it’s a good thing to claw back some discipline. I’ve been slack for a little too long. My couch was starting to get too deep a groove from my lazy arse. The only real sticky issue for me is the level of exhaustion I feel when I leave.

Now I know why worker bees look like zombies when they head home from work.

Anyhoo… more tales from the eastern front as they arise.

End of transmittal.

Vote for me!

I was walking on the Red Mile today, and I saw a sign that struck me as quite funny. It was for some fortuneteller / psychic. The sign said “85 percent accurate.” That had me in stitches. How on earth would claim that with any credibility? Is there some sort of survey or research metric that measures metaphysical / occult powers?

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your psychic on their ability to forecast that you will meet someone new, sometime, perhaps in the next couple of days, and that they may or may not begin a relationship with you, that might lead to happiness or tragedy?”

What a croc of shit! 85 percent accurate my foot. Ha… That’s as preposterous as saying “I invented wood.” or “The Brooklyn Bride was made by elves that lived on a steady diet of possum fat and lead paint” or better still “I had a gang bang with Britney Spears, Elton John, and the freshly exhumed body of Tupac Shakur.”

Don’t get me wrong; I love a good psychic as much as the next sucker. I’m always amused by their prognostications. I’m willing to spend the cash, but only if it’s going to be really outrageous. I went to one a couple of years ago, and she said I was going to become a successful lawyer. Better still, she said she saw me in public office. Me… Trust me when I say, nobody wants that. (It would get out of hand quickly…)

Try to imagine me as the Prime Minister. I would go from zero to corrupt so fast, it would be a land speed record. I would encourage call girls to help me run for office, and then give them cushy jobs within government ministries. Then I would invite world leaders to come for a visit, just so I could say, “You ain’t shit. My bitches run the whole fucking country for me aieeeeeght!”

I would use the Canada One jet to party! “Fuck you Doug Stanhope and fuck your Girls Gone Wild. I’ve got Stronach, and she is good to go! That’s just the way I roll.” I just know that Belinda would be in there like schmindere… (Sure she needs a little more “encouragement” than say a trucker cap or some beads, but the video would be worth it. Picture this “Parliamentarians Gone Wild…” It has a certain je ne sais quoi! Don’t you think?) This Prime Minister has got skills and game!

I would also decommission the RCMP in favor of letting bikers run the show with reckless abandon. Thugs are thugs as far as I’m concerned, and hell these guys are more ambitious to my way of thinking. Besides no one wants to fuck with bikers… Hey… I’m just thinking about the general public’s safety. After the Maher Arar fuck up, it’s obvious it’s time for a change. Radical times call for radical solutions.

I would sell citizenship to the highest bidders. Of course, my office would have to get a piece. Buying the support of my detractors is tricky business and requires some serious flow. This brother’s got bills to pay.

Oh… and of course I can be bought… If you want permission to move Canadian jobs to Sri Lanka, then you’ve got to line my pocket with “dead prime ministers.” You want me to “forget” about Kyoto targets, then gimme the green. Yes indeed, I can be bought.

Then again, most of this doesn’t sound that different than the status quo. (Well except for the bikers, but I’m willing to bet Harper’s been thinking about it!)

Anyhoo the moral of the story is this… Psychics are hokey! And Ahem… Vote for Me!
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I love Me A Good Wood Chipper...

I think it’s a real shame that popular entertainment has become about who’s living a more notorious lifestyle than who is good at what they do. Long gone are the days of talent being a necessity. I find it sad. I don’t give a shit who is fucking whom, or who can be the most obnoxious. For the love of God, Just sing or dance, or perhaps tell me a decent joke.

I think that we should be able to punish those entertainers that offend our entertainment sensibilities. In fact, I think I have a great idea… Given the success of shows like “American Idol”, (Which is likely the biggest, most enormous piece of festering bat guano ever conceived in the history of television...) I think it would be great if we could vote via our cell phones to see which “Star” (see oxygen thief…) we get to snuff out. The working title I have in mind is “Who Do You Want to Push Into A Wood Chipper?”

