I Am A Crack Journalist

So why the long delay in posts this time? Have I grown tired of wallowing in my own crapulence? No, I've just been busy with school.

Yeah, school! I made the decision before the summer that my life needed a new direction, because frankly, I didn't like the direction I was going in at the time. I was hurtling towards mediocrity, and that didn't really sit well. I needed a new challenge, something different, something with an interesting future. So I applied for the Radio & Television program at NAIT, and was very lucky to have been accepted for the radio side of it. So far, radio has been everything I hoped it would be, namely, a chance for me to talk. And talk without ever having to hear, "you don't ever shut up, do you?".

Not only does the program come with the benefits of a hands-on education, but opportunities for really fun side projects, as well. I've started writing periodically for the Nugget, NAIT's student newspaper. Because of this, I've done a couple interviews so far, my first of which almost led me to have fanboy aneurysms. I was very fortunate to be able to interview Alex Rosamilia of The Gaslight Anthem, one of my newest favourite bands, before their show at the Edmonton Event Centre on September 26. Here is that interview that was published in the Nugget on October 1.

GASLIGHT, GAS BRIGHT

The Gaslight Anthem got to the half-way point of their set at the Edmonton Event Centre, when frontman Brian Fallon has to ask a few questions of the writhing, sweat-soaked and madly enthusiastic crowd in front of him:

“Where did you all come from? How do you know us? Is it the internet?”

Their ever-rising popularity continues to baffle members of The Gaslight Anthem, even though their ascension up the ranks of rock’s pantheon is no fluke. This New Brunswick, New Jersey foursome has worked hard for their dues, and that work is finally paying off, garnering the passionate attention of the masses and almost universal critical praise. Not to mention some rock royalty attention and appreciation, as well. Fellow New Jersey native Bruce Springsteen is always mentioned when discussing the band’s sound, and fortunately for them, the Boss really likes their stuff. So much so, that he’s asked to play live with them on occasion, like at this summer’s Hard Rock Calling in London. Since the release of their debut album, Sink or Swim, in 2007, TGA have followed with the EP, Señor and the Queen, and the full-length The '59 Sound, and created a sound that ranges from raucous punk to emotional retro-rock.

Lead singer/guitarist Fallon, drummer Benny Horowitz, bassist Alex Levine and lead guitarist Alex Rosamilia are currently on the last leg of a seemingly endless tour lasts lasted a year and a half. I was able to catch up with Rosamilia in Edmonton about how they spent their summer, Kelly Clarkson covers and Japanimation.

It’s been only five months since you’ve been in Edmonton for a gig at the Starlite Room. How is it playing in a mall?

You know, it’s funny, because when I found out, I had went to the mall that was near the Starlite the last time we were here, and I heard we were playing the mall in Edmonton, but I was at that mall! Where the hell are we gonna play? I didn’t realize it was this place. This isn’t a mall, it’s a village. It’s huge!

You’ve been on tour for a pretty long time in support of The ’59 Sound. About a billion years maybe?

When was it out? ‘Cause it’s been since then, until now.

And you’ve been around the world, and you’ve played a lot of festivals this summer, like Lollapalooza, Glastonbury, Hard Rock Calling. And I was very lucky to see you at Sasquatch. How is the festival experience for you?

We played all of them, I think. Sasquatch was fun. That venue was gorgeous, unreal. The festival is different than this, doing club shows and touring professionally. It’s two totally different animals. The festival is so regimented and everything’s in 15-minute increments. You have to show up between this time and this time, and load up from this time to this time, with like, four hours in between. There’s more time with club shows. Instead of ten minutes to line check, there’s an hour and a half. So you get to work on things. We learned trusty chords today.

You played early on the first day at Sasquatch. Do you get to stick around, or do you have to zip off to another show?

Well, sometimes we’d have to leave because the drive was so long. But when we stay, I like to venture out. I got to see Radiohead in Redding which was pretty cool, and the Flaming Lips. I go out in the crowd, because I like going to shows just as anybody else.

I’ll have to admit that I lost it a little when you played Pearl Jam's “State Of Love And Trust” at Sasquatch. How do you choose covers to play?

It’s funny, because it just kind of happens. One day, Brian (lead singer Fallon) played the progression and said, “Oh, that’s that song!” And then Ben (drummer Horowitz) started playing it on the drums, and we thought that was a good song so we should learn it. We like mixing it up. We like playing covers. Covers are fun.

There’s one cover in particular, which at first I thought was weird, but then thought it was kind of interesting because of the delivery. Brian’s version of Kelly Clarkson’s “I Do Not Hook Up” for BBC Radio One.

I was there for that! That was interesting. Brian was given a list of songs, so he picked the one that was most out of left field. It was the wackiest by far.

Going back to 2007’s Sink Or Swim, on “We’re Getting A Divorce, You Keep The Diner”, the opening lines are from Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust (“Ready or not, here they come... it’s zombie time!”)

I think you’re the only second person that’s ever gotten that!

Are you the anime fan in the band?

Yeah, that’s me. When we wrote the song, it wasn’t there. I used to have a loop pedal, and that was one of three staples. One was for use for a side project, one was a line from Braveheart, and one was that line. At shows, I used to throw it in there before anybody could think about it. Then I was doing it at practice, and when we went to record it, I just hit the button. Force of habit, I guess.

So this is the last tour before the new album, and someone in the band mentioned that it might be a Social Distortion/Elvis Costello-type rocker.

Definitely a departure from The ’59 Sound. It could, it might not be, I don’t know. We haven’t done anything yet. Well, we’ve been working on stuff, but there’s no keystone yet. We’re fiddling with that stuff, and there’s some Fleetwood Mac in there. I’m about ready to write some new stuff. I’ve got the itch.

Black Dynamite!

