Thursday, December 25, 2008

merry ho ho

Can we get the big guy some rosacea cream?

So it looks like we made it to Christmas, eh? Thought I was going to have an aneurysm getting all that shopping done yesterday, but it's all over.

If we were all graded for Christmas, I would definitely fail. I rarely visit stores and never shop over the course of the year and every Christmas, while out trying to buy gifts, I see all sorts of neat shit that I think I'd like and end up purchasing bags of stuff and I'll come home and realize I've spent tons on myself and little on family members.


Anyways, have fun over the next couple days pounding turkey and egg nog and rum and wine and wobbly pops.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

shortest day of the year

It's the shortest day of the year. It is at the same time the most depressing/optimistic day of the year. Although this is the pinnacle of crap winter, the days also start getting longer now and it's nice to have this milestone soon out of the way. The sun was down by 4.

What did I do today?

I watched a shitpile of football and found a lot of great youtube clips.

Two days of work this week and then an entire 12 days off. I'm having trouble taking my clutches off the Egg Nog carton and rum bottle right now... Two more days... 

Monday, December 15, 2008

north pole idol

One of the highlights of working in a newsroom is the entertaining array of press releases from all sorts of random international organizations that come through the office email on a daily basis.

For some reason, in our cozy building in Yellowknife, we receive daily Winnipeg Blue Bombers updates, ceaseless penis enhancement spam and monthly media releases from this crazy church in the States called the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas.

This is a group that was going to come to Canada to hold protests outside the funeral of that kid who got his head cutoff on his way to Winnipeg this summer, chiding Canada for being "faggot enablers," because that kid was gay.

So in the holiday spirit, they released a letter to Washington State asking them to hang a banner on their legislative assembly building with their unique message dangling there, under the argument of free speech (because apparently the state building is displaying a nativity scene that does not conform to scripture).

How can the pastor still take himself seriously in this letter when the link provided in the letter is: . I think that's where you immediately lose all credibility.

For the first time, I can't even think of anything smarmy to write here...

I hate to give this group any publicity, but I figured it may be nice to balance all that Islamic Fundamentalist fear-mongering out there with some good ole' fashioned Christian people-hating in our own backyard.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

macho man (and another one)

I can't determine whether he is crazier now or was crazier back then?

Macho Madness, indeed

"I can't sing, I can't dance, but I can make romance..."

Man, I must have been pretty doped up on Lucky Charms on Saturday mornings to put up with this garble.

macho man (continued) - the haunt hulk hogan post

The Macho Man works hard and he plays hard (or so says he)

"Believe me, the Macho Man loves women..."

Hey Macho Man, I think there are still some openings at Yellowknife's Dementia Centre. I'll put in a good word for ya. Ooooh yeeeaaaahh!

Tuesday, December 9, 2008


Chotchkies employee of the month: Randy Savage
Reason: Comes to work with 38,957 pieces of flair

Come on, Hogan. Be a man already...

Note from Oil Can:

Yo, the Hulk? He Dog the Bounty Hunter's brother or somethin? He wears old man sweatpants, dude.

But his daughter, Brooke, she look good though, right?

Yo, old man. Hands off the goods.

cold update

Just thought I'd update for anyone reading this outside of Canada (can't think of who that may be, but who knows) about the season.

It's winter, officially. How do I know this? Well my truck has been a frozen block in the parking lot for 48 hours, covered in a grey-coloured frost. It looks like it has freezer burn. Someone told me it reached -40 at some point over the last two days. I believe them. It's nothing to be shocked about, but that first inhale of -40 air each winter does produce that sensation.

I pulled my hockey gear out of my inanimate vehicle yesterday and the whole bag was frozen stiff. A big chunky block. It took minutes to squeeze it through the broken 4-runner passenger seat that barely bends forward. The material of the hockey bag sounded like a thick paper bag crumpling. I grabbed at my composite sticks and they burned and stung the flesh on my fingers. "DAMN!" Hockey was a little painful, as I only had about 45 minutes to thaw my shit out.

For some reason, when it gets this cold -- I'm talking hand-gets-stuck-to-your-keys-cold -- whenever I walk past a light post or a road sign, I have this sick urge to stick my tongue to it. I have no explanation. It makes me cringe. I watched a kid lose his tongue on a slide when I was five and the image has never left me. He was crying. He ripped his face from the frozen object at -40. There was blood all over the snow, the slide and the kids face. And he was just screaming.

Also when I was young, I would often wonder if you could see steam coming from your ass when you farted in frigid temperatures. I got a friend to watch once. You don't fart steam. So if you see me smiling gleefully in -40, maybe stay a few steps away... at least till the smile subsides.

Took the Frankenstein cables to the beast tonight and got her running after two days of inactivity. Took her out for a ride and filled her up. Guess what? Gas is under a buck in Yk! Amazing. Of course, I took the beast to the only station that was still over a buck because it was the only spot I could get a corndog. Mindy spoke about watching gas prices go over that milestone number back when he was working the Truckstop in Enterprise years ago.

It's about g'damn time.

So I had to stock up on candies, scratch-n-win tickets and corndogs to make up for all the money I was saving.

northern twist to musical staples

On Tuesdays, I do these things called ATNs at work. Basically, they are 100-word briefs about events, programs, hunts, and just about anything neat or noteworthy going on in communities in the Sahtu and Tlicho regions of the NWT.

My office

So I'm staring at community names in the phonebook like Tulita and Gameti all day, and with the mind singly devoted to puns, I start singing songs in my head...

Da-du-du-du-da-du-da-du... Tulita (you know, that Tequila song)

I'm singing that one at volleyball tonight and Mindy hears and so we start to try to come up with different community names stuck inside southern standards.

Here we go:

"Deh Cho, Where you going with that gun in your hand?" (Hey Joe - Hendrix... you can also put in Tlicho or Behchoko)

"Eleanor Wrigley"... Nice one, Mindy.

"I'm not the Gameti I used to be" (I think it's a K-OS song?) Or "Gameti-ville" that shitty Eminem song.

"Cuz I'm Tuk in the middle with you" from Reservoir Dogs

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Find out what it means to me... Sahtu-k it to me..." - Aretha

"You gotta fight for your right to Whati!" - the Beasties

Okay... I'll stop.

Feel free to leave your own.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

thanks Sean

I've delved into my disdain for this individual before, but something new came to light today and I can't help myself.

Not only does he hit a proportionate amount of smaller players while some how maintaining a tough guy moniker, have a dopey verb named after him that gets thrown around more than midgets at bars in the 70s, get severely overrated by the media as an all-around player when he's a total defensive liability (-10, that's good for 706th out 715 NHL players), talks and shoves a lot in scrums but not back it up, smokes when he's a role model athlete to kids (looks he's doing a lot better with the ladies now that he's rich), is a Calgary Flame and is singularly responsible for child poverty in Africa (okay I'm pushing it), but...

It doesn't even look like she's having fun.

it also turns out that Dion "I push around Europeans" Phaneuf falls in love with sloppy seconds.

I'm sorry, Elisha.

P.S. Bring it, Jung

Sunday, November 30, 2008

a day for the ravens

With all the warm weather recently, Yellowknife has been sort of white-washed or grey-painted as each day, overcast skies dump layer after layer of snow on the ground and keep temperatures from reaching the nose-tip numbing bitterness I'm used to this time of year.