“If you wanna off that retarded himbo Ashton Kutcher then text Let’s murder the fucker! To 6666 on your cell phone...”

That would the best Punk’d episode in history.

Then I got to thinking, who would I want to put in the wood chipper?
So I came up with a list.

Here goes…

1) Donald Trump – His goofy hair alone should be enough for him to get stuffed in. Add the fact that his television show sucks, and the fact that he comes off as completely tacky and it definitely earns him a place on the list.
2) Simon Cowell – This man is likely the most ignorant cocksucker on the planet earth. If anyone ever treated me the way he treats people, I’d punch them right in the mouth. I wouldn’t even blink. That lack of respect for even the basest level of human dignity deserves nothing but utter contempt. Fuck the wood chipper, I’d shove a barrel of dynamite up his crapper and happily light the match.
3) Jessica Simpson – She should be euthenized, if only out of a sense of compassion. Anything that stupid should be put out of its misery. It’s a shame when wounded animals suffer.
4) Kevin Federline – As if the world wouldn’t be a better place if this hack became a member of the choir invisible. Seeing his desperate attempt to try and justify his meaningless existence, while exceptionally funny, is also a tragedy that no one should be forced to endure. If only he’d been satisfied with just being Mr. Spears. Oh well…
5) Jennifer Lopez – She’s like Rosie Perez but she talks gooder. Jenny from the block (And her alter ego… JLO) offered us the shittiest romantic comedies ever conceived. Watching her try an act her way out of a paper bag, is much like watching a mentally retarded poodle try and eat it’s own shit. Do not pass go, Do not collect 200 dollars, go directly to the wood chipper.
6) Pam Anderson – “I have Hep C… and I don’t know where I got it from’!” I’m willing to bet it was from fucking half the rock stars in North America. Pam Anderson can sniff out rock star cock like a truffle hog on a mushroom.
7) Andy Dick – Never has there ever been a bigger waste of skin. Truthfully a wood chipper is too good for him. I think he needs to be tied to the back of a pick up, then dragged through a cactus patch, then dipped in a vat of turpentine, then dumped in pit of used syringes (a la Saw 2…) then set on fire, doused, then set on fire again, then beaten with a golf cleat, then finally decapitated with a nail file.

The problem with this concept is that I could go on for days. Lemme know what you think. Who would you throw into a wood chipper?

That’s it for now. More to come later!

Things I Hate...

Here are some things that I hate. (It’s a long list, and in no particular order.)

1) I hate the maudlin poetry written by scorned 20 somethings. It’s never clever or interesting. 99 times out of a hundred, it’s about how Mr. Right became Mr. Wrong. (Not to mention the overbearing and mellow dramatic injection of “I am stronger than you…” or “I’m better off without you…” or “I will survive…”) Now I realize people need to excise their sadness and anger, (and in some cases really wallow in it…) but for Christ sake try using something less derivative. Barbed wire and roses have been done to death, and for the record so has “Boys just don’t understand me.” Truthfully though, I tend to hate poetry anyway. I do however love a good story. (I will listen to a good rant till the cows come home.)

2) The statement “I’m not racist but…” which is always followed by something overtly racist. (“I like Asians, but man are they shitty drivers…”) Let’s get something straight; everyone on the planet has some sort of racist or bigoted tendencies, but that doesn’t mean we should revel in them, or delude ourselves into believing that we’re not. (Anyone who says they aren’t is lying to himself or herself…) I also hate organized and active racists. If you run some old “boys” club like the Klan or the Aryan Nations (the irony here being that I hate haters…), then you can pretty much just fuck off. The best thing we can do is to address where these tendencies come from inside ourselves and do our best to eliminate them. If you need to wallow in ignorance, then perhaps you should consider a career in wordsmith-orientated field of poetry. (I’d hate you less for it…)

3) I hate it when retail outlets ask for my phone number. I like to grill them about it, and remind them of PIPEDA. Hopefully it makes them feel like shit for asking. (Although I guess that it just makes me look like a dick.)

