music tuesday

Been a little lax with the blogging of late. Busy with work and trying not to say something offensive that will get me fired at my new job with a human resources company. I find the best policy is not saying much.

I'm a little sad to be abandoning my comfortable little existential cocoon and venturing out into the rat race again and maybe that's why I've been leaving the apartment each morning this week to take the train with a lot of melancholy music bouncing around my brain.

They say melancholy loves company. So here you go.

feminist case study

Went out tonight to Esco Bar (Pablo?) and saw Al's band, Light Bulb Alley, rock the shit. Stuck around and discovered my new favourite group in Montreal, the Motherfuckers, who play a surf-rock, vocal-less brand of music that brought to mind the best of mid-1990s Huevos Rancheros.

There were enough quirky characters and pretty girls at the gig to fill a visitor's log book tonight. I swear, if I keep updating this blog after nights like tonight, slinginlingo.com is going to start looking like a Tourism Montreal website.

Anyways, after taking my second or third piss in the makeshift (makeshit?) unisex washroom and walking past the makeshift line, I was struck with a little existential and potentially chivalry-killing conundrum for all the feminists out there.

The past couple weekends at Igloofest, where people use porto-johns outside, I've always been the courteous and chivalrous man and put the toilet seat down upon exiting, even if I used the little piss bucket on the side of the john. In a few instances when I put down the seat on the toilet I never used, I noticed the seat was drenched in piss splatter and being the chivalrous man that I've been conditioned to be, I made it my duty to wipe up the mad sprinkle with toilet paper, in case the next user was a nice, young lady and she had to use the seat.

And tonight, as always, I made sure I put the seat down when I was done using our porcelain friend.

But it got me thinking: feminists want an egalitarian society, where there is no difference between man or woman, right? So why do I feel like I'm doing a disservice if I leave the toilet seat up, but whenever a woman leaves the toilet, she feels no guilt about leaving the seat down.

I'm a dude. I have to piss. I want that shit up when I'm unbuckling trow.

Shouldn't a woman, in an egalitarian society, leave that shit up out of courtesy? Why is there a double-standard?

Like I said, I'm in a hurry. I want that shit up.

Ladies, I want you to marinate on that a little bit.

I'm just saying.

Note: In honour of the Motherfuckers amazing set tonight -- which included covers of the old Batman theme, followed by the Spiderman song -- I will leave you with some vintage Huevos Rancheros. They were a surf band based out of Calgary in the 1990s. I remember feeling so isolated and cut-off, listening to them in Yellowknife as a newly-pubescent and thinking, man, I wish I was part of that scene.

I'm so glad to be in Montreal right now.

Making the world a better place: An End to Herbism

This is a note to all the Herbists out there: I will no longer tolerate any of the many forms of Herbism.

This is not a manifesto, because I have not yet figured out how to combat the vast amounts of Herbism that has been conditioned into us through the mass media. Instead, I will make the case that our society is indeed Herbist and that Herbism needs to end.

I've had enough, folks. I've been biting my tongue for too long.

Since moving to Montreal, I've met scores of people and consistently dreaded the most mundane ritual when it comes to introducing yourself: the actual sharing of your name. There is no problem with this when your name is Dave or Chris or George. But if you have a name like Herb, it can get a little tedious, especially with some French speakers who have difficulty with their 'H's. Erb? Kirb? Nope. It's Herb. To explain myself, I usually have to resort to naming off a famous Herb, but unfortunately, North American culture has not been very friendly to my namesake and the spin-off conversation usually devolves into something borderline humiliating.

Now if you weren't born a Herb, you will likely not understand what I mean here. But for all you Herbs out there, painfully, this is an undeniable part of your life.

Not only is the history of Herb dotted with questionable (and nerdy) characters and devoid of inspirational ones, but the name has also come to mean a lame, imitating dweebus within hip-hop circles. That hurts. Hell, even Trekkies use the term Herbert in an uncomplimentary way to describe people who are uptight, rigid and capable of only a limited thought process.

If you didn't know me and you only saw my name on a piece of paper, you'd think my two best pals were Garth Algar's dad Beev

and Blackwolf the Dragonmaster, ferchrissake!