As a result, there seems to be a colourlessness to the days, like the visual volume is turned down or Ned Flanderized. There is nothing bold and no contrast out there.

I went for a bit of a drive Saturday and maybe due to all the white covering the city, the propensity and activities of the ravens really stood out to me.

I am fascinated by the birds. I did some research a while back and it turns out young ravens are some of the most curious creatures currently on Earth and will try anything once. They're very attracted to shiny objects. But something happens to a raven over the course of its life... Old ravens become neophobic and are terrified to try anything unusual.

I wonder what it is?

The slightly gusty Saturday was truly a day for the ravens.

Pulling through the Timmy's drive-thru, a furry bird with his share of scruffy feathers under his beak, had his neck tucked in to its body, huddled on the ground next to the spot where drivers picked up their food goods from the window. The raven looked as if it was studying how this process worked -- watching as people rolled up to the cashier and exchanged shiny things for pieces of food -- some of which he had probably tasted while picking through the contents of the dumpster behind the building. It bobbed up and down as each car left and new one took its place. He looked like he was really enjoying himself, like a little kid that takes to a game and won't let you stop because it gets such a kick out of it. The raven eyed up the driver. He opened his mouth, as if to mimic the drivers speech. I wanted to jump outside, scoop him up, sit him in the passenger seat and explain how the whole thing worked.

Anyways, I drove away and actively searched ravens out as I meandered through town.

Some of the black birds crow-hopped through parking lots, skipping from one spill in the snow to another to taste test. Others ransacked a bag of garbage beside the highway, like hyenas picking apart a long dead zebra.

I chuckled as every second street light or telephone pole or building corner or ledge held an inquisitive raven, just hanging out, watching scattering and scurrying humanity below, calmly from its detached viewpoint above. I imagined them scrawling observations on notepads, jotting down sketches of what was going on below them, learning something new about those goofy two-legged mammals that did all those crazy things.

I really admire the intelligence and humour of ravens -- the way they work together to solve problems, like breaking into dumpsters. I've watched them play tricks on people in winter. After a big snow fall, they will wait out on a particularly snowy ledge and when a person or another animal walks underneath unsuspecting, they will dump some snow down on them. I can swear a see a smile and a laugh after. I've seen ravens reek havoc on sled dogs, stealing their food after the handlers scoop food into their bowls. The dogs go crazy, tied to their small homes with ropes and the ravens hop away with their food locked in their beaks. Ravens stash golfballs at the golf course (it's not a myth -- I've seen it first hand.) 

They can also mimic sounds. After a day full of sirens and ambulances and fire trucks and speeding tickets one downtown afternoon last week, I was walking down Range back to work and heard a raven -- perched on a rail in the parkade -- sounding out the siren ("boop"  "boop"). It was so strange! There is a raven behind my parent's house in the summer that sounds like a frog. 

Watching these birds, I started to believe that if I had to face off with a raven in a chess match, I would probably get creamed in four moves. And when I left to go get a bite from the pantry, his buddies would have pillaged it.

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like ravens are also becoming more brazen these days. I never remembered seeing a raven standing on a vehicle when I was a kid. Nowadays, they scratch their feet all over the roofs of cars or prop up on bumpers or hitches. And they don't run as quickly as they used to when you approach. That's not true. They do run, or hop away, now. But they used to fly. I think all their note-taking on lampposts is to blame.

I wondered what ravens ate before there was garbage. I wondered where ravens went to die.

Making my way downtown, I watched the ravens swoop into the air madly with updrafts of wind sweeping up the side of Northern Heights. They dipped and dived and then -- whoosh -- back up five stories or so when their wings opened to take in the air. They played. They chased each other like World War I planes dogfighting. I've always wanted to feel the exhilaration of that flight in the wind, as they do at the cliffs by Jackfish Lake or Back Bay in the summer time. It's always something I've wanted to know.

And after seeing all this adventure and resourcefulness and activity on such a bland looking afternoon, I suddenly became very jealous of the ravens, as I sat at a shiny red light in downtown Yellowknife, stuck to the ground in my 21 year old 4-Runner.

Shiny things were not attractive to the young man on Saturday afternoon in Raven Town.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

becoming something i never thought i would

Big day for me today. I got a call from a local business asking me about a friend they were considering for a job.

Can't help but laugh. Yes, me. The man who searched so recently, so desperately for references just a year or so ago had now become one. 

I think that was one of the oddest conversations I've ever had. You don't want to lie and you want to help the applicant because you think they will genuinely do a good job, and it's just bizarre trying to talk about the helpfulness of the applicant without sounding too eager, or douchebaggy.

Anyways, it went well, although I started to ramble and talk in circles and tell a horrible Barry White joke that I'm not sure was appropriate (my friend is applying for a computer help desk job over the telephone and I said he'd smooth over any frustrated caller with his deep Barry White voice).

"Hey baby... Ohhh Yeaahhhh... Now I just want you to turn that router off. Yeah, just like that.... Now go on and take off them pants... Ohhh Yeaaahhhh baby...."

Not sure if there's some kind of reference call protocol or etiquette.

Good luck, Mac D.

Monday, November 24, 2008

day after tournament torture

Back from Hay River and forgetting about the destroyed left arm that was crunched into the boards backwards away from my body by a large defenseman as I was reaching for a puck; the charlie horse above my ass from getting slew-footed in front of the net Friday night and having my pant pad jab me; a burnt left hand brought on by a brief bout of fried-chicken deprived shakes on Saturday night that turned a large cup of French Vanilla coffee into a canister of napalm that left a mark on me; and my Mr. Burns legs that had to be hefted into Slader's truck with my arms, I feel great.

Four games in three days -- five if you count Thursday. Lotsa, lotsa hockey. Tied the first, won the next two and then lost the last game by one. Should have been different that last one, but I missed a gimme and two other beauty chances. It felt great to grind out a couple games though, particularly after becoming so accustomed to losses so far this year.

On a personal note, I felt like I played really well the first two games, but completely got my ass kicked in the third and fourth games. I couldn't backcheck and I ended up watching a lot of goals get scored while coasting in panting at the blue line. I've been trying to work on my all-around play since getting duty at centre, but those two games were definitely a low point. I lost my will. It's funny how that happens. When you're down by a goal, tied, or up by one, everything seems so much harder. But when you get up by three, you feel like you could skate for days.

Also, it was kind of neat to play in front of people. For our games against Hay River, it felt like a lot of the town came out and kids were running around with hockey sticks, playing makeshift games with crushed up beer cans. During some big 'A' division games (I should qualify our tournament -- we played 'B') the bleachers were nearly packed. It definitely felt like a community event and I'm sure all the players appreciated it. I love that arena too. It looks and smells old. But vintage old, not decrepit.

The weekend was definitely not only about hockey though, as Hay River and the boys we picked up to play with us once again proved more than hospitable -- I'm gonna have to get some memory foam pillows after staying in the guest room a friend's mom prepared Friday night. Hay Riverites know how to party and each time I've been there for this tournament or for baseball, there has never been a shortage of things to do. This year, it was rockin barefeet at a house party, tossing gloves and the odd empty beer can into a ceiling fan and trying to control where they went, and watching a mortified young lady get razzed after she "plunked a deucey" that plugged the toilet.

The five and a half hour drive back to Yellowknife was painful but not just from the hockey torture. There were a few times I hurt from laughing.