4) I hate wrestling. I have always hated wrestling. Not to put to fine a point on it, but I will always hate wrestling. I see nothing redeeming in it. To me it’s nothing more than an Alpha male soap opera. I would rather have teeth pulled, or be attacked by a rabid porcupine than watch wrestling.

5) I think Alternative rock has turned to shit. Too much “Theory of a Nickeback” and too little Foo Fighters. I would love to see Chad Kroeger get eaten by fire ants. (I bet his screams would sound an awful lot like the last five other Nickleback singles.)

6) I hate people who talk during movies. (At the theater…)

7) Neo Conservative politicians scare the shit out of me. They go against every fibre of my being. We live in times that call for innovative thinkers and new approaches, not closed minded, regressive, and greed minded brigands that fail to understand the world has changed. I choose to include the following pundits and “news people” like Bill O'Reilly, (Culture Warrior… What a douchebag!!!) Ann Coulter (The bigger, dumber, sleazier douchebag!) and Sean Hannity (Who goes well beyond douchebag... He’s a super mega intergalactic douchebag.) Why these people feel no shame about the muck the rake is beyond me. It’s like watching a baby shit itself, and then smile at you like it just won the lotto.

8) Then again, guilty whiney Liberals are just as bad. The failure to act without the motivation of guilt is just as deplorable. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge lefty (bordering on Pinko most of the time…) but I hate it when people only react, rather than be proactive because it’s the right thing to do.


9) Any movie made by the Wayans brothers. I think they are criminally bad. The world would have been a much better place without “White Chicks.” I would rather spend weeks on end making greeting cards with the mentally ill, or perhaps watch a slide show of Mormon Square dancers ripping it up in a temple in Salt Lake City than ever watch a Wayans brother flick. (This may sound glib, but it’s the fucking gospel truth.)

10) I hate the fact that myspace’s blog editor doesn’t work properly with the Safari web browser. (It does a really piss poor job supporting Mac users.) It totally ignores punctuation. That really bakes my biscuits. Shabby, Shabby, Shabby!!!

Well that’s it for today… More to come as I think of it!

Star Spangled Burkas... OR The Muslims are Coming, The Muslims are Coming!!!

“Lie down, and lick the sorrow from your skin
Scratch the terror and begin to believe you’re strong.” – The Weakerthans

There was an interesting article in MacLean’s this week. It a nutshell, it makes a pseudo sound argument that the future belongs to Islam. The crux of the piece is distilled down to this. Islam is on the rise.

Now, this shouldn’t be too terribly surprising news for anyone. For starters, it has a vast supply of otherwise disenfranchised youth, in an area of the world that is experiencing a population boom. By sheer numbers alone it should seem fairly obvious. (Throw in abysmal education levels and a credible villain to point at, then stir and bake at 400 degrees until someone prints inflammatory cartoons…)

Ahem… I digress…

It also has something else, driving ambition. (Political will etc…) This alone is almost enough to plot the shape of the impending “New World Order.” Youth and ambition paired together spells trouble for the aging, contracting, and desperate west. The Muslim world wants in, and it seems that it won’t be held at bay for long.

It’s no wonder that everyone and their dog wants a piece of the Middle East. We’ve got to carve that sweet piece of ass up before anyone gets the wiser. Why negotiate or form alliances, when you can take it with jackboot? It sounded so easy, but alas the plans of mice and “other” men just seem to always get in the way.

It’s not just about oil, or terror, it’s about culture. (More specifically about the clash of cultures…) The obvious parallel is this. Islam is the new Communism. It’s the new lynch pin of social cataclysm, and guess what? It’s not going anywhere.