This societal slandering of Herbs has gotten way out of hand. Truly.

You think I'm joking, don't you. You think this is another one of Herbiberous' old, humourous rants. You think I'm blowing this out of proportion. You think I have a chip on my shoulder and I'm overly sensitive. Well, I think not.

If there are Anti-Italian and Anti-Jewish defamation leagues, and groups that watch out for the interests of gays and lesbians, and associations which slam organizations for using derogatory terms that have negative racial or sexist connotations, then I believe I am within my rights to demand that the name Herb (and its subsidiaries Herbie and Herbert) no longer be dragged through the mud.

It is with this in mind, that I shall formally announce the formation of the International Reclamation Association for the Namesakes Herb, Herbert and Herbie (IRANHHH).

This has gone on too long. This aggression will not stand, man.

Before I perform any of my rehabilitative work, I feel the need to prove my point to all the skeptics out there. With this in mind, I give you my ten most egregious and downright disgusting examples of Herbism. (And I'll do it everyone's favourite way: a Top Ten List.)

See if you can recognize a couple of the distinguishing features of what historically constitutes a 'Herb.'

10. Herb Melnick

I would describe Melnick here as a quasi-Herb, where some subtle and subliminal -- yet powerful -- Herbism is at work. I won't claim to be a gigantic Two and a Half Men fan, but in conducting my research, I stumbled across this gem. On the surface, he appears to be a normal guy. He's even a doctor and I think he is dating an attractive woman in the show. But then the main characters turn against him and get him drunk. And in stereotypical 'Herb' fashion, he gets really drunk, really easy. Of course he does: he's a Herb.

Also, bonus points are awarded because he is obsessed with toy train sets.

By the way, I'm so disappointed in you Ryan Stiles. You were so lovable and harmless on the Drew Carey Show and Whose Line is it Anyways? Who knew you were a card-carrying Herbist.

For shame.

9. Herb Powell

I feel kind of let down by the Simpsons. Again, while Herb Powell was not your stereotypical Herb (he was a successful, self-made man), he was a loner who was jealous of half-brother Homer's family. He also, for some unfathomable reason, put his fortunes in the Home-boy's hands. I mean, that's not a particularly smart thing to do. That's not something a Steve or Dave or even a fucking Ronald would do. But a Herb does it. And then he goes broke, his life falls apart, he stops shaving and taking care in his general appearance. He even goes as far as trying to invent a baby translator, for frigsakes.

And again, Danny DeVito, what are you doing perpetuating Herbism? If anything, I figured a midget should understand the plight of the marginalized.

8. Herbie Popnecker

This is another Herb I discovered in my research.

Pretty incredible, right? Herbie Popnecker. I don't know where to start with him. It seems Herbs had a hard time in the 1950s, and as you'll learn later, they've made little progress since.

In his normal life, he's a typical Herb. Large glasses, bowl haircut, impeccably uptight dresser: all Herb staples. However, when he's a superhero, donning his 'Fat Fury' costume, he becomes a sort of Anti-Herbie. He becomes irresistible to women and famous throughout history and he understands the world and how it works.

While some may interpret this as a positive example of a Herb in the media, I am not so idealistic. I see this as some not-so-clever reverse-Herbism that, in fact, pokes fun and ridicules Herbs. Herbie's appearance doesn't exactly radiate cool (it probably perspires, if anything) and apparently he was also able to speak with animals, while he remained very terse with humans. Sound like a loner to you?

Extra bonus points: according to wikipedia, sometimes the women that swooned over Herbie would leave him for animals. Yep.

That just happened.

7. Herbie the Elf

Now I know some of you are going to yell and scream at me that this soft-spoken elf's name is in fact Hermie, after you go and consult google or something. But the internet didn't exist when I was growing up, and with Rudolf's speech-impediment from that damn rubber thing he wore over his nose, it sounded an awful lot like Herbie.

Herbie wasn't the worst guy (or wooden stop-motion animation character) in the world, but again, he falls into the loner category. No one understood him and his desire to cure inanimate toys of their dental afflictions. Something can be said of his rebellion, and how he leaves Santa's shop because he doesn't agree with their work environment. However, his best friend is a confused, adolescent reindeer and he looks like he spends a little too much time doing his hair. He may also use feminine products on his face.