If you've been following this blog for a long time, then you must be my mom (hi mom!). If you're not, you may not have read a post I did a while back in September of 2006 regarding a "movie of the day". It was a blaxploitation gem called Black Belt Jones, a movie that will stand proud in the grand pantheon of historic African-American film, because of it's portrayal of strong black characters, the urban scene and the socio-economic conflicts that existed in the 1970s. Also, "mothafucka" gets said a lot, and that's awesome.

I've always had a huge interest in blaxploitation, because it was a genre that pulled no punches. Sure, the genre didn't produce the greatest works of celluloid, and most of the films are laughable today, but that doesn't mean that the filmmakers don't deserve our respect. They made the films they wanted to, regardless of what The Man thought. Right on, brothers. Right on. Blaxploitation hasn't really had any sort of resurgence, and outside of Undercover Brother, and the Grindhouse double-feature (which only had winks to the style), there hasn't been any film that's tried to re-capture the look, sound and genuine ferocity of the films of the 70's. Until now.

Black Dynamite is about to explode into theatres (hopefully, this October). And for all you suckas who don't know, Black Dynamite's a mean cat who's gonna make trouble for bad muthas. According to IMDB, Black Dynamite "is the story of 1970s African-American action legend Black Dynamite. The Man killed his brother, pumped heroin into local orphanages, and flooded the ghetto with adulterated malt liquor. Black Dynamite was the one hero willing to fight The Man all the way from the blood-soaked city streets to the hallowed halls of the Honky House."

Matter of fact, this could be the greatest film of the year. Of course, I say that about every film that I come across and get man-excited for, but I'm serious this time! Even though the film is a spoof/homage, it doesn't mean that it won't be great times infinity. This isn't another "_____ Movie" movie, and I ain't talking no jive! Just check out the trailer, and you'll know what I mean. Get your $100 suits on and let's get it goin'!

There Will Be Another Firefight!

"And shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be."

If you're like me, then you've got October 30th circled on your calendars (if you are like me, then maybe you shouldn't get so damn excited about films. Seriously). It's not because that day is Devil's Night, but because a long-awaited sequel will explode into theatres. That film is The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day, and for that, you can get excited no matter how much of me you're like. This is a film that's been on the waiting list for ten long fucking years, and it's almost finally here. Just barely two months from now. Thankfully, while we wait, we can enjoy a most excellent trailer that gives us exactly what the first film offered: guns, violence, militant Irish-Catholicism and some good old Irish punk rock. What it also offers, that the first film didn't, is a woman. Thank God. The first film, although immensely awesome in its own right, was a sausage fest.

Now, some may argue that Troy Duffy's original film was a cheap rip-off of any film by Tarantino or Scorsese, and that it's a film that lacks any character development or creation of dialogue regarding its subject matter (vigilante justice), but who the fuck cares? Not all films have to be dissected and discussed as if somehow they'll prove a window to the recesses of our souls or provide a societal understanding. Screw that. The Boondock Saints was entertaining, well-shot and had a great score. Also, it made me even more uncomfortable with Willem Dafoe. Which I didn't think was possible. After watching the first film again, how does anyone truly believe he could pull off a convincing woman? He's fucking scary looking! However, at least Willem had some of the best dialogue in the film. Who can argue the sheer voracity in which he attacks this scene? It still gives me chills.

Check out the TBDSII trailer here:

True Patriot Love - Part Two

Yes, it's been a while. I took almost a month off from blogging. I had to. From the end of May until August 5, I was working full-time, seven days a week at two jobs. When I came home, the last thing I wanted to do was sit in front of the computer and rant about rampant idiocy or reminisce about cheap toys. I really just wanted to sleep. Plus, it's been pretty hot, what with it being summer and all (too hot for me, anyways. I radiate enough heat by myself, I don't need Earth's help). Since my computer is in an upstairs room, it gets too uncomfortable to type most days. I really didn't want to post while sitting in a self-made pool of ball and ass sweat. Awesome picture I just painted for you, isn't it?

All gross images aside, I've had some time to myself, some wonderful times with friends, some great trips and great adventures, but now it's back to business. Maybe not everyday business, but at the very least, I can assure you that I won't take a month off again. Unless I get a girlfriend. Then I'll be taking care of a different kind of business. Ah, who am I kidding? I'm a living joke.

I introduced this new series of posts back in May when I featured Canada's most prolific album-spewing DJ, Chris Sheppard. Now I've come across another one of Canada's best: KIDSTREET!


(promo video here for Facebook users)

Kidstreet was a game show I watched without fail as a kid, mostly because it had the best prizes, and it was a show where I could feel happy that I was smarter than the dumb kids from out east or Calgary (especially Calgary). It was hosted by Kevin Frank, who always told some stupid kids joke at the beginning and sometimes assaulted contestants with toys or cue cards. It was a show that when watching, my sister and I could bond, as opposed to our vicious fighting the other 23.5 hours of the day (yeah, we probably fought while we slept). The point of the show was for pairs of kids, usually siblings, to try and guess what their counterpart would answer to various questions. Kind of a Newlywed Game for kids. My sister and I would always brag that we would always be able to guess what each other would say, even though as kids, we hated each other, and if prizes weren't on the line, we'd probably both throw the game just to make the other lose as well.

After rounds of questions to each partner separately, the winning team would get a chance to solve the "rebus", which was a bastardization of Classic Concentration. If they did solve it, the team would get a king's ransom in toys and prizes. And that was the draw of the show. The amount of toys and prizes were off the charts. I'd tune in every time to see what was being given away, and what I'd be putting on my Christmas list. Also, most of the kids playing were semi-retarded, so it was great fun to mock them. Take a look at the first part of this video and listen to the second contestant talk.