The notion of terrorism as the motivator for this clash is a duck blind. It was just the straw that broke the camels back. Terrorism has as much to do with this war as Archduke Ferdinand’s assassination did with World War One. It was the excuse. Someone had to drop the gloves sooner or later, just so we could fire this bitch up once and for all.

Oil’s not that credible a “fire” starter either. Hell, you can get oil just about anywhere. We Canadians have tons of it. So do the Russians, Nigerians, and a slew of others. (Not to mention the synthetic alternatives are pretty easy to get to… Like bio diesel… Strange that there’s no real political will to go in that direction…)

There I go wandering again…

It’s no wonder that America has been trying to drive as big a wedge as possible in the Muslim world. It has to. America is the vanguard of the west (Whether you like it or not, it’s the gospel truth…), It has to be seen as proactive. This is sink or swim time. There is no life preserver this time, and people are starting to panic. (Insert that damn Celine Dion song from Titanic here.)

The bitter irony here is that America has got itself caught in a catch 22. It has to fight, but in doing so, it is ultimately galvanizing the Islamic world against it. It’s quite the nasty little briar patch. It would almost be enough for a peace freak like me to hide in my bedroom and rock back and forth while sucking on my thumb. Boy am I ever glad I’m not the President. This would be a dilly of a pickle for any good leader. It’s got to be even tougher for Bush. Given that someone jiggling a set of car keys can distract him.

Mind you, given the level of paranoia you’d swear that Wal-Mart would be hawking burkas by next Ramadan. Maybe they’ll be next to the McDonalds.

Anyway, more as I think of it.

Some facts about me… The latest addition!

1) I am prone to terrible headaches. I hate them. I’m suffering through one right now.
2) I loathe Dane Cook. There, I’ve said it! I feel great about it too. I don’t disparage his successes, I just hate his stuff. (And he’s a bit of a prima donna. He threw a nasty temper tantrum in a comedy club in Vancouver, and while I wasn’t there, I can with all honesty that no one needs that shit.)
3) I have a soft spot for cheesy Movies of the Week. (Especially if they managed to haul out anyone from the original cast of Charlie’s Angels to play the lead.) I have nothing to say in my defense in this matter.
4) My favorite hockey player of all time is Lanny McDonald. My current favorite is Miikka Kiprusoff.
5) I collect DVD’s. Currently I have about 400 of them. I try and watch a movie a day. I have always loved movies. It inspired me to go to film school. I discovered that I prefer to watch them rather than try and make them.
6) I get choked up in movies. If it’s sad, or it makes me angry, I weep like a brokenhearted schoolgirl.
7) I’m terrible with names. I never forget a face, but names slip past me really easily.
8) My first pet was a Siamese cat named Clementine. She was evil, but I loved her. My last pet was an Orange Tabby cross named Puck, who kinda looked like a Cossack. He lives with my sister now. (He’s evil too…)
9) I like to be alone. Not all the time, or even most of the time, but I do need me time too.
10) I have a knack for remembering trivial stuff about music. Who wrote a song, who produced it… that sort of stuff. Lord knows why, but I absorb that stuff easily.
11) I have committed crimes. Not major ones, but I have.
12) My favorite comedic actor is Kevin Klein. For dramas I like Jeremy Irons.
13) My favorite comedic actress is Carol Burnett. For dramas I’m a fan of Helen Mirren.
14) I have a guilty love of Iron Maiden. They are just about the best in cheese rock ever.
15) On my first ever trip to America, I played bingo at the VFW. (In the very sexy Greater Bottineau North Dakota area…)
16) Although The Calgary Flames are my favorite team, I’ve warmed up to The Minnesota Wild. I think they’re kinda plucky.
17) I really like Kraft Dinner. Always have, always will. I like to cut a little green onion into it once the cheese powder has been mixed in.
18) My most favorite meal in the universe is Spaghetti and Meatballs. Yum!
19) I threw eggs at Bryan Adams once. He was in his limo at the time. I enjoyed it.
20) My first rock concert ever was Huey Lewis and the News. My last concert was the Foo Fighters. They were better.
21) The first person I ever punched out of anger was a guy named Rodney Malloy. He’s an accountant now. I should look him up… and punch him again.
22) I hate hillbillies.
23) I kinda like Dog the bounty hunter, even though he’s a hillbilly.
24) I believe you are never too old to play with Lego, or Play dough.
25) I wish I could sleep.