6. Herbert Midgley

Nothing worse than a self-hating Herb. This is a real dude and I suppose we could call this guy an Uncle Herb. He describes himself as a nerd and he obsesses over his youtube popularity. He even bills himself as Nerd Herb.

He may just have to be my first reclamation project.

If I could speak to him directly (perhaps in Princess Leia disguise to appear more convincing), I would probably say something like this: "Come on, man. Have some respect. You don't have to be what the world tells you to be. Rise up! Put down your lightsaber, get yourself a haircut and maybe, just maybe, get laid."

Alright, this dude getting laid might be a little ambitious at first. How about a haircut and applying for a credit card so he can hit up a paysite?

5. Herbie the Lovebug

While it has helped repair the Herbish image somewhat that a healthy, pre-breakdown (and I reiterate... ahem... HEALTHY) Lindsay Lohan pressed herself all over Herbie's interior, I still feel some sting when I hear the words 'Herbie the Lovebug' because I was called that mercilessly when I was a kid. Yes, past trauma makes its way into slinginlingo. I'm sorry. Self-pity won't do anything for the cause, but I'm sure you now realize that, as a man named Herb, I'm conditioned to belittle myself.

Yeah, anyways, a car appears at number five. Might seem weak on this list, but they did pick the least ballsiest car to name Herbie. You won't be seeing any Ferrari Testerossas (named after testosterone?) or Night Riders named Herbie.

Beleed dat.

4. Herb Tarlek

We now enter the historically Herbist zone.

Herb Tarlek from WKRP in Cincinnati epitomizes the Herbist sentiment. You all watched this show after school on CBC, don't lie. You know what this Herb is all about.

The guy can't dress. He's annoying. He fawns over every decent looking woman in the office, but they don't give him the time of day unless they are playing him for something. He sucks at his job and can't reel in big clients.

Occasionally, the audience is made to feel sorry for Herb.

Herb Tarlek is insecure but doesn't have a clue.

His antics put Herbs back at least thirty years.

Extra bonus points: the guy they got to play Herb Tarlek was named Frank Bonner.

Next.

3. Herb (from the Where's Herb Burger King ad campaign of the 1980s.)

This one caught me off guard a little bit. In conducting research for this post, I fell upon a very popular ad campaign by Burger King in the 1980s called "Where's Herb?"

Basically, the commercials centre upon the fact that Burger Kings Whoppers are so delicious and popular that the only guy in the USA that hasn't tried a Burger King burger is some out-of-touch loser named Herb.

See for yourself.

"Herb was unusual. Herb was different. Herb was never what you'd call normal."

Herb's father: "Herb, you're an nincompoop."

Of course, Herb looks like a total dweeb.

And here you go, for proof of Burger King's wish to dismiss and ostracize Herbs from the general population.

How much more Herbist does it get? You actually get a free hamburger if you aren't named Herb. We are told to be ashamed. To hide our Herbal Essence.

From now on, IRANHHH and its supporters are boycotting Burger King until we get an apology.

Extra Bonus Points: Look who it is, Uncle Herb Midgley playing up Herbist stereotypes. It's just sad.

2. Herbert Garrison

The final two on the list are pretty self-evident.

Herbert Garrison, the confused, reluctantly-gay-come-unapologetic-transsexual teacher.

I mean, I could go on. But really, if you're reading this blog, you've seen South Park and you know all about Mr. Garrison.

Next.

1. Herbert the Pervert

And then there is this guy. Just mean-spirited stuff from the Family Guy people, man.

A lonely old man who entices young men and children to compromise themselves around him.

Honestly, I'm really let down by South Park, but I'd expect this kind of shamelessness from Family Guy.

I'm pretty sore right now.

So do you still think I'm just a neurotic, bitter dude? Well if I am, there might be some conditioning at play.

Do you notice how nearly all these Herbs are portrayed as pathetic, lonely, personality-less people? There are no bold, heroic sports stars named Herb. There are no heartthrob Hollywood actors named Herbie. There are no iconic, world-bettering figures named Herbert.