Monumental human questions were posed like "Where did the saying lukewarm come from?" or "If you're last name was Gibson, would you call your kid Giblet?"

Mindy and I spent an hour of the drive deliriously creating the fictional life of Dwarfton Dwarfton III, from upper-Dwarfton in the Province of Dwarfton. He became the 45th President of the United States -- and first president dwarf -- amongst many other things. He carries an axe and traps things and loves Battlestar Gallactica. He has seventeen brothers and sisters, all named Dwarfton Dwarfton. 

Also, I have a new favourite accent, loosely based on a guy named Bill Gibson, who Slader and Keegs impersonated earlier in the weekend and then Mindy and I over-slaughtered: "Let's play some heeeee-key."

The best/worst though was the Grey Cup broadcast, which although entertaining, featured the worst selection of ads ever assembled. The small local station from Montreal must have only gotten a few minutes to sell ad space, because they had just three commercials throughout the entire four hour broadcast... and two were for radio programs on their station. The other was an ad for Brault and Martineau, some furniture company in Quebec who -- I had singed into my brain for life -- "take care of you." 

By the end of the Grey Cup, I could repeat the ad nearly verbatim. We began placing bets on what order they would play the ads.

It was demonic. It felt like some Satanic plot to wear down the customer. I was starting to think homicide. I felt like anyone tuning into this broadcast would back me up and testify on my behalf, that these three people (two hosts and one voice guy) needed to be stopped. We talked about how both radio personalities and the furniture ad guy would be found dead and no one would tie the murders together until someone who listened to the broadcast (most likely driven to check themselves in to an insane asylum or something) phoned in and explained the whole ordeal.

The Montreal Alouettes lost the 96th Grey Cup 22 - 14 to the Calgary Stampeders last night. In a completely unrelated story, 73 Brault & Martineau stores were firebombed across the province...

A few of the best lines pulled from the weekend:

"How would you feel if the porno you starred in was only being sold for $4.95? How are you supposed to take that?" - Binio after an ad for adult toys and videos (starting at just $4.95!!!) on Sirius radio, somewhere between Kakisa and Enterprise.

"I killed a girl and I liked it."  - parody of that Katie Perry song. The running joke of the tourney about Mac T's 1984 blunder. (I really do feel like Satan is probably fluffing my syphilis pillows on the bed my mouth is starting to make for myself in hell.)

"That was my first goal in 15 years." - Slader after popping the game-winner against the Tlicho Warriors, his first goal since the minor hockey days.

Friday, November 21, 2008


Yes, Wayne. Herbiberous is feeling most excellent again.

Hey all you out there on the interweb. I know the last post was sort of a tonal shift here on Slingin Lingo, and for that I apologize. You do not come here for sad rants. You come here for corny jokes.

As well, to address the declining number of posts, I'm feeling a little burnt out when I get home, and after sitting in front of a computer all day, writing words, words, words, and trying to fix 'em together coherently in an orderly fashion to purty up my stories, sometimes the last thing I want to do is turn on the computer and write. Sometimes I'm finding my brain is drying up of ideas worse than an old lady's... umm... mouth after smoking a big doobie? (I also apologize to anyone I haven't responded to through email. I seem only to be capable of responding in two sentence, facebook wall posts... It's kind of pathetic.)

Anyways, I just spent a very satisfying week with friends, past, present, future, scored a beauty at hockey tonight (amazing breakaway pass from PH) and am set to head out to Hay River for a hockey tournament this weekend with a stellar group of compadres. Things are looking up and I'm starting to get that bounce back in the step.

I hope this weekend rejuvenates the old bones here and I come back an energetic young biberous.

Party On!

Friday, November 14, 2008

journey outside the biberous oil can

Indulge me for a few moments, kiddies, while we take a little trip.

This involves getting outside the characters characterized characteristically on this here blog -- the ones you have grown to laugh with (hopefully). Yes, let's leave the slightly Costanza-esque Herbiberous and the always cantankerous Oil Can behind for a just a few paragraphs and let us traverse into parts unknown.

It's presently November 14 and I can't think of a more depressing day of the year (other than the literal darkest day - Dec. 21). Winter has finally settled in, every day gets shorter and the mercury won't rise again for six more months.

Earlier this evening, over wings and a beer, I couldn't kick the restless feeling. It doesn't feel like I'm doing anything new or else I've just sunken into the predictable work-afterwork activity-home routine and can't break from it.

And I think it may be evident to you from this blog -- my life and the things I'm writing can't be as interesting as they used to be a couple months ago... I mean, Burton Cummings for fuck sakes. What is that all about?

In Iqaluit, I was encountering something new with every venture out the door, with every conversation at a coffee shop, with every bite of food. New thoughts and entertaining stories bursted out from nothing, from mundanity. A drive from the river to Apex filled me with excitement. That's why I started this thing, because I had so much to write about and many of the people I wanted to share it with in Yellowknife.

Now I'm back and the feeling of adventure is definitely not something I'm getting in Yellowknife right now. Call it fatigue from familiarity. But I find that even while I'm learning new and interesting things at work every day -- like how tuberculosis is more a social disease than medical, due to its higher rates of infection in poorer populations that tend to have overcrowded and poorly ventilated housing; or how this kooky thing we call government works -- I'm still finding myself at home at the end of the night and my days kind of just look like blah. I'm coming home tired with no funny stories to tell.

It feels like if someone I don't know comes up and starts talking to me, I don't have the patience to oblige in conversation and I kind of kindly just walk away. It's as if I don't need to know this person, because I already know enough persons here. But then I'll have nights at the Monkey Tree where I'll shake hands all night but not talk to anybody for more than 30 seconds.

Tonight at the Elks, this old guy walked over to me and the Lion and started telling a story about working for the city in Prince Rupert and how they made him work outside the liquor store landscaping and on hot days people would say "Hey, so-and-so, you're working hard. Here, have a drink." and he'd say "Okay." and so he'd punch in sober in the morning and clock out drunk at the end of the day, and when his superiors found out, they moved him to somewhere he wouldn't be able to get a drink: the graveyard. The story was great, and he laughed big time after the punch-line, and I laughed too. And it's not something I do enough here. I don't listen to peoples' stories. I get too cozy doing the same-old same-old because it's so easy and I gravitate toward laziness. But I've had way too many shitty walk homes from the Monkey Tree cursing myself for not being creative enough to find challenging or new ways to spend my Friday nights.

I do not have the attitude I have when I'm traveling when I'm home. If I meet someone from out of town, I say hey and tell them where to go and that's it. When I'm traveling, I have time for anyone.

I love this place but...

This attitude has to change.

Or I think it's time to leave.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

celebrity look-a-likes (down on your luck version)

Just saw a commercial promoting Burton Cumming's new album. Kind of sad, looks like some ass kiss America, remember I was the guy who wrote American Woman crap.

Plus, buddy looks right out of it on the commercial. (This isn't from the commercial, but it's close. Just think more stubble.)

Guess who's probably not getting any groupie love after the show?

I was a little disturbed to see a Canadian icon looking this way, I won't lie. 

I have this weird thing I think I got from my mom where I compare things constantly, so I got to thinking, who does he look like here?

And here are our candidates:

A down-and-out Jake 'the Snake' Roberts...

Intercontinental Twinkie and crack champion... too soon? Eww, I feel bad about that one. I'm sorry. Cheap joke.