(Facebook click here)

Oh Matthew. You're one lawn dart in the head away from being fully handicapped. Or maybe you're just nervous. I always hated when the kids told stories after their answers. Like who the fuck cares if your Mom sleeps nude sometimes? Wait, maybe his mother might have been a hooker. I do like that there's a Tyler in contestant's row, but I don't agree with his haircut. He's got a hair part that looked like it's been gouged into his skull. On a side note, why do all the contestants clap over their heads? What's that all about? And as for the red team, whose parents obviously can't fucking spell (Allyne and Maellody? Seriously?), watch Allyne have an aneurysm at 4:07 of part two. Nothing's going on upstairs there, kids.

So to Kidstreet, for giving my sister and I reason to truce for a little while and for letting me make fun of other kids, I give you some True Patriot Love.

Welcome To The 21st Century, Programs!

Well, it's finally been confirmed. "Tron 2.0", or whatever it was called initially, has been given its official title: Tron Legacy. And the first trailer for what will certainly be a pants-creamer of a film has been released at this year's Comic-Con. Check it out here or watch it in the recommended HD version.

If any of you grew up in the 80s, Tron was one of those cool, but seemingly dorky films you came to love and appreciate. It wasn't some hand-animated schmaltz-fest with animals and moral lessons, it was a before its time story of artificially-intelligent computers bent on domination, crooked humans and a plucky young video game programmer. It was awesome, plain and simple. And the computer-generated animation and effects were light-years ahead of anything else in 1982. It was a film that fully immersed the viewer in an electronic world and sent imaginations in new directions. At least it did for me. Now, with a new film to open in 2011, we can re-visit this world again, this time with the help of new computer graphics, high-def images and sexy Olivia Wilde.

I'm in full-bore for this film, no matter how bad it could be. What will be the acid-test, however, for director Joseph Kosinski is if he does an admirable job with the remake of Logan's Run, one of my favourite films ever. It's slated to be released next year, and if he fucks that up, I will have diminished hopes for Tron Legacy. I'll still see it of course, but I won't have to bring back-up underwear.

TV Intros That Are Cooler Than You

Last week, I wrote a post that very few people understood (my mother, for one) because it dealt with the personification of a non-sentient entity, namely the day known as Friday. Admittedly, I was kind of bored at work on an otherwise uneventful afternoon, so I decided to write something a little different. Big deal, is what I thought at the time. But I suppose that's not keeping with the original theme of this blog, which celebrated it's third anniversary last Saturday! Yay! What turned out to be a simple excuse to avoid doing any work, while actually looking like I'm during work, has made it to three years. Strange how the initial reason for starting this has stayed the same... Anyways, I'd like to bring this blog back to form. Back to it's roots. And that means talking about meaningless pop-culture banalities.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I decided to move to my parent's house a few months ago as a means to save money while I'm preparing to go back to school, and stay there while in school for the next couple years. This hasn't been as soul-crushingly terrible as I originally envisioned it, but rather, it's actually been fairly tolerable. Probably because my parents are fairly cool, and I'm a fucking man. However, the fact that they subscribe to Telus TV is going to introduce some serious conflicts very soon. Most concerning is that Telus TV does not carry AMC, and therefore I cannot watch first-run episodes of the new season of Mad Men. I am troubled by this, but I will find a way to circumvent my impending issue of contention. I suppose I could wait for it on DVD, but that's a stupid idea. How dare you even suggest that?

Since I've been thinking about Mad Men, and waiting for the new season, I've been watching previous episodes while frothing at the mouth and obtaining pleasure of the mind. If you've never watched the show, there's one thing that stands out right from second one: the opening credits. Opening credits don't just tell you who the actors are or who produced the show, they should set the tone, theme and style of the show. They serve the ultimate purpose: the credits should give you an idea on whether the show is amazing, mediocre, or fucking terrible. (anyone who remembers the opening credits for Full House or Dawson's Creek knows what I'm talking about).

Here are eleven of my favourite opening credit sequences that are the epitome of cool. Popsicle-Pete Double-Treat cool. Once you've seen their intro, you know that these shows are just going to kick serious ass. Times ten.



11. BAND OF BROTHERS

One of the best HBO series of all time has one of the best openings, which is hauntingly beautiful and striking. The images and score truly capture the style and quality of the show. Also, guns are cool.



10. LOST

Alright, this intro freaks me out. It's the shortest by far, but damn if it isn't effective. It sets a mood rife with disorientation, mystery and suspense, just as the show does (in its better seasons).



9. HAWAII FIVE-O

There was a time when a theme song made a TV show. As much as you want to argue that The Rembrandts' "I'll Be There For You" made Friends, it didn't. That song sucks, and Friends sucked. Hawaii Five-O on the other hand, is so damn sexy, I bet you got pregnant just making eye contact with Jack Lord.



8. KNIGHT RIDER

"A shadowy flight into the dangerous world of a man who does not exist". That is fucking awesome! This was when David Hasselfhoff was the man, and not some McDonald's eating drunk. There were the usual 80's cheese in this show, but can you honestly say that the intro bass line doesn't bleed cool with every note?

7. THE X-FILES

Let me run down the awesomess for you: lots of creepy visuals, pre-sex obsessed David Duchovny, hot Gillian Anderson, UFO stuff, more creepy visuals, FBI things, conspiracies... All adds up to a fantastic show (that sadly lost its way a bit with the alien plot lines) with a fantastically moody opening.

6. THE SIX MILLION DOLLAR MAN

If there was any intro that instantly made you think "Yes! If I try to jump from my sixth story apartment to the building next door, miss, and die after splattering my carcass across the pavement below, I can be brought back as a superhuman! We have the technology."





5 (tie). TWILIGHT ZONE AND THE OUTER LIMITS

Nobody did plot twists like these two shows, and their original intros set the standard for intros that make you uncomfortable, yet engaged. Though each series began airing in the late fifties and early sixties respectively, the mood and style are second to none. I'm creeped out while watching them, but I can't look away. Kind of like little people.