While I'll grant there are a handful of historically respectable Herbs out there like Herbert Hoover, Herbie Hancock, Herb Brooks, Herb Caen and Herb Chambers (who I saw all over TV commercials and the Boston-area when I visited in September) the list is pretty barer than Herbert the Pervert wants a young boy to be.

We need some Herb heroes. We need some inspirational Herbies. We need a Herbert to look up to when all these images broadcast in our culture tells us Herbs should wear plaid suits and horned-rimmed glasses and should have a sex change or can never have sex.

Man, it's starting to get to me. I'm slowly turning into the stereotype. I have a blog for fuck sakes. What's next?

From on out, I will make it my mission to change the perception of Herbs for future Herbs. Who knows, maybe the day will come when a Herb is born and he can dream of becoming Prime Minister in a world where the deck is stacked against him.

Today, I make a vow that I will not sit quietly and allow the name Herb to be demeaned and ridiculed any longer. Whenever a Herb is given a swirly in a elementary school bathroom or shoved inside a high school locker, I'll be there to dry his hair or pick the lock. Whenever a Herbie appears as a hapless, hopeless loser in a sitcom, I'll be there to change the channel. Whenever a Herbert has his underwear pulled over his head, I'll be there to buy him a new pair.

We cannot stand by and let our fellow human Herbs be trudged upon in this way. A society is judged by the way it treats its loneliest, its weakest, its nerdiest and therefore, its Herbiest.

I call on all Herbs to put their mouses down, rise up, and oppose the constant messaging in our culture, telling us we must be Star Wars fans and perverts and loners.

Herb up!

chinese cornrows?

Went downtown today to purchase some respectable pants and a belt to wear to my new job tomorrow and ran into an interesting couple, leaning coolly against the walls of the Metro stop.

Now I've seen Asian dudes with small afros and dreadlocks before, in my past life as a Japanese tour guide. And it didn't strike me as odd one bit. But today, while his girlfriend defiantly -- and again, coolly -- smoked a cigarette in the subterranean building, I was graced with the presence of a Chinese guy wearing a poorly-fitting New Era cap over some impeccably braided cornrows.

Yes, cornrows. I couldn't stop staring.

I felt it was very... er... post-modern.

This city never ceases to amaze me.

dion phaneuf is a maple leaf

BWAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!

I wrote about the rough times Dion Phaneuf has been going through earlier this month. I guess getting traded to the Leafs gets added to list that. Ouch.

This trade is a little bittersweet though, as now I won't get to watch the Sedins and Co. light this emotionally crippled mini-Hulk up like a Christmas tree six times a year. And I'm a little concerned I won't hate him as much now, since he's so far away from my Canucks.

Oh well, I'm sure there will be lots to jeer about. Or maybe not. With the added pressures of the Toronto market, the relentless scrutiny and fickleness of the media there, I'm sure Dion will do just fine.

Heh heh heh. Yeah right.

there's no such thing as luck, chuck

Do you believe in lucky days? Or lucky months?

I'm not completely sure how I feel about luck right now. But the grayer (read: balder) I get, the more I feel that we have more to play in our destiny than chance ever does.

Now, I can tell you that friends of mine certainly don't feel this way. DA, for one, used to swear that a certain day of the year was cursed. I wish I could remember it off the top of my head, but I can't right now. Anyways, on this day, bad things happened to him: he'd get speeding tickets, or get into car crashes. Things like that. It got to the point where he wouldn't plan anything important on that day and he'd try not to leave his house and, if he did, he'd try to do as little as possible. If a test was scheduled or a job interview or something on that day, he'd freak out. And you know, his record that particular day really was convincing, but I'm somewhat sure his apprehension and almost invitation of negative energy would ensure that bad things would continue to happen for him. And to tell you the truth, they still do. Nothing but bad happens to DA on that day.

To tie this back into where I was starting off, I always kind of felt that way about January. Month number one of the year has always been the loneliest month for me. I think I've always been single and usually hurting about a girl in January, my dad had his accident in January and really, the coldest and darkest (remember, we have no Christmas lights anymore) month of the year has always seemed particularly cruel to me. Under DA's influence, I began to think something sinister was at work and that, perhaps, my Januarys (or is it Januaries?) were cursed.