Or the hedgehog himself, Ron Jeremy...

This guy has handled more beaver than a 1800s Hudson Bay Company fur trader.

I'm torn... I can't decide. I need help. 

I will do my darnedest to attach a poll here. If I get enough response, maybe I'll start making this a running feature.

If I don't, well I'm sorry for wasting your time. You can get back to downloading adult videos...

Sunday, November 9, 2008

hyperbole hilarity: the demonization of the plastic bag

I did a story a couple weeks ago about the GNWT preparing to give nearly every resident of the NWT a reusable shopping bag to try to curb plastic bag use.

Good idea, right? I don't think anyone would dispute that weaning ourselves away from plastic bag consumption is a good thing.

I did a little research while writing up the story, just to see what kind of opposition there is out there to the old plastic bag. I was overwhelmingly grateful to stumble upon

It is noble in hyperbole. Beautifully ridiculous in symbolism. Unintentional in comedy.

Each time you refresh the homepage, a different picture from the gallery pops up. And the pictures with their cutlines are some of my favourite things ever in the whole wide world.

The cutline on the photo below goes something like: Plastic bag blots out the sun.

Kind of dramatic, don't you think?

The cutline for the following picture is something like: Plastic bag spoils view of San Fransisco's Golden Gate Bridge.

Ah... the perfect picture. Now, I'll just click the button and... Oh, you little fucking plastic bag. Get out of here! Get on! Shoo! You ruined everything!

I love it! The website is so great. They completely demonize these troublemaking inanimate objects, like they are the scourge of the Earth, like some kind of evil footsoldier army sent out by plastic Hitler to wreak havoc on crappy photographers around the globe. They'd make you think the minute you left your home, a handful of plastic bags would sneak in and strangle and suffocate everyone you've ever loved.

These photos actually do the opposite for me. I kind of actually sympathize for the poor down-and-out bag, criticized and decried by all. These sad, aimless, anywhere-the-wind-blows vagabonds, that don't have a place on this planet.

They're called litter. Garbage. Trash. They're empty. They are stepped on. They are used by society and then tossed away.

A beach bum... What's a sad sack to do in this mixed-up world?

Next time you see a bag on the ground, give it a hand. Pick it up, ask how it's doing, and maybe buy it a coffee...

Thursday, November 6, 2008

i'm on youtube!!!

I don't know what to say (tear rolling down face).

My buddy Neilio told me about a video he posted of my friend Dizzle doing push-ups at a slo-pitch tourney earlier this summer. I looked it up and there it was. 

It's so bizarre. I'm so honoured just to share the same (cyber)space as the dramatic chipmunk and Star Wars kid and two girls, one cup reactions.

I love that I can now be found on my favourite time-waster. 

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

congrats Mr. Obama

I have to say, I've never enjoyed watching an elderly person get so ferociously beat up and pummeled.

Apparently, Barack Obama also enjoys watching 62 million-plus beat a 72-year old man to a pulp.

Congratulations, Mr. Obama.

With the masses of people crowded in parks and streets around the States and the world, with tears running down faces, I believe he's filled a great many with genuine hope. And there's really nothing a white guy sitting in front of a laptop in snowy Yellowknife, NWT can add about the significance of a black man being elected President that hasn't been said already by the media or pundits or jubilant Americans. I agree with Jon Stewart, that this was the first true "show don't tell" moment of equal opportunity in American history.

Thumbs up, America. Hey, you're not so bad after all.

Although, I don't know if we all should be celebrating so quickly.  If we are to believe everything we are being told, these are pretty hopeless times. The man has quite a task in front of him, but meh... the hell with worrying, I'm sure he knows more about what lies ahead for this world than anybody else. I'm gonna go play some X-Box...

Ooh, before that - five quick things:

The best headline to come from the election (as a co-worker pointed out earlier today)
From Ultimas Noticias in Caracas, Venezuela: Un negro en la Casa Blanca

I want to start a band now, only so that our first album can be called: Un negro en la Casa Blanca

Second: Hopefully this is the last we hear from 'The Sarah Palin' in a long while. The doomsday device needs to go back into the shop for a while for some retooling.

Third: Canada looks awfully backwards now beside the 'progressively liberal' US. Whodathunkit?

Fourth: If they would hurry up with that recount in North Carolina and give it to Obama, I win 20 clams.

Fifth: I want to preemptively trademark this headline for when Obama finds himself in a tough situation.

Barack and a hard place


Monday, November 3, 2008

bad habits

I've been told by many that I need to stop spitting. Apparently, it's a disgusting habit and very unbecoming. I counter that I have to -- subconsciously basing that on a perceived genetical predisposition to loogie-ing due to the rather large nasal protrusion that calls my face home.

However, I've lately been forced to re-evaluate this quick-to-spit attitude. On more occasions than I can count on one hand in the last three months, I've walked outside whilst horking loudly, and let loose with a big nasty goober just as a pretty girl walks by. It's not cool. It's happened too many times not to be some kind of divine sign. And, I mean, that's got to be the worst first impression a guy can make.

My spitting image?

Saturday, November 1, 2008

glitches, bitches

This probably goes on a little too long, but I can't help but laugh when I watch this.

Bob Saget?

I wonder what these guys do for a living? Also, I think I want them as friends, because they would most likely make me feel a lot funnier than I probably am.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

these have to be the new bond themes

"I said, play it again."

I don't pretend to be a Bond connaisseur, but one of these songs has got to kick the next flick off...

Can't you just see those silhoutteted ladies with pistols appearing in coolly crafted credits to either of these songs? They're perfect.

This album has been on heavy rotation as of late and I have to give it up eternally to Arctic Monkey frontman, and Sir-to-be, Alex Turner - the man has his way with words.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

must be some kind of record

Hey kids!

It's your old friend Oil Can, just checkin in to see how y'all doin?

Myself, I've been bouncing around here and there. Saw Obama. Dude is tall!

I'm on one of those pay joints in downtown Philly right now, so I don't have much time to catch y'all up with my travels, so I'll be quick. Just in here now, getting my things dried up. Got my socks on the bannister, getting some heat to em, you know, cause shit, I just spent the last three nights at Citizens Bank, waiting on them Phillies to beat the Rays.

See, I couldn't leave the park cause I kind of snuck in for Game 5. Dude at security must of thought I was Jimmy Rollins or something. I was jacked though man, cause I ain't been to a Fall Classic since my days with the Bo Sox and I ain't gonna start bringing that up, cause that shit just pisses me right off.

But yeah, so the game gets going and she was a tight one and then the rain starts coming down in droves man, ona them Gullywashers, you know? Dudes were missing cut-offs, Rollins missed a pop-up, the wind was driving people crazy and they cancelled the game. Well man, what's the Can gonna do? I can't leave. This is the World Series, baby!

So I spent Wednesday night under a frozen malt stand umbrella in the second level concourse. Nobody bothered me none, and I stocked up on some sweets. I woke up at one point and there was some old mangey pooch cuddled up next to me, though, and I didn't like that.

Wake up in the Hotel Philadelphia

I had nothing to do the next day and just took my bore old self to the bullpen and looked around. Those ballplayers sure got it good now, boy. Them chairs they sit on out there, that's just excessive man. We used to have chairs like them steel jobs in the WWF, throw your back right out.