Would you believe Prime Minister of Canada...

Have you ever noticed just how much Stephen Harper looks like a robot? He reminds me of Hymie from Get Smart. He’s got that mechanical glaze in his eyes. He has all the wit and charm of a mound of granite, or at least that’s what he’d like us to think. He would prefer that we Canadians think of him as a party wonk.

I suspect he wants us to think of him as a man in overalls getting down to business. But is he really? I suspect this isn’t your daddy’s Conservative Prime Minister!

The truth is who knows? Harper has dropped a cone of silence over Ottawa. He’s been less than subtle about it too. (More like a swinging a bag of hammers in China shop, and a whole lot less than say snuggling warm fuzzy kittens in a nursery full of newborn babes…)

However, this begs another question. What’s the need for the clampdown on information? Why hold the proverbial cards close to the chest? Why does “The New Canadian Government” need to control the flow? (I’m actually surprised that there isn’t a “Ministry of Information” yet…)

I can only think of two reasons why Harper would want to restrict information. The first being that it just might be easier to criticize government, than say be one. Plugging leaks just might be harder than it looks. Maybe it’s a case of the grass is greener on the other side. Power has its perks to be sure, but I bet it has some nasty traps too.

Now the second reason has a little more meat to it. Perhaps there’s some real shit going on behind the scenes. Perhaps the rot of corruption has already started to crust at the bottom. Maybe it’s harder to keep that hillbilly-laden caucus of his in check. Reining in the whack jobs has got to put a little sweat on the brow. (Insert the theme from Deliverance here.)

This lot makes departing Premier Klein look sane, sober, and well adjusted. It won’t be too long until a cabinet minister does something stupid, (like bang hookers while on a trip to the Haig, or use the government jet to slobber over some payola scandal.) cause it’s human nature.

To assume you will survive unscathed is retarded. How many Mulroney people went down in flames?

To be fair though, he’s a well-spoken man. But he’s overly focused on keeping power. It’s the damnedest thing; his obsession with proving himself will likely be his ultimate downfall. He spends a lot of time hissing out venom at the Liberals, desperately trying to prove he’s different than the last prime minister. “Speaking out for Canadians” doesn’t seem to be a real agenda for him. It’s kinda like someone forgot to tell him he already has the job. (for now…)

Truthfully he should leave the rhetoric where in belongs, in the capable hands of people like myself. Now it’s time to get down to business. Mr. Harper, you’ve got your date at the dance. (Much to my chagrin… I think he’s evil personally, but that’s another story for another time.) So get to it. Now it’s time to prove you can do the job for real.

Well until Ignatief (or Rae, or whoever…) cleans your ever lovin’ clock. Canadians have little tolerance for smugness. The little good grace you have won’t take you far. So straighten up. And for Christ’s sake, take a gander at a poll once in a while. Being on the wrong side of what Canadians want isn’t gonna get you too far.

P.S. Rona Ambrose kinda looks like agent 99, and don’t even get me started on Peter Mackay.

Flamer!!!

I’ve been really enjoying the American sex scandal of the week. This whole congressman Mark Foley thing is funny. Very funny indeed. (Sure the man is a pedophile… but the reactionary blather is brilliant.) I love how people can pour gasoline over themselves, then light a match and say “What?” as if nothing strange was about to happen.