3. THE A-TEAM

The A-Team was a favourite show of mine as a kid, and the opening sequence is a thing of beauty. You want violence? You got it. You want an awesome back story about a rogue military outfit? You've got that, too. You want Mr. T giving you the most bad-ass look while in a car? You've got your cream-jeans on now.



2. MAD MEN

This is the best opening sequence on TV today. It's as sexy as ten young Elizabeth Taylors, and as cool as twenty Billy Dee Williams' (any age). The style of the 60's combined with the sense of losing control is played very effectively. It makes me dream of a simpler time of political incorrectness and drinking at work.

1. CAPTAIN POWER AND THE SOLDIERS OF THE FUTURE.

Before Terminator and The Matrix, there was Captain Power. Set in a world where man fought machine, and machine won (unsurprisingly - humans suck), this show was the best live-action show on Saturday morning. With special toy guns that interacted with the show, kids like me truly believed they were in a dystopic future. The intro has everything kids (like me) and adults (also me) want: violence, destruction and shiny costumes.

Any opening sequence I forgot? And don't say Dexter. I haven't watched it enough to blow my mind on its intro.

Friday

I sit at my desk, peering out into the atrium two stories below, wondering if somehow the clock found a way to reverse itself. It seems like it’s only been a matter of minutes for hours now. The end of the day is so achingly close to being here. The end of another work week is almost ready to announce its arrival, and it could not come a moment too soon. I'm dying a slow death inside, because I want it so much. I need it.

Friday. It can’t get here fast enough. I almost want to scream out in irritated frustration. Why can’t I go now? Why can’t I run out of this building and caress Friday the way I want to, with such willful abandon and unbridled emotion that it would make all other days enraged with jealousy? Why can't I make Friday love me? The questions swirl and stir in my mind, repeating themselves louder and louder with each passing minute. I try to maintain calm as I remind myself that I have a very special task ahead.

I switch my glance away from the atrium and prompt my creative centres of my mind to get working on the duty at hand: seducing Friday night. A task very few have tried to undertake, and even fewer have succeeded in doing. I think about my plan; solid, but not too rigid. Free to flow, free to improvise. Friday and I will spend some quality time getting to know one another initially. Perhaps in some dimly-lit corner of a local tavern. Perhaps by the window of a trendy coffee shop. We'll start with some small talk about the towns we grew up in. Where we first went to school. Our best friends growing up. We’ll chat about our various hobbies, what we like to do when we have the time, what we’d love to do, if we had the time. Perhaps a well-placed joke, an engaging anecdote. It will get more and more casual as the time progresses, I’ll make sure of that. I don’t want to seem to anxious, but I don’t want to appear aloof, uncaring. I want to show just the right amount of interest to Friday, but I don’t want it to feel like I’m some love-struck geekboy, only wanting to see what Friday has underneath its irresistible exterior. I can see Friday now. It's curvaceous form, its unbridled sensuality. Of all the days, Friday knows it's the one most coveted, most thought over, most desired.

Our conversation will inevitably dance around topics such as past or present loves. When this happens, I'll begin to become a bit more cynical, bitter, showing a vulnerable side Friday won't resist in prying for more information. I'll reluctantly reveal some heartfelt feelings to Friday, but not in any obvious way, but with an air of nonchalance, which may pique Friday's curiosity. It'll start to wonder if there is more to me than this masculine shroud I wear, more to me than my flippant descriptions of those who have made my heart seem cold. When this happens, my plan will come to its zenith. Friday will be drawn in with thoughts of a man whose mystery and vulnerability may frighten it initially, but its fear will be replaced with an urge to get to know me more. Get to know the real man inside.

And with that, my plan will have almost succeeded. By tonight's end Friday will know that it's the one day I can't live without. It's the day I won't live without.

The only way my plan can fail is if Friday finds out about Saturday. It's not my fault that Saturday turned the tables on me, but Saturday could captivate anyone with it's beguiling charms. I know I'm weak. If my plan with Friday doesn't work out, I will crawl back to Saturday. Saturday is hot, though.

You won't say a word, will you?

Thriller. He Made Thriller.

Some initial thoughts on the death of Michael Jackson.

I could say 'alleged death' because although it's probably a foregone conclusion that he's dead, it's still not totally confirmed by everyone in the world. But if TMZ reports that he's dead, he's probably dead. They're pretty good with getting their reporters to sneak into places. I'm sure some Hollywood nightclubs have better security than most hospitals. At the time that I write this, CNN doesn't have confirmation that he's dead, just the noted fact from a family friend that the "family is sobbing". I don't know how often a whole family sobs over a coma, so let's assume Michael's passed on. So here's some thoughts.

I heard something on the drive home from work that really irked me. Some lady called into the radio station I was listening to and said that it "wasn't that I don't care, but I think he got what he deserved. He has been punished for his sins on earth". I had to really ponder this comment, which certainly on the surface seems like some smug religious "I told you so" garbage. And it is, but as I listened to more and more of the calls-in, I could hear a definite thread to most of the calls. A startling majority of what I heard confirmed a notion that nobody cares about Michael Jackson anymore, that he's a pervert, that he's a psycho and that the world is better off now that he's gone. I just can't agree to that, and here's why.

Every news story is going to have two angles right now: Jackson the artist and Jackson the accused child molester/weirdo. Sadly, it's the latter that is going to, and has gotten, everyone worked up. I have chosen to look at this passing of Jackson pragmatically. I'm going to look at the facts, not as a fan or a detractor, but as a purveyor of the truth. And the truth is this: The world will forever be in debt to him. That's a fact, worthy of dispute or not. There are things that are undeniable: He was one of the greatest performers of all time, some could argue the absolute greatest. His music transcended all boundaries, both natural and man-made. His influence on future generations of people from any walk of life is incredible and eternal. His musical credits are immortal. It's safe to say that Michael Jackson will be immortal.