When nobody came to the park Tuesday, I figured they done postponed the game till Wednesday, but I couldn't really tell cause I don't got a cellphone and who knows what's happening these days man, maybe the stocks took another dive and everyone was shipping out to China or something and maybe it was just me, old Can, left to wander an empty ballpark. I did meet some girl on Tuesday, but I think she was a cleaning lady or something and I couldn't understand a damn word she was saying. She was cool though, gave me some cracker jacks she found.

So I spent Tuesday night in the Phillies bullpen, in a fort I built out of them chairs. 

I figured if no one came by Wednesday, then I would be okay with leaving.

Wouldn't you know it though, shit clears up and Citizen Bank gets live... I stuck around the Phillies bullpen (dude in security thought I was Jimmy Rollins' brother) and after three innings, the Phillies took it and the people went wild.

I was pretty tired and still kind of am. I was seeing shit too, I think, on  account of the tiredness by the end of the whole thing... You know, like fireworks and flying saucers and shit, cause man I was tired and all I ate was cracker jacks and frozen malts and this crazy energy shit they drink in the bullpen nowadays.

But I do remember seeing this one pudgy white boy on the Phillies -- Stairs, I think it was -- grinning like a damn jackal when the boys celebrated and hammered his ole behind...

Shit, the red light is blinking, I think I'm timed out...

Stay warm, kiddies and I'll hit ya when somethin

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

a lesson in relativity

Last Saturday, I was feeling a little caged in. The air was chilly, the wind blowing, rain/snow inevitable, and I had little energy and less imagination, meaning I meandered around the house for some time, bouncing off the walls, frustrated by my lack of things to do.

I finally grabbed my coat and my keys and a couple bucks, jammed my headphones in my ears, got in the truck and decided on coffee.

I hit a good streak of tunes through the drive-thru and so, coffee in hand and head nodding, I decided to take the airport loop downtown, where I was to meet a bud.

The streak continued and so, instead of turning right, into town, I took a left, off to the Ingraham Trail, thinking maybe I'd just drive out past Giant Mine and to the Yellowknife River and then turn around. I was really feeling the music -- some old, nostalgic Tripping Daisy.

And so when I got to the river, I just kept going, because I didn't want the feeling to end. It was nice just enjoying the moment, you know? No thoughts, really. Just things passing by the window, which would trigger spasms of nostalgia or stimulate old pictures and people and events.

I swung around corners -- the same ones I saw from 10,000 feet on my way out of Yellowknife this summer, which was the first time I'd seen the Ingraham Trail from above, which I found shockingly trivial watching it sprawl randomly through the mass of trees below -- and took in the sights, days before snow would surely cover all of it up for half a year. And I got to the Dettah turnoff and said, "What the hell. Why not?"

I hadn't been to Dettah in probably 20 years -- outside of ice road endeavors in winter. So I took the 18km road slow, and just prayed that the road would never end and I'd be able to keep driving and the moment. 

Cars would come up from behind and coax me to drive faster, and I would oblige because I am a societal product -- afraid to seem like a Sunday driver to a perfect stranger, you know...

Eventually, I found Dettah. And I drove around a bit, watching the late-fall wind blow whitecaps up on the lake, from the tip of Yellowknife Bay. I looked out at the great lake for a long while.

Turned the beast around, and drove past an old ball park, which I remembered being gigantic as a 5 year old kid, now a tiny, rundown relic -- maybe as your brain grows in dimension with age, it shrinks things from your smaller, kid memory storage device? Was that park actually bigger when I was a kid, because I was smaller?

Turning onto the road out, I looked forward to the long drive home. My buddy called. 
I say I'm in Dettah. 

"You're in Dettah?" 

I say I'm on my way back into town.

Then, out of NOWHERE, this old lady, decked out in the traditional purple skirt, stockings, black shoes, pink hood, purple coat, babooshka regalia, throws her thumb out at the side of the road.

I stop without realizing. I tell my buddy I'll call him back. Before the vehicle is stopped, she is already on her way to the door. I unlock the door and she hops right in.

She's very old. Her face is creased all over. It looks like a flesh-coloured raisin with three holes in it.

"Town," she grunts, pulling a tissue out from her pocket, to wipe the tears that had welled up in her eyes to protect them from the howling winds.

"Town? Okay, no problem," I say, slightly uncomfortable now that my solitude-bubble has been burst.

Now I don't want to sound like an ass here, but I sort of pride myself on my ability to strike up a conversation with anyone, from any walk of life...

Not on Saturday.

"Cold out there, eh?" 


"Do your legs get cold wearing that?" pointing to her nearly bare legs, covered by thin leggings. 

Barely an acknowledgement.

I was completely out of my element. I had no idea what to say. I offered her some of the peach drink I had. No reply.

I saw the back of the one kilometre sign into Dettah. On the way in, it had brought dread that the drive had ended. Now it had the same effect, but this time illustrating that this was just the start. 

The long drive home now felt UNBEARABLY LONG. I didn't want the drive out to Dettah to ever end, now I couldn't wait to get into Yellowknife, with nothing but the radio murmuring on my blown, buzzing speakers.

I hit 90kph on that road heading back, when I barely nudged 55kph on the way out.

This elder had taught me all I needed to know about the theory of relativity.

I felt bad that I couldn't start up a conversation. I would look over at her strong hands patting away at her face. She stared out the window, no doubt assessing the changes in the land surrounding the road from Dettah to the city, and all that she had probably witnessed over her at least 75 years commuting between the two locales.

We drove over the river, through Giant, past the dump, and the ski lodge without once exchanging a hint of communication.  Finally, we reached the reduced speed area outside the Legislative Assembly turn off and I asked, where do you want me to drop you off?

"Town," she said, almost annoyed that I didn't seem to understand the first time.

Okay, I smiled.

We got outside Extra Foods and I slowed down.

She turned to me and smiled. "Mahsi." She pulled her legs out the door.

"No problem. Take care. Stay warm." Who knows what else mindless small talk B.S.

I must have looked confused or weird or something. 

Because once she was out, she said, "thank you," very slowly, to make sure I understood.


And that was it. No look back, she was walking toward wherever it was she needed to go. 

And I was off to... now where was I going again?

Friday, October 24, 2008

the roger clemens of dogs

My friend showed me this picture last weekend and it's haunted me since...

C'mon... do it. I dare ya... Tell me to rollover. I fuckin' dare ya.

Just thought I'd share. You know, if you were having a bad day or something, just be thankful you aren't a small runt sharing a litter with old Brutus here. He looks like he's got some serious insecurity issues.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

digging in the crates

Found this from a couple years ago, figured it was a good time to throw it back out there (apparently, I had a great disdain for punctuation, although I'm still not very punctual)...

looking around walmart the other day for halloween stuff. i had the lazy thought of going with a kid's costume... you know, real funny, small costume/big person, potential grape-smuggler laughs...

so i'm browsing around batmans and ninja turtles and i notice something... each costume has a picture of a kid on its packaging and on every single one of them, there's a white kid. like a nurse, or a fireman, or a doctor... white kids on all of them... and then i see the jailbird costume, and wouldn't you know it, no white kid. instead, there's a picture of some poor, sad looking mexican kid in handcuffs...

pretty bad

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

if that last one was too much...

Random musings:
More people walk through North American mall food courts with limps than Vietnamese hospitals or the streets of East L.A. Those food court wanderers are like Urban Carnies.