I also love the rich irony that a Republican congressman, who was elected on a family values platform, has been busted for wheeling underage pages from the assembly. How dumb can one man be? A little tip Mr. Foley… mackin’ on the lil’ biatches at work is generally frowned upon. Especially when your raunchy text message pops up on a cell phone with a hello kitty sticker on it. Chances are you’re fucked in the long run, and not in the way you intended. Even Michael Jackson is smart enough to keep it in the home. (And that guy is fucked!)

But what’s better than the initial scandal is the ugly backwash. Watching his contemporaries scatter like rats on a sinking ship is almost too delicious for words. Seeing fellow Republican sputter and try to react with some feigned sense of moral outrage was hysterical. Like they didn’t know. Right, and I’m the head of the Iranian Nuclear program. As if the Republican don’t have some sort of weekly circle jerk while they rub themselves with stacks of money.

“Oh Rumsey… I think I’m cumming…”

And then seeing Pat Robertson actually call Foley a “flamer” over and over again on TV just about made me cry. It was almost too funny. I think it actually broke my sense of humor. Every time he said it, it looked as if he was spitting out white vinegar and baking soda. (Like that shitty 5th grade volcano I made for the science fair…)“FLAMER!” Like he was a 12 year old, out by the bike racks waiting to bully the poor stupid bastard. “FLAMER!” like it physically hurt him to utter the word.

But then there’s nothing like a scandal to really rally the bigots. As if judgment was their own birthright. I find it funny when fundamentalists (a la 700 club…) cast the first stone. I’m willing to bet that with very little digging there’s some nasty shit they wouldn’t want aired out in public. (Would Jesus Approve? Likely not… unless Jesus was a hillbilly.

I’m willing to bet that Robertson has had a circle jerk of his own. Maybe not with his dick out (or maybe with… who knows… he hasn’t been caught yet…), but with his ego for sure.

What the fuck have I been up to?

I have spent the last week recovering from dental surgery. I think dentists are evil. As far as I’m concerned, it takes a sick person to choose to become a dentist. Let’s face it, there are less than subtle reasons why the Nazis chose dentistry as a form of torture. If you chose to become a dentist, then your probably look good in tan and black… (And you’re working for the Clampdown.)

My procedure was part extraction of a molar, and part exorcism of a cyst. (This being the unholy alliance of procedures…) The dentist, who for legal reasons shall remain nameless, tried six (count’em six…) times to freeze my jaw. Six needles. SIX!!! Then while I wasn’t frozen (after SIX needles…) decided to dig in anyway. It’s a good thing he used a bite block to keep my mouth open, otherwise he’s be missing a few digits.

The pain was intense. It felt like someone shoved a lightning bolt into my gob. I think I actually said, “Fuck you mother!!!” out loud. Well it probably sounded more like “Fhug yer muddah!” but he knew what I meant.

The whole thing lasted less than 40 minutes from the first prick to me leaving with gauze packed awkwardly between my gum and the fresh gaping maw where my tooth once was.

Then I slept… like I’ve never slept before. Happily the swelling and bruising didn’t last too long.

Other stuff…

Last weekend I played the Edmonton Yuks club, and I have to say I really enjoyed it. The crowds were great. All four shows rocked. Mike did a great job getting things rolling, and John Dore ripped it up.

I recorded the shows, and have managed to piece together enough content for a new CD. I’m really excited about it too. I’ve decided to call it “At The Mercy of Imbeciles…” It will be available really damn soon.

Still More Stuff…

My time without a day job is coming to an end. Today I got a new job. I will be working at an engineering firm. (Danger!!!) I’m looking forward to getting into the groove of things. The last couple of months have been fun, but I must admit my days are getting pretty boring.

Even more stuff…

I’m moving at the end of the month. I just got into a housing cooperative. I’m looking forward to getting out of this apartment. (if only to get away from the nightly, alcohol fuelled Balcony Oratorio, and the hillbillies having paintball fights at 3 am. That shit get tired pretty quickly.)