Those are facts as I see them. Regardless of our own feelings about his personal life, there are things that aren't facts. Aren't true is everything that has been written in the tabloids, mainstream media or any other medium that doesn't concern his music or things that Jackson himself hasn't admitted to. I have to believe in innocence until proven guilty. I have to believe in the law. If the law could not prove, confirm or convict any of the things that he allegedly did, I can't objectively say that he "got what he deserved" by dying. In life and now in death, I can only imagine that he lived a horrid, tortured life where half the world despised him. So why would we want to cloud his passing and smear his legacy with hearsay?

Am I a huge fan? No. But I have to give credit where credit's due. I think the correct viewpoint for us would be that we look at what Michael Jackson actually DID, not what he was accused of doing, and judge him based on that. Therefore, I will remember Michael Jackson as an unsurpassed talent, a legendary artist and a phenomenal performer, something that will never been seen again.

And Thriller. He made Thriller.

RIP Michael Jackson. You're finally going to be left alone.

The Truth Does Make A Noise

And The White Stripes are the truth.

You know what I'm talking about if you've seen them live. Thankfully, pretty much all of Canada has, thanks to special tour two years ago.

Continuing with a little more news involving Jack White, I've come across another wonderfully exciting story today. It's been reported that the Stripes are going to be releasing a documentary film about the cross-Canada tour they did in June and July of '07. This makes my mind melt. In a good way, though. Like the way cheese slowly melts on a perfectly barbecued burger. Or when you let your favourite popsicle get soft and drip just a tiny bit before you eat it. My mind has melted because this news gives me the chance to watch and own a concert that was 6 years worth waiting for. A concert that was the celebration of musical talents I dreamed of seeing. Yearned to see. A concert I was often heard to remark that I'd "fucking die to see". And it happened on June 30, 2007.

I had picked up The White Stripes third album, "White Blood Cells" in the spring of 2002 in a shitty CD store in mall near my home (for anyone familiar with St. Albert, remember "AV Entertainment"? Yeah, it sucked). I had recently seen the absolutely mesmerizing video for "Fell In Love With A Girl", directed by Michel Gondry, and needed to have whatever album that song came from. Lego had never gotten me so excited. For the whole summer of 2002, I played that disc, and the preceding two albums relentlessly. I couldn't believe how much raw power came from a band with only two members. As the years went on, the Stripes became one of my favourite bands, a band that I would use songs by to represent my own emotions, thoughts and other things I thought would be better expressed by the howling blues-symphony the band created. And then one spring, in April of 2007, the Stripes announced that they would be touring Canada. And not just Vancouver, Toronto and Montreal. But the whole damn country. Every province. Every territory. No Canadian act had ever done it, so they'd be the first of any nationality to accomplish the feat. I had to check the tour schedule, and I wasn't to be disappointed. There it was: "Edmonton - June, 30. Shaw Conference Centre".

Alright, maybe a little hint of disappointment was felt. I mean, a band as great as this, playing in a cave-like auditory graveyard like the Shaw? Granted, Rexall Place would be too artificial and unfriendly, and no promoter would let them play a small venue. I had to really look at the big picture. I mean, the fucking White Stripes were going to be playing Edmonton! When the tour actually started, you could feel that it was going to be something special. Right from the onset, rumours of secret shows started to surface. Then those rumours became fact. The Stripes played on busses, boats, in parks, anywhere. You didn't know where they might play, but there were hints on their message boards. In Edmonton, they played at the Hope Mission's youth shelter, which can be seen in the video here:

And word was coming out that the main shows were becoming legendary experiences. As for my own experience at the Edmonton show, it was marred a bit by my misguided need to witness it with somebody specific who was also at the show. A certain person who has been both the utmost desire and cruel bane of my existence for many years, and only recently whose memory I've now shed from my mind. I kept on trying to look for this person, with whom I could share the wondrous experience, but I never found her. Instead of concentrating on the music, my attention was divided. I'll now never forgive myself for that. This documentary will allow me to at least re-live some of that concert in the way it should have been viewed: by me and for me.

The documentary will show the White Stripes as they are: the truth. And that truth will make an substantial noise.

It Might Get Messy

On August 14th, it may get a little bit out of control. In my mind.

Provided that at theatre in Edmonton carries it, this film may just put me so far over the edge, sonically, visually and emotionally, that I might just lose it. All of it. And I'd be embarrassed if it wasn't because of something immensely awesome, but something less than spectacular. Like have you ever found yourself close to a friend or family member and witness them just wig out for no good reason? Have you ever been just sitting at your desk, checking off items on your menial work task list, when a co-worker explodes in a bat-shit insane rage, throwing paper and random office objects around while uttering a slew of cuss words a mile long, only because the fax number he dialed was busy? Yeah, that's embarrassing. Or maybe it's Thanksgiving, and after you mention to your mother that the turkey "could use a bit of salt or something", she upends the dining table using the strength of ten men, then chases you and the rest of your family around the house with a meat cleaver, uttering vague threats like "I'll show YOU what needs to have a little salt!"? Yeah, that's kind of embarrassing, but also a little scary. Your mom needs help.

Well, I won't feel any embarrassment or awkwardness if I go a little crazy when I see It Might Get Loud. Not only does it have two of my favourite musicians in Jimmy Page and Jack White, but it also has The Edge from U2 thrown in for good measure. It's sure to be a wonderful documentary about two legends and one certainly on his way to gaining that special status. Check out the trailer:



Yeah, I'm pretty much going to look like this for all 97 minutes of the film.

A Legend Has Passed Away

David Carradine has been found dead.

RIP Caine. RIP Bill. You've taken the pebble from our hands, and now it is time for you to leave.

A Riverdale Bachelor No More

Well, he finally did it. Took him damn long enough.

After 600 issues and 67 years, Archibald Andrews has finally made up his effing mind. No longer is he content to dangle his committed affections in front of two lovely ladies. He's made his choice, and he's going for the money.