DA had a great line while I was in Calgary:
"We can kill a couple birds with some stones." -- after deliberating for 15 minutes about how to hit a liquor store before we went to the pub. Do we call those Ricky-isms now?

Met MLB 3B Casey Blake at the Ship and Anchor (I'm pretty sure it was him? Was after the Neil show and the gong show at our table. I invaded the table, where he sat with three pretty girls. Maybe they were lying?).
He said Manny probably won't sign with the Dodgers. Probably will sign with the Yankees. And said, sorry TO.

And to finish off on a baseball note, apparently Matt Stairs like to get... ahem... hammered.

Matt can't wait to hit that dugout, boy!

I can just imagine if he had a 13-year old kid, and he's all pumped to go to school in Philly and brag to all his buddies about his old man's heroic homerun. And then he watches the press conference, pride-a-bubbling, until his dad uncorks that doozy of a Freudian slip.

"Ah, come on, dad..."

I'm sure that quickly made it go from most to least anticipated day of his school career up to that point.

forever young or unreal young... or something cornier and more predictable

A whole week, eh? Dang! At least I have an excuse.

...uh... not much of an excuse...

Back in Yellowknife, after one of those gone in a flash whirlwind weekend trips, and coming to grips with winter.

Had a hell of a time though, meeting up with so many people it had been years since I'd seen. It's very strange to keep in touch with people through facebook and text message and then when you see them face to face, you still do all the catching up on things that you could pick up from profiles and stuff. Something we haven't reconciled socially yet, I suppose.

Slinginlingo got big-upped in a big way Saturday night. Thanks for the words, Jung (although I still can't decipher if you were pulling my leg or what, but it's nice knowing there are people that read this thing). It was good to catch up, man. We should definitely shoot shotguns next time I'm through.

So the genesis of the trip was to see Neil Young on Sunday. I'd seen the old man about five years ago in Vancouver, where he kicked off the Greendale tour at the Queen E. Not that it wasn't a great show, because it's Neil Fucking Young, but he played the entire Greendale album, which is like a smalltown concept album, and there were characters mouthing all the lyrics, acting out the album and I'd never heard any of it before, and so that went on for an hour, before he came back out for an encore and tore through 'Rockin' in the Free World' and 'Hey Hey, My My!'.

This time, I had no idea what to expect, and similarly how the crowd would react. I couldn't get any kind of feeling of how the show would be, as grandparents walked in with grandkids, and groups of youngsters paraded around beside the bearded and braided and balding in the concourse. It all seemed random.

Me and V found our seats despite the pints and Stampede beers (which Jung used to call heroine beers because of the punch they pack) and watched Death Cab plow through their set.

The Saddledome felt dead. We left to the concourse again. Grabbed more beer. Returned. I spoke with a dude in line who had read up about the previous four tour dates, and he told me to expect all the classics. (And another one for an encore).

Anyways, upon returning, something had happened inside the dome. It was buzzing. Like majorly. We sat on the second level, with an unobstructed side view of the stage and floor.

"Neil! Neil!" chants began and every second, an orange light would flash for a few moments then a puff of smoke poofed above groups mashed together on the floor, as they prepared for the show.

Neil apparently heard the chants and patiently walked up the stairs beside the stage with the six musicians that would accompany him that night. 15 minutes early.

Their entrance was markedly different from the way Death Cab sprinted up the stairs with exuberance and nervous energy. Neil and his crew were cool. Patient. Learned.

And then he grabbed his guitar and he ripped into 'Love and Only Love' and it was like everyone in the whole place released at once. And the place literally felt electric. And the crowd celebrated every word.

The Youngest 62-year old out there. (pun kind of intended)

And immediately, I could tell it was real. This wasn't a money grab. This wasn't a soulless old man trying to cash in one last time on his fame and catalogue. This still felt kind of edgy. And the energy! He ripped and thrashed through solos like he had on the Rust Never Sleeps tour I saw on DVD, filmed 30 years ago. It was all so sincere. It didn't look like he had been playing those songs for decades.

I'm pretty sure Neil Young could have kicked Elton John or Motley Crew or even Metallica's aging, safe, choreographed and over-structured asses that night.

Neil bounced and shuffled and his grey hair waved and he had a big bald spot on the back of his head. But he was wailing. And he still looked young, somehow.

V couldn't get over his sneakers.

The man sitting beside V watched with welled up eyes. He'd been a grade school classmate of Neil. And I imagined how it might feel to watch someone who I knew as a kid command such respect and awe and such a genuinely joyful reaction from such a massively wide demographic. Twelve year olds sang to 'Old Man'. Seventy year old crooned to 'The Needle and the Damage Done.'

This was a celebration of the man. This was a truly Canadian icon: a man who has always taken risks. A man with bigger balls than Kellen Winslow. A Canadian who was one of the only artists to take shots at the war in Iraq and President Bush when it was still taboo to do it. And he's Canadian. And no one got in too big a tiffy, because he did it and people knew he was right.

Anyways, I clapped so hard that my palms were swollen after. I yelled some crazy things, I'm sure. I think I realized how much his odd lyrics (at times) are so personal but universal that they are relatable to pretty much anybody and that pretty much explained the range in ages.

It was something else.

And he played for two hours.

He's 62.

And he had an aneurism just over a year ago.

He played everything. All the good ones, but they're all good ones. He played 'Powderfinger'. I almost shat during 'Cinnamon Girl' and wanted to text every girl I ever loved to go put on that song because it was so perfect at that time and made all that good stuff feel all real.

'Out on the Weekend' and 'Oh Lonesome Me' brought me back to the bottom of that roller coaster, but at the same time, he flipped the latter and made it sound new, somehow.

He played 'Unknown Legend', an ode to his once-waitress wife. She was onstage singing background and bashing a tambourine. He spelled it out to the crowd after the song was over, pointing to her: "There's the Unknown Legend." Damn, Neil. You're good.

When the show ended, there was no doubt they were coming back out after 'Rockin' in the Free World.' Everyone held hands onstage and acknowledged the crowd, which was one of the most grateful and giving I have ever been part of.

And it was then when I remember what song the dude had told me they would perform.

The final track off Sgt. Peppers.. A Day in the Life.

So out he came and then it started and I don't think anyone clued in until he sang the first verse and then the roof collapsed.

It was great. Not only did he do a fantastic job with the Lennon/McCartney track, but he stayed completely true to himself. He didn't do what so many do, and repeat the original singer's accent. He sounded SO Canadian when he sang that song. I laughed out loud.

Lennon: "Faw thousund holes in Blackbuhn, Lankasheeya"
Young: "Fohwer thousand holes in Blackbern Lank-u-sherrr"

And then when the concert ended on that note the Sgt. Pepper album does (the same one Apple jacked for when their computers start) it was just like "Yesssss!" And then he thrashed off the strings from Old Black and smashed and scratched them against the neck, getting every last ounce of energy out of that guitar.

And the crowd roared with every thrash. It felt like a celebration. Like something special had just happened.

I devoted myself to a 700-page biography -- 'Shakey' -- during my last few weeks in Calgary in '06. I think I learned as much about the man from the show as I did the book. It completely solidified his place as the greatest Canadian artist in my eyes. I couldn't believe how many of his songs have connected with me over the years.

Even the horribly corny. (See: Wonderin')

And then it was over.