Anyhoo, more to come soon.

Soundtrack of my life vol #3

A couple of months ago, I did a series of posts about the albums that have had a profound impact on my life. I thought I’d carry on here with some other ones. These are in no particular order.



Big Country – The Crossing:

I got this record as a present for helping one of my parents’ friends landscape their yard. At first I liked it because it had bagpipes, and I thought that was neat in pop music. The more I listened to it, the more I started to understand this was more of a protest album. Sort of a Scottish Billy Bragg type thing.

Not to mention, it’s loaded with killer pop hooks, and a sound that’s less dated than most early 80’s pop. It’s too bad they never seemed to get their shit together after this record. (Although “Songs from Steeltown” is also a fine disc.)



The Cult – Electric:

This one is just pure cheese. The record is loaded down with cheap tawdry lyrics that happily remind me of some of the better times in High School. My friends Benji and Phil were obsessed with this band.



Doughboys – Whatever:

The only band to rival my affection for Husker Du. This power pop dynamo from Montreal kicked serious ass. They were an explosion of dreads and screeching guitars. (At the same time even!)
This album is their first effort, and it rocks big time. This is one of the finest fusions of pop and punk ever conceived.

This album reminds me of my friend Diz. We would sit up late at night, smoke a joint, and listen the shit out of this disc. It’s really hard to believe it’s 20 years old.



Down By Law – Blue:

Another punk gem!!! This one’s really important to me. I got this disc around the time that I was going through a really messy divorce. It spoke to me. When It roared, I did, when the music got more sullen, so did I. This and a few bottles of scotch got me though the worst of it. The message in the track “The Greenest Field” still holds dear to me. It’s become a mantra for me.



Fugazi – Repeater

Words escape me. This one is brilliant. This one reminds me of being at the radio station. I played something from this disc every week.
Well that’s it for this pile. More to come sooner or later.

Some Thoughts on the war!

Here’s something to chew on. Canada is at war. Our nation is taking a lead in the participation of armed conflict. It’s weird to me. Don’t think so? Say it out loud! Try the statement on for size. Sound wrong to you? I bet it does.

I find it interesting that this concept is not as pervasive in the Canadian psyche as it is in America. Other than the occasional (and truly tragic!) news reports about slain Canadian Soldiers, it does not seem to be pervasive in our current culture.

Do we (our forces.) belong in Afghanistan? It’s a good question. The Conservatives here at home argue that it’s our duty to be there. I do not argue this position. I think it’s pretty obvious that we should be.

The more accurate question is, “Should we be there to fight?” The answer I think is a resounding no. It would seem the wiser path is to be involved with rebuilding and peacekeeping rather than trying to “smoke out the evil doers!”

After all, is that not what we do best? Are we not better equipped to help restore a sense of normality than add credence to “Shock and Awe?” (Although given the hesitance of our other partners in this conflict… I’m looking your way Europe… This is turning out to be more of an “Aw Shucks” instead.)

Please don’t misunderstand. I support our troops. I think that’s critical. They do us a service most of us will never be able to comprehend, let alone participate in. I do however think we are doing them a great disservice by putting them in harms way for reasons that seem to lack any substance.

Putting us in a combat role cheapens our identity as peacekeepers. It becomes that much harder to illicit help from warlords and tribal chieftains when the shit hits the fan, especially when they know you’ve been actively blowing the shit out of their countrymen. (Regardless of political proclivity.)

America started this mess. Why on earth are we there cleaning it up? Am I the only one who fails to see the logic here? This is no longer about terrorism. This is now an active campaign to occupy and control a country. Since when are Canadians active participants in occupation? How the fuck did we get here?

Perhaps Mr. Harper can explain it? Perhaps he can explain to the mothers of slain soldiers why Canada is participating in an occupation. Yeah right, and one day Osama will just turn himself in.