On the cover of the newest issue of Archie, Archie is shown proposing to Veronica Lodge ("Ronnie" to some, "that rich bitch" to others), while his best pal, Forsythe P. Jones, aka, "Jughead" and Betty Cooper, aka "the blond one that Archie did it with" look on. But there seems to be so much more involved than just this awkward scene. Let's really disect the scene, and try to gain a true understanding of what the story's about, without actually reading the comic.

As with all Archie stories involving him or any of the sub-characters, the cover is always misleading. It has to be, otherwise why would anyone read the comic at all? Mostly the cover involves variations of the following scenarios: Archie looking at girls, Jughead eating, Moose being dumb, Dilton being smart, Reggie being a dick, etc., etc. Pretty boring shit, but it's that shit that's been popular for over half a century. It's an easy read, and it's pure Americana (Americans like static character stereotypes). But this latest cover shows something we thought would never happen: Archie actually getting married, and not dying from contracting numerous fatal sexually-transmitted infections. But the cover only tells a fraction of the story. Let's see if there's anything else going on.

Who the hell proposes in a jewelry store? Did he just buy a ring and then give it to her? This choice of location reeks of Veronica's own agenda rearing it's ugly head. Ronnie has always had a substantial amount of control and power over Archie, and it could be that she tricked him into "looking at rings" at the store, then again, tricked him into proposing by doing that thing girls do. You know, when they say, "why don't you pretend that you're proposing to your future wife?" Then the girls claim they were the actual target, and your proposal is tantamount to a verbal contractual agreement. So she may have just fooled him into asking for her hand. That vile temptress! This is just the type of maleovent scheming Veronica's capable of, and she's now putting her diabolical plan into action, stealing away Archie from the safe, soothing shores of Lake Betty. And she's doing it while Betty watches. How cruel a fate is that?

But wait, let's look at this from another angle. Why is Jughead AND Betty watching from a conveniently located window? Jughead was probably just eating in the food court, getting closer and closer to his life-ending diabetes, heart-failure or complete bodily shutdown from all the food he's ingested, but what's Betty doing there? Perhaps she was stalking him, as I figure she would be. Betty seems like a good girl on the outside, but she may be hiding a true malevolent nature. It's been said that the greatest cruelty can come from the kindest heart, and since Betty is the nicest character, she's probably also bat-shit insane. She's been sick of Archie always dumping her for Ronnie, just so he can use her pool and piss off her dad by humping his daughter and breaking household heirlooms. So Betty stalks him, with the thought that one day, he'll be all hers. "We'll always be together", she says, "and if I can't have him, then no one will!" Classic Fatal Attraction-type dementia. Archie's probably caught on to this behaviour, and since calls to the cops have solved nothing, nor have any restraining orders, he's resorted to one last move before Betty kills him - he'll get married. That should shut Betty up for good, right? I see this story ending in a lot of people dead.

And then there's Jughead. He didn't really chase girls, and I always thought he was gay, so this proposal shouldn't bother him.

So how does this story end? It probably ends with Archie waking up in a cold sweat, thanking the sweet Lord that it was all a dream. He kisses his black book and his box of condoms, and gets back to work, seducing and bedding the impressionable young women of Riverdale. Archie's kind of a whore.

To The Gorge!

I wish I could write a better blog post than this one, but I'm too damn excited. I would have to say that my excitement level is bordering on "6-year-old on Christmas-Eve trying not to pass-out from presents-expectation mania". And if you know me and how often I express emotion (which is basically never), that's a pretty agitated state. Why am I so excited? Because I'm heading off for a week's holiday.

Is it deserved? Probably not. I don't work as an air-traffic controller or a Wall Street day trader, or any other job that requires mandatory vacations to stave off suicide, but I have a holiday, nonetheless. And I'm spending at the Sasquatch Music Festival. I'll be seeing Kings of Leon, Nine Inch Nails, Jane's Addiction, and many, many more (like TV On The Radio, The Walkmen, The Gaslight Anthem, Zach Galifianakis, etc.). You may commence your mean-spirited taunts and shouts of hate towards me any time. I don't mind. Just think, while you're slaving over numbers and spreadsheets or other kinds of mind-numbing minutiae, I'll be enjoying the Gorge Amphitheatre in Washington state. If you look at the picture, I'm sure you can imagine how awesome it will be, and what kind of amazed look I'll have on my face while I'm there. And I know you want to punch that face, but hey, if I was in your position, I'd probably wish violent thoughts, too. Cut me some slack, though. I go on 1.5 vacations a year. You probably go on many more, becuase you think you need to. Every other day, you whine and lament that you "just need to get away for a while", and you ask "why am I working?" or you cry that you "just hate this weather - why do I live here?". You know what? Saying things like that makes me want to punch you. Many times.

So have a great week, and I'll see you when I get back! (That message was for my parents, because I know they're the only ones who read this blog - the rest of you say you do, but you don't, because you still think the internet is for virgin nerds)

Black Goooold!

Since I'm in the market for a new vehicle (I've had mine for three years now. That's like 106 car years), I occasionally glance at car ads in the paper, look at other cars on the road, and sometimes, just sometimes, I actually watch a car commercial. Normally when I watch TV, I usually press 'mute' on the remote and come up with my own dialogue for the car ads. It's just that they're so stupid, and they treat the viewer like a complete moron, so I figure it's fair treatment. I'm sure my dialogue would probably get people more interested in the cars, because I use many hilariously rude phrases and obscenities. It seems like every car commercial is a shitty derivative of the following few scenarios: car dealership has sale and people run frantically to the dealership as if not buying a car right away will give them shitty cancer (colon, or worse). Or, a car is shown driving awesomely down a mountain road, or in a desert, or by the ocean (not seen is the car waiting in a KFC line, being driven by some lard ass waiting for a 20-piece-all-for-him bucket). Or there's some happy family who's lives have been made a zillion times better now that they've got a mini-van which has a shut-the-kids-up DVD player. All car commercials now have ridiculously fradulent scenarios and you're an idiot if any commercial actually makes you want to buy a car.