I apologize about the length of this thing (Holy shneykees!). That was long. And possibly overdrawn. And probably not very interesting to non-Neil fans, but I just got carried away. And I'll most certainly feel like a knob tomorrow for swooning over the show like a schoolgirl. But alas...

Trust, it was not just I that thought it was something powerful... (again, just so it doesn't seem fanboy and biased)

The Reading Rainbow-style 'Don't take my word for it!'

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

i want to write...

... but after doing it all day, I really feel I can't even get a coherent thought together on here some nights.

This feels like one of those nights.

I want to comment on the election though. Okay, brain, 10 more minutes and then you can go pass out and dream about plane crashes.

I'd like to respond to tonight's blue-washing of Canada, but I  feel some sort of duty as a reporter to remain objective (even on a personal blog, I know) and even if I don't agree with the way the country is leaning (that's as far as I'll go on the record!).

Although I will say... It's time for proportional representation!

It's downright crummy that 18% of the country can vote NDP and they only get 37 seats, which works out to about 12.5% of the spots in Parliament. The Greens get 6.5% of the vote and receive nothing. 

The Bloc gets 10% of the vote but 50 seats, nearly 20% of those cushy Parliament positions.

And that's where the whole hope for proportional representation falls through: Quebec.

They would never go for it, because all their political clout is based on their ability to elect a strong Quebec-first party. If Canada elected its leaders based on the percentage of the popular vote their parties received, Joe Six Geese's vote in 'remote NWT community' would be worth the exact same as a citizen of Quebec. 

Again, no one in Quebec would ever go for that, and that's too bad, because this system rewards the ass clowns. And there are plenty of them to go around.

I have more faith in George Clinton's Parliament at this point.  At least there would be a lot more Green in his Parliament.
And funk.

Update: It's 11:50 p.m. and this probably won't last, but I was just taking one last look at the map of Canada and stared in astonishment that NDP candidate Linda Duncan in Edmonton-Strathcona was leading Conservative incumbent Rahim Jaffer (who's held that seat for four terms) by 450 votes with 222 of 223 polls reporting.

There's a little orange blip in the middle of blue Alberta (Alberta has a heart?). 

This is like watching a duck fly out unscathed from the Exxon Valdez disaster.

That would be a coup for the NDP, which also won a seat in Quebec for the first time outside of a by-election.

Damn, now I have to stay awake.

Shoot, did I just murder objectivity?

Oh well. 

I will say I don't have any real confidence in anybody right now, although some parties make sense to me.

I can't wait for this thing to turn, I'm going to sleep. I hope nothing changes between now and tomorrow...

Monday, October 13, 2008

different endings

I know there are people out there that aren't interested in other peoples' dreams. 

Not me. And that's why I'm sharing an interesting development in a reoccuring dream I've had for probably the past 7 or 8 years.

To start, I've always been a reluctant flyer. As a kid, I dreaded it like bathing, but after working for an airline and hopping on planes on a weekly, if not daily, basis for a year, I've gotten over much of the fear.

For quite some time, and as often as once a week for a while, I would have dreams about being involved in a plane crash. It was odd, because usually I would be tasked with flying the thing, even though I have no clue at all how airplanes even work. Still, I would get in the flight deck, knowing full well I was going to crash the thing, and go through with all the motions, and obviously I would crash the plane. Often, the plane would have some sort of deformity, like it wouldn't be completely pressurized or there would be no top half, so it would be convertible-like. Even when I didn't fly the plane, like the times I was a passenger, I would still know the whole time that it would crash. I would accept it, resigned to fate, and just go along with it for some reason. And I was always alone, or separated from the people I was with. And the plane always crashed. And I always woke up just before it went down.

This isn't me, but this picture popped up when I typed nervous flyer into Google Images. I think it's an accurate representation and probably what I look like in the dream.

Lately though, and I would say in the past six months, things done changed.

I still dream of planes with regularity, but now, when I'm on them, I'm not preoccupied with it crashing. It doesn't even cross my mind. And even though the plane still usually starts to go down -- either by losing pressurization or by blowing an engine -- I stay relatively calm and I now always seem to survive the crash. 

The last one I remember, I was over what looked like Salt Lake City, teetering in a steep turn when the right engine blew and we dipped even further. The plane hovered over the city for some time, and we somehow maneuvered toward the airstrip. 

And then, in the time it took to blink my eyes, I was laying on a grassy little patch, beside a small city intersection, and a tall cliff overlooking the ocean. I was lying in the fetal position.

I don't know what any of this means. I'm glad, I guess, that it seems to be getting better.

I also feel foolish for writing this now, as I'll be flying in a couple days. I hope I don't get that feeling.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

so, so fulfilling



6 - 0 tonight. So, so fulfilling. And a fitting tribute to Luc Bourdon.

The boys stood up for each other. They looked fast. They answered toughness questions. The only question mark for me from that game was Pyatt, but you can't complain when you demolish the Calgary Flames... Oh man, was that good.

And the Flames... proved they were overhyped. Iginla is a whiner and Phaneuf is no kind of presence defensively. I don't see why they were being treated like a contender.

It's only one game, I know. But damn, was that good.

Burrows 2 - Iginla 0

Monday, October 6, 2008

one of my favourite words

Earlier this year, I used to take great pleasure in jotting down new and ridiculous words and their definitions as I'd come across them during my days. 

Cleaning up the filth around my home, I found such a list, compiled back at the end of March. I read it only to realize the relevance today, of one of my favourite words at the time.

The word is tappen.

What is a tappen, you ask?

Tappen: an obstruction, or indigestible mass. found in the intestines of bears and other animals during hibernation. Also referred to as a "rectal plug." They make it difficult for the animal to defecate during hibernation, but are often passed with great pain in the spring time.

And why does this word take on added significance now?

Three words: The Sarah Palin

The Sarah Palin: a tappen for the new American Century

She is one indigestible mass of rhetoric.

Hopefully, she passes before spring, like sometime early next month.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

draft day

I'm a big ball of nerves today. In a few short hours, I will be deciding the fate of the next twelve months of my relationships with good friends, by choosing my fantasy hockey pool team.

Those of you who have never been involved in a hockey pool will no doubt think I'm exaggerating things. Believe me, I'm not.

If I pick a bunch of bums, I will never, ever have the last word in arguments, rassings, and things of that nature. In Canada's male-culture today, one's social stature amongst friends is determined by his hockey pool position. 

If you're dwelling in the basement of the pool, you are looked at as weak and foolish by your peers and ridiculed for your foolhardy picks.

You truly can achieve alpha dog status by dominating your friends in your league.

Currently, Kevbot holds this title. No matter what happens anywhere, he can always hold his supremacy last year (and near supremacy in the playoffs too) against us. 

To his credit, he doesn't bring it up too often, but, at the same time, whenever we're busting balls, I remember his title winning team last year, and I stop instead of pushing too far, lest he brings up last year. (Note: whenever he does, I pathetically resort back to the injury argument. I mean, there is some merit there. I used a very high pick last year on point-producing defenseman Dan Boyle. The next day, he was doing an interview in the dressing room and a hanging skate fell off a hook in his locker and sliced like three tendons in his wrist, putting him out for months. When I heard the news, I knew I was toast.)

Why so glum, Dan? Oh, right. You're the hardest luck hockey player ever. Yes, yes. I remember during the Cup Finals in Calgary, when you returned to Tampa Bay to find that your house had been burnt down. Here, let me buy you a coffee.

