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!
.

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.

Just an update....

The weekend was a little rough. I was trying to beat back this miserable flu that’s been running rampant around everyone I know. Alas my efforts were in vain. It struck me like a freight train. I hate being sick. I turn into an unreasonable prick when I have a cold. I blame fellow comic and best friend Brett Martin, vile disease carrier that he is. That’s right I said it!!! He is fully responsible for it. I know it in my heart. (And he knows it too…)

I did a couple of shows for the Laughing Arts Festival. The flu didn’t make them any easier. Suppressing a dry hacking cough is harder than it sounds. The crowds were small, and I wound up fucking around a little more than I normally do. As far as I can tell it went okay. I wish it were easier to get people out to shows than it is.

Overall though, life is pretty good these days. I’m super busy (as per usual…) I’ve got gigs coming out of my ears over the next few days. I like that. There’s nothing like being busy at the things that you like to do. Happily I don’t have to go too far on this round of touring.

The first stop is Lethbridge. Usually this gig goes very well for me. Well, except for last time. I ate it last time. I shit the bed. (So to speak…) The cards were pretty stacked against me though. It was during the playoffs and the bar was empty. It was just totally awkward. This time should be much better though.

Next up is Claresholm. I have never played there before. I have heard good things about the gig. I’m looking forward to playing there.

Then from Thursday to Saturday I play at my home club, Yuk Yuks here in Calgary. I haven’t been on stage there in quite a while. I’m exited to get it on. I’m going to try and shoot some video for a DVD I’ve been threatening to make. If it looks good, then it’s a go. If not, I’m going to try again in Saskatoon on September 1st.

Other stuff…

I have continued on with my Johnny Cash collection. I picked up a couple more CD’s. The first is “The Legend of Johnny Cash” which has a lot of his early stuff. There’s a really good version of “Cry Cry Cry” on there.

The second is the last disc he ever recorded. Called “American V: A Hundred Highways” It has some cuts that were finished just weeks before his death. It’s a little creepy in a way, but the songs are pretty strong.

I also picked up a new DVD too. It’s a strange documentary about The Clash. It’s called “Rude Boy.” There is a fictitious character that plays a roadie / fuck up that tags along with The Clash during their two UK tours in 1978 and 1979. It’s pretty good. It’s like an arty rockumentary, but it doesn’t really distract from the performances. It’s a neat little time capsule.

I hate fences...

“To one who builds it, a fence is an image of safety, of security, of things being kept where they belong. Yet a person who feels safe, or secure, doesn’t bother building fences at all. And so a fence, or a wall, or a security barrier, is equally an image of gnawing insecurity, made tangible, in brick and razor wire.

Do fences really make good neighbours? We’ll find out soon enough!” – Adbusters Aug 2006

This quote has been gnawing away in the back of my mind since I read it. I think the question deserves an answer. Do fences make good neighbours?

It seems that just about everywhere we go, there is some sort of fence in the way. Whether it be made of the afore mentioned brick and razor wire, or perhaps less tangible, like a social barrier.

I remember when the Berlin wall came down. The entire world hung on that moment. Strangely that was a fence designed more so to keep people in, rather than to keep people out. When it came down, the world seemed like a little bit of a better place, like perhaps for a moment a blow had been struck. People had had enough and took matters into their own hands. It was a powerful moment in modern history.

Then, in less than 20 years, it seems like we live in a time that is becoming more hopeless. It’s as if that wall never fell. In fact, fences are going up all over the world at a near break neck pace.

If we look at the current (and very confusing) conflict between Israel and Palestine (As well as Lebanon, Syria, Iran, Hezbollah etc.) we find another physical wall constructed. It could not be more deliberate either. The differences of culture, wealth, and power are illuminated very clearly by the physical manifestation of hatred and frustration. A big fucking wall. One side is wealthy, and desperate to protect itself, and the other has tired of being displaced and treated like an under class.

On this side of the world we have a big wall too. It used to be the world’s largest unprotected border. That is not the case anymore. Now there are platoons of terrified hillbillies and their ilk, watching with vigilance over the border. (In addition to both Canadian and American Immigration authorities.)

Do these walls help? Likely not. I’m convinced they lie to us. Sometimes they imply safety where there is none. Other times they just add fuel to an already raging fire. Perhaps it makes more sense to remove all the walls, and knock down the fences completely. They don’t seem to be doing any real good.

Maybe all they really do is say “Hey I’m hiding something!” Maybe if we were left out in the open, it would be a lot harder to ignore the troubles staring us right in the face. To me a fence is just another tool of denial. If I can’t see it, it must not be there. Maybe on a Nation state scale it shields the populace from a sense of shame or guilt.
Wouldn’t it be better if you could turn to your neighbour and see what their world is really like? It’s a lot harder to be hostile when you understand those who surround you. The barriers that exist only serve to prevent us from ever being able to stand level footed with those who live on the other side.

How can you ever hope to communicate when there is something in the way?

Just a Quick Update

I have been neglecting the blog for too long. I have been busy living life for a change. I got involved in a festival, and have been paying a lot more attention to the career. It’s a really nice change in my life. I feel like the reins are in my hands again.

I have left Leger. Currently I have no day job to speak of. That feels good too. It was about time for the change. I had become stale, and needed to move on for some time. Happily I got put out of my misery. It’s not a bad thing to be “downsized” if it means that your life will improve.

This weekend has been fun too. I’ve gotten to hang out with Erin. That rocks. Given that the next few weeks will be very busy for me, I’m glad that I got to spend some quality time with her. I know she doesn’t like the touring as much as she pretends. I know she gets lonely. I don’t blame her at all, I would get lonely too. (In fact I do… the road is a lonely place.)

I got some new CD’s too. Some real gooders. (Like tons of Johnny Cash…)

1) Johnny Cash – Unchained
2) Johnny Cash – American Recordings
3) Johnny Cash – American III
4) Johnny Cash – American IV (The Man Comes Around)
5) Kinnie Starr – Sun Again
6) Thievery Corporation - The Richest Man In Babylon

The Cash stuff is fantastic. I really like the Rick Rubin produced stuff. It has more soul in it. It’s much less country, and more folk. I really like most of the covered songs too. I wish I had developed an appreciation for him sooner.

Anyhoo, I’ll post something more meaty soon.

End of Transmission.