But there was a time when the car commercial was a thing of beauty, something to look at and thank god you lived in the sexy '70s or excessive '80s. Commercials that just made you want to buy that car, go to a disco and have anonymous sex with just about anything, as long as it had plenty of body hair. Whilst perusing the internet today, I just happened to come across this beauty. Jalopnik has a great article on this perhaps being the worst car commercial ever, but they're wrong. It drips with a shimmering sexual prowess, a fuzzy lip-trimmed ferocity. Plus, it has light-up displays for car-related things.


Good god. If I was a female, this commercial would certainly seduce me, have sex with me, impregnate me, and then speed away, never to be seen from again, except maybe during a chance encounter on a beach in South Miami. But since I'm a man, it only makes me dream. Dream of a better time when commercials looked like this. Dream of another life where I could have an intense moustache and an equally intense stare that just erodes the clothes off women. A dream of driving this Datsun with the California coast or Manhattan skyline in the background, doing a line of blow off of a hot blonde, who's named Candy or Amber, her hand jammed between my legs while my own hand feverishly grips the gear-shift, all while my speed increases faster and faster towards infinity.

Sadly, the commercials of today don't give me cause to dream. Their ads touch upon things I just don't care about. I don't care about child safety. I don't care about 12 airbags. I don't care about storage capacity. There's nothing sexy about fucking storage capacity. I care about looking like Alfred Molina in "Boogie Nights", picking up random girls who could be hookers but I'm too high to know for sure, and ramming the gas pedal through the floor while "Splash Wave" from Outrun plays for all eternity.

Reality always wins, though. I'll probably end up with a Focus.

Another Shining Example Of Television Quality

Being a Shaw TV customer for my whole life, it was strange for me to hear that my parents went with Telus TV when they moved to their new house two years ago. Our house grew up with Shaw, we laughed, learned and lived with Shaw. I memorized the channels and had to re-memorize whenever a channel moved. I watched with rapt attention at the exhilarating hours of enjoyment that only watching a simple fireplace or Thanksgiving turkey could give, all thanks to Shaw. But Telus? Could they give the same amount of picture tube love and shoddy customer service that Shaw regularly gave? Alright, so Telus already has a lock on treating customers like retarded lepers through their phone services, but I want quality TV programming and channel selection. Would Telus meet my expectations? Would Telus offer me only the finest TV this great world has to offer? Unfortunately, no. But fortunately for Telus, it's not their fault. It's the fault of one specialty channel that's only contributing to the TV quality watershed mark.

Having recently made a life-altering decision in my life (going back to school), I've found myself once again living with my parents (a post on this topic will come soon). Since TV is a massive part of my life because of it's regular spewing of popular culture and my need to lap that culture up, I was interested to see what Telus could offer where Shaw could not. To my grand disappointment, I noticed some channels were missing like AMC and Encore Avenue (no first-run Mad Men this summer? No unedited movies? Fuck that!). I also noticed some channels that I've never watched but heard of, like G4 TV. Primarily a channel for tech dorks, it features shows on video gaming, video game reviews, video game news, and some other things that may or may not include video games. Now I'm not a gamer per se, mostly because I'm too interested in girls, but I was once an avid gamer as a kid (Blockbuster Video Game Store Champion, 1994), so I watch the channel every now and then. One show that everybody should see is Attack of the Show. Not because it has groundbreaking information and entertainment value, but because it has Olivia Munn as a co-host. Good God, she's hot. And she blogs! I mean, look at her!

But it's not all geeks and hot ladies on G4. There's also this piece of garbage, which features morons.

Hurl! is a blatant attempt at gross-out entertainment, or gross-tainment. The name describes the premise of the show as straight-forward as possible. Contestants eat food. They do physical stuff. They hurl! Woah! As the Hurl! website describes it, it's "...representing an entirely new type of competition, HURL! combines speed-eating with intense physical challenges all designed to shake up the competitors...it's an eating competition with an extreme sports chaser!" Basically, the show has dudes, mostly frat-douchebag-idiot types, and some girls who really thought "being on TV" would be awesome, that gorge on shitty food like mac and cheese, then try not to barf while they go on a carnival ride or something like that. Now, as we know, Americans love to watch people gorge themselves on food, like some kind of patriotic and competitive "fuck you" to starving people elsewhere in the world, but this show is going too far. Check out this captivating video!

Yeah. There's no doubt. This is the worst show on television. This is even worse than Toddlers & Tiaras, and that show pretty much just caters to pedophiles and psycho mothers. The inherent problem is that we have to look at what we really find amusing and entertaining. Do we as a society find throwing up to be that entertaining, as long as it's not us? Who has ever seen a child throw up at the supermarket, only to think, "Fuck! That's hilarious! The image and the smell really made my day!" Have you ever had a friend complain of a stomach virus or flu, and you asked them if you could film it, because shit, you had a tough day and could use a laugh? Puking is only funny in a couple situations, like when a fat guy enters a pie-eating contest to get revenge on his fellow townsfolk. Or when kids take a carnival ride after eating chewing tobacco. It's certainly not funny when you start drinking at noon one day, then after playing some late night poker, your friend convinces you to pound shots of Butter Ripple Schnapps, and you vomit all over the back interior of the car driving you home (sorry Joe, and thanks a lot Greg).

So what's really the attraction here? Are we getting so mentally challenged that we've now resorted to bodily rejections as entertainment? How low will TV slide into cultural depths even Philistines would consider beneath them? Because of these types of shows, and our increasing tendency to reward the stupid, are we expanding the ever-widening quality gap between good and disturbingly bad? So much so that people will no longer value the good? Are we inching closer and closer to this type of show?