I have played out all excuses now. Last year, is just a bitter memory. Today, is a clean slate, a fresh canvas. I've been prepping for the past few hours. I feel ready for this. This is the most important day of the year. 

This evening will determine where I stand on the social pecking order for the next 12 months. If I completely fail tonight, I may just be the most miserable guy walking the streets of Yellowknife this winter.

Wish me luck.

Friday, October 3, 2008

Mr. T does Dilla

Uncle T wants you... to click on the link below

Mr. T is mashin!

He ain't got no time for no jibba-jabba. The godfather of bling too, I guess.

Here's a sickening beat from Waajeed I stumbled upon during meandering:

I think this needs to be cranked next time you do some night time highway driving... or time-traveling.

Thursday, October 2, 2008


Usually I try to be funny on here, but I'm not in the mood. I'm too horrified to attempt humour.

A bold statement to begin: If McCain and Palin somehow pull this thing off, I won't step foot in that country as long as they are in power. Not for a wedding. Concert. Vancouver Canucks, Stanley Cup Game 7. No chance. I'd be too petrified to be surrounded by people who believe she is capable of being a heartbeat away (NOTE: I was told 'heartbeat away' was lazy, so I'll substitute it for 'a slip getting out of the bathtub away'. Cool?) from, basically, becoming the leader of the world.

She couldn't lead my nuts.

"Garsh holy heck, shucksamagoo!"

Before ranting, I just want to say I will refer to her as 'the Sarah Palin', because tonight, she clearly was not a human.

'The Sarah Palin' is the scariest thing presently sucking air. Actually, that's wrong. I'm sure she's a nice enough lady, you know, watching hockey and such. But this position is too big for someone as unaware as she is to be elected into. The fact that she has made it this far is the scary part, I guess.

She never answered one question during the debate, although she called herself a 'straight talker' throughout. If she was uncomfortable with a question, she moved to issues she knew about, regardless of what the moderator asked. She brought her family into everything. She repeated the same stock words, over and over. She winked more than once. She shucked. She said darn more than I can recall. She said doggonit. At one point, she referenced her fucking disabled child to pander to the disabled vote. She avoided specifics like she probably avoids books. She attacked relentlessly, and then accused Biden of attacking.

It was shameful.

On the other hand, I think I'm going to go out and buy a Biden T-shirt. Dude is cool. 

Joe Biden: Old Spice guy.

I've never wanted to have a beer with a politician before that debate.

I feel so bad for him, though. By the middle of the debate, he started repeating things, almost in frustration, reacting to the completely hollow asstalk coming from Palin's mouth, getting worked up to try to explain things to someone as dunce as Palin... which actually might play against him, because people will think he was talking down to the public. I remember hearing him sigh at one time.

Biden spoke issues. Showed his vast wealth of experience.

Biden speaks about at least five specific things that happened in and around Israel during the Bush administration that destabilized the region, showcasing his historical knowledge of the country and the people and the politics over there.

'The Sarah Palin' responds, "I love Israel. I'm glad we can agree on this," and then proceeds to re-spout the same basic gibberish everyone knows about Iran and the threat they possess.

Good Christ! After the debate, pundits are saying Palin did great. 
Fuck the heck?!?!
"She hit a homerun from the heartland." - Sen. Leiberman. Really?
"She seemed to stay on topic more than Joe Biden." - Undecided voter from Idaho, speaking to CBS reporter.
Honestly? I felt like I could have beat her up there.

Biden ANNIHILATED 'the Sarah Palin' tonight. It wasn't even close. She gave a 'shout out' for Jimminy Crickets (yikes, that sounds like something 'the Sarah Palin' might say).

But, of course, the media are talking about the wrong things. Who cares that people feel she's just like you. Or that it's like watching you on stage. 

No offense, but you collect shopping carts outside Wal-Mart. You are not qualified to be vice-President.

Neither is she. She's grossly, grossly incompetent. 

I'm legitimately frightened over the future of the United States of America, in that they would even consider her as vice-president.

This is all the media's fault for lowering public expectations so far for her that the fact that she didn't blank out and puke on herself like burpie baby means people are claiming a victory.

I mean, cah mawn! She didn't answer a damn question. She was pathological. She changed the freekin' subject every single darn, rootin tootin time... Oh, no. I'm becoming Palinized.

Note: Gwen, the moderator, told Biden straight up after the debate "you did great."

He sure did. But I hope Americans realize that.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

fair and balanced - restaurant survey edition

I think I'm just going to start watching Fox News now, because there isn't anything really this funny on TV. 

Found this on

The fact that it's so audacious and stupid -- and also taking into account the reaction of the people in the restaurant afterwards --makes me think this can't be staged. It isn't a funny enough premise if it is staged.

Yep. Fair and balanced, indeed. Just like a symmetrical poop at a carnival. 

Nope? Oh, well. I tried.

Monday, September 29, 2008

i don't really like you anymore, facebook

No, this has nothing to do with the goofy new format (which I still can't quite figure out), but with those damn relationship statuses.

It used to kind of make me laugh, you know, watching people go from "single" to "it's complicated" to "in a relationship with..." back to "single" again, all in one week. I would try to imagine what this person's life looked like, or how happy or maybe confused they were with the relationship, and chuckle in incomprehension trying to understand why they would tell the whole world about it, even as it changes forms so drastically in days. Do they even talk to the other person?

We all know a facebook Sara. But does she exist in real life? Or is it all an attention ploy? From the looks of it, she's been dumped more than a recyclable colon camera.

In the past, I've taken the plunge and erased the "single" thing from my profile, but it always came after great consideration and with great care. You have to be ready for the inevitable "who's the lucky girl" or "yeah yeah" or "taking the facebook plunge, eh?" I've bugged friends about it in the past, claiming now things were serious and official.

One friend fell asleep with her profile open and a roommate changed her status from "single" to "engaged." The next day she received calls from people she hadn't heard from in years -- family members even -- congratulating her on the news and asking her all about who the guy was. She had no idea what they were talking about, until they brought up the facebook status change.

Another friend was involved in a break-up, and he said changing the status was the definitive moment commemorating the end.

It's powerful stuff.

Anyways, two great friends (who I will keep anonymous for some reason) recently edited their profiles and 'facebook broke-up', even though they were together and in great shape. 

I called them late the night I saw the news, having returned from a night out, and was shocked, choked, hoping everyone was okay. The young man answered the phone. The two of them (who live in separate cities) were together, painting. They were fine. 

I felt like a douche and asked: "Fuck the heck?" 

They gave me some weird, convoluted logic about not needing facebook to say they were a couple or something (I think?). I said, just wait for the backlash.

I went to sleep feeling better that they were still together, but I felt played and facebook played a part.

Now, whenever I see that damn status thing change, I'll never one-hundred percent believe. (And can we put a ban on people being "married" to their friends? That can't be funny anymore, can it?)

I really don't like you, facebook, for fucking with me. I don't think I'll ever trust you again, facebook, and when the trust is gone, it's only a matter of time before we part ways.

Note: The next day, the still-healthy-couple's statuses had comments from people sympathetic and worried.

I wrote on one of them: "good, you can do a lot better."

A day later, the girl told me she had received a bunch of emails from her friends calling me an asshole for being insensitive. She had to explain everything. 

But that's what happens when you mess with the almighty facebook status. 

Beware of the power.