When I got back to Montreal this year after Christmas, I kind of felt like January was going to once again kick my ass. I had no job. I had (have) large scale debt, which tends to happen when you go traveling for more than a month on basically a credit card. I was short on options and even shorter on self-confidence.

That first week I was low, mon. I sort of wallowed in self-pity. I thought about all the money I could be making in Yellowknife, and all the friends I had there and how fun the trip home had been. I thought about the skinny prospects of all the $9 per hour dishwashing jobs that I could fetch, because my French wasn't up to snuff and how many hours I'd have to work to pay off my credit card, let alone rent, the student loan, bills, cell phone payments and creditors coming out of the blue for unpaid indiscretions I'd made in my past. Like why were they all biting me in the ass right now?

I dwelt upon it. Money -- or lack of it -- obsessed me. And I felt powerless to do anything about it at the same time, as I applied for job after job and received nary a reply.

Pathetically, I was letting January get the best of me.

And then things changed. Kate showed up, out of the blue, in Montreal and we had a beer and a hooka and a lot of laughs. And then Sacha called me and we met up with Kate and went out to Igloofest and we met a bunch of sweet folks there. And we had a couple dinners at my place and my new roommate turned out to be a rabid NHL10 player and in a similar predicament to my own on the job front and we had some late nights battling on the XBox. Alex and I went skating and talked about how beautiful Parc la Fontaine was and I went and played hockey with the roommates and the neighbours. And I was contacted by News/North and they wondered if I could help them at a trade show for a couple days in Montreal. The boys decided to have Mindy's stag in Montreal and I started to get excited about seeing everybody in March. Then me and Sacha threw a party at my apartment and I was blown away by all the people that showed up and it was a sort of 'this is your life' moment, seeing all the people I'd met over the past 4 months. And while I was still stressed about work, I started to realize that, while work and money is important, having fun and being happy and staying positive is more vital. And I was picked right up. And Misanthrope gave me a pendant and kissed it and said I'd have a job in 7 days.

And then I went to Igloofest again that Saturday and it was a blast and after going skating again Sunday after a day napping on the couch, and a Twin Peaks session, I felt rejuvenated for the job hunt. And all the hopelessness I felt was gone, because really life, other than the financial situation, was sweeter than a sugar cookie.

I found a job on craigslist.com I'd twice applied on, and because my skill set seemed perfect for it, I applied once again and within 2 hours, I'd gotten a call back and had an interview set up for the next day.

Soumi took me downtown to get a pair of shoes for the interview, 20 minutes before I was supposed to be there. I bought the Pumas on my credit card, feeling guilty about running up another charge on the bloated VISA. I went to the 3-hour interview and was drained by the end, and then met Alex for a coffee and I sat uncomfortably in a pair of tight black dress pants I borrowed from my roommate, which I was itching to tear off like a kid does his church clothes.

But larger forces were at work now and things had turned around. You know how when you feel shitty and then you smile, even if it's forced, and you start to feel better? I think that happened in a bigger way.

I went back to the Puma store to return the shoes I bought because, in the rush, I had neglected to realize they were too small and after the long interview, my feet had become raw. After talking to the manager for a bit, he ended up telling me the store was hiring and he said I should hand in my CV. It was too much. And in the past two or three days, I've received a couple other enticing offers, some of which may come to fruition, I believe. I went down for another killer Igloofest session last night and smoked a shisha into the wee hours and talked about Quebec and the country with my people and some new friends.

Anyway, tonight I got a call from the company I interviewed with and they told me I got the job. I start on Monday. It's permanent. It's full-time. It's decent pay. I'm happy. Like Misanthrope had promised, I had a job 7 days after she kissed the pendant I'm wearing right now.

So I suppose I've learned that everything in life is about attitude.

And now, I guess, I just have to learn one more thing: how to wake up before noon again.

If I can master that, then I'll be gold.

The Verve - Lucky Man
envoyé par Mysterious_man. - Regardez plus de clips, en HD !

cafe characters

In the last month or so, as I spend the majority of each waking day searching online job databases and emailing and re-emailing CVs, resumes (what's the difference between a CV and a resume, really? I think people just want to sound smarter when they ask for a CV) and cover letters to anonymous companies with hidden email addresses and waiting pathetically for the non-reply, I've met some interesting characters at a few of the area cafes I've been frequenting.

Now I use the term 'meet' loosely. I haven't shaken anyone's hand or spoken to one of these people about politics or religion or any of those taboo subjects or anything like that. But I've seen these characters so often that I've started to understand them a bit, or at least I've become accustomed to their habits.

Here are some of my favourites:

Cafe Vienna, on St. Catherine's and St. Hubert, which is pretty much right in the heart of Montreal's 'Red Light District' -- and a scant two blocks from where I set my dome piece into my pillow each night -- has possibly the two most unique characters I've seen thus far in the city.

Me and my homeboy Pabs, during bouts of laziness, used to head down to the cafe for a drink, sandwich and salad every so often, and nearly every time, we could count on seeing the sweaty man on a laptop. Now, I'm sure you're probably saying, there are plenty of sweaty people on laptops. I mean, it can get hot and people perspire. It happens. Well, I agree to a degree, except I believe what makes the man hot and bothered has nothing to do with the level of the thermostat, but instead with the content of what he views on his screen.

Each and every time he's there, he is youtubing male bodybuilding competitions. He sort of looks away from his screen nervously every once in a while and even gave Pabs an uncomfortable look one time, when we walked past.

The really interesting thing about this guy though is not only does he spend hours on end watching these competitions, but every few minutes, he pulls out his... camera (you thought I was going to say something else, didn't you?) and takes pictures of the dudes on the screen. He then puts the camera away again. What's going on there? It doesn't even make sense.

Come on, that's a little kooky.

Then, usually seated two tables away from him, right beside the counter, is this beat-down looking guy with Anderson Varejao hair and tinted glasses, with a baby blue briefcase full of knick-knacks, which stays open all day, while he stares off into space cooly, in his long overcoat. The briefcase is full of all sorts of little every day things like lighters and sunglasses.

I've spent hours at a time writing up cover letters and such in that cafe and I honestly can say I've never once seen anyone approach him to buy something. The lady who runs the cafe, by the way, doesn't kick him out for some reason -- like she does everyone else -- and she instead holes herself at the back of the establishment in front of a computer, sometimes oblivious for five minutes as a customer waits confused at the counter for her help.

On that tangent: I am convinced that lady will either kill someone or be killed herself this year. I made that my bold prediction for 2010. Each hour I'm there, she throws out a drunk or an addict or some raving lunatic for loitering or swearing loudly or for passing out in a booth, and she's gotten very good at it. Sometimes these people return and then get kicked out again and then return and the confrontations escalate. I once bought this morphine addict a coffee back in October, and she told me she once threw a bunch of papers and a cup at the lady. When I bought her the coffee, the Mighty Morphine Addict Stranger tried to apologize to the counter lady.

L'Escalier had a few beauties today, too.

One guy, as Soumi pointed out, sat at a table in front of a briefcase of sunglasses and tried each pair on, one-by-one, holding a mirror up to view how they looked and then made flustered faces after each pair. There were only about six pairs in the case, but he must have tried on 30 sets, unable to make up his mind.

As this was happening, a bald guy periodically walked from his seat in the corner of the apartment-style cafe to the counter. He had a straw stuffed into his nose. When I got up to get a coffee, I watched him pick up the sugar shaker and dump a little lump of it into his palm. He then took his straw and walked to the corner seat. I returned to my seat and watched him snort the sugar up his nose, through the straw.

I wonder if he's trying to stop doing drugs and this act was like the smoker who needs something in their mouth at all times because they miss that part of their habit as well.

Anyways, this Montreal is not short on characters and it's no surprise that I'm really starting to fall for this city. Things have also started to pick up for me a bit and I guess you can attribute the decreased bloginess to the increased business.

Plus, I'm mourning the death of the Jersey Shore and simultaneously celebrating the magic of the Sedin brothers. I'll try to write a post about the Twins later this week.

Later gators and cross your fingers for old Biberous, who had a job interview today, and his sister, who left the continent tonight to go live Down Under for a while.

Love ya, Haze. Soak it up.