EMBED-ow my balls - Watch more free videos

I hope not, for our sakes. But from the looks of it, we're steering that way. For fuck's sake, Hurl! is a show about people eating massive amounts of food, then trying not to throw up. Hell, I can watch that happen live every Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family. Obviously, the only solution to these types of television abortions is to not watch. Yes, I know you want to, but don't. If we can tank the ratings, then hopefully it gets pulled. If you can ignore Hurl! I'll let you watch The Hills without making fun of you. And you know I want to, and you know you deserve it.

The Eleven Worst Things We're Doing On Facebook

I've been a Facebook user for over two years now, and I can honestly say that it's probably going to soon replace the television as the one technological "device" that parents will warn their children about. Not that it will make your eyes bad if you use it too often, or that kids will learn bad behavioural traits by emulating what they see, but rather that they will become stupider while using Facebook.

My mom always used to warn my sister and I that we shouldn't watch too much TV, but instead go outside or read more. Mostly, she just wanted us to help out with household duties instead of watching cartoons. She held firm to the belief that we'd slowly become "as dumb as a bag of hammers" as we got older if we continued to be obsessed by television. Thankfully, my mom was incorrect in her assertion, but at least her intentions were sincere. I know that what my mom really wanted us to do was to break away from the vice-like grip of the picture tube and really understand the world around us (somehow helping out around the house did this, I guess). Mom knew that eventually, if we couldn't associate with anything outside the realm of even a lowly sitcom, then we were doomed to become what TV panders to the most: the lowest common denominator. When one occupies their time with a sole medium, it stands to reason that the worst of that medium slowly becomes the standard. Eventually, TV will no longer be able to provide the viewer with the best all the time, so gradually, the worst becomes the best. People who watch so much TV will watch just about anything at a point, no matter how contrived or retarded it is (hence, The Hills).

And that's what Facebook has become. So many people use it constantly and religiously, that stupid things or behaviours that they may have avoided when they first starting using, now have become the normal routine. The worst has become the standard.

Here are the Eleven Worst Things We're Doing On Facebook. And when I say "we're", I mostly mean "you're". You're doing them mostly because you're lazy, but also because you're not really thinking that much on Facebook anyways. I'm doing pretty well, even for being an idiot.

11. "Confirming", but not attending

Everyone has been invited to about a billion and one things, and nobody cares anymore about any event they don't have a vested interest in. So what do we do? We confirm our attendance with no intention of attending. What does that do? Inflates the potential attendance numbers and gets the host all excited. If you're doing this, stop. You're being a jerk, and making the host feel sad (and pathetic).

10. Inviting everybody to everything

An alternate version of number 10 is people who invite everyone on their friends list to every event, regardless of where their friends live. Guess what, Mensa candidates, I don't live in Toronto, or BC or anywhere else. I live in Edmonton. That means I'll probably only attend things in Edmonton (to be fair, I probably won't attend some Edmonton things if I have to drive far). So stop inviting me to things like your "Struggling Student Art Fair and Luncheon" in Winnipeg. I'm not fucking going.

9. Actually reading the ads on the right sidebar

If you're at a point where the ads on the right are actually becoming interesting or perhaps worth doing, you're getting stupider. "28 Year Old Millionaire"? "New Workout Secrets"? "Get A Hot Girlfriend/Meet Women With Money"? Ooh, these sound great! I'm sure the last one really works. I'm sure I'd love to tell people that I met my girlfriend through a Facebook ad, or that a really rich woman resorted to FB as a dating service. How many of these ads are really fronts for prostitution, I wonder.

8. Poking people

Are you still doing this? Stop it. Now. Send a message, lazy. This needs to be removed, like the way "giving gifts" was taken out. All this proves is that you can continue performing a monotonous task. Monkeys can complete monotonous tasks. Hell, even mice can.

7. Tagging a picture, which has the back of someone's head

Pretty self-explanatory. Thanks for the photo tag of my back side. It totally proves that I was at that event/activity, but doesn't prove that you like me enough to ask me to pose for a picture face-forwards.

6. The Living Social application

We've all grown up on music video countdown shows, top ten lists and likes and dislikes on our yearbooks. We love rating things and letting everyone else know what we love or hate with a blind passion. However, the Living Social app is fucking clogging up my homepage! Nobody cares what your "top five Hilary Duff films" are. Someone explain to me what the Living Social application is doing that our "Info" section isn't doing? Huh? I guess it doesn't let you proclaim what you hate, and we love letting people know the "5 worst countries to live in"! Take that Haiti!

5. Posting a viral video months after it was popular

Yes, I posted "Jizz In My Pants", but I did it the week it came out last December. You posted it last week. We all love viral videos, but they're viral for a reason: Everybody on the planet has seen it, gotten an email about it or dreamt about it. You're not awesome because you can paste a Youtube link. Chances are that when you post a video, 20% of your friends already did it weeks ago. Sadly, that means you lose.

4. Becoming a fan of something obvious or idiotic

These are getting out of hand, and incredibly retarded. "Amy is a fan of sleeping" REALLY AMY? You're a fan of sleeping? Hot fucking damn! So am I! Let's be friends forever! And you're also a fan of eating! Woah! That's so awesome, because I thought I was the only one. Be a fan of bands, movies, etc. Don't be a fan of living, because that's pretty damn obvious.

3. Saying you "like" this

This is one of the dumbest additions to Facebook, yet it's popularity seems to have overcome its stupidity. The problem is that too many people are just clicking "like this" because they have nothing of value to contribute. They are bereft of any intelligent comment. "John had an amazing night tonight!" Rick likes this. What the hell are you liking, Rick? There are no details there. "Susan posted a link - Thousands of refugees flee war-torn Thailand" Jane likes this. You're fucking sick, Jane.

2. Bad spelling, grammar and internet lingo
Does anyone actually look at what they type before they hit enter? Ever? What are you, five? Spelling and grammar can't be stressed enough, and you hear everyone complain about it (whether they're culprits or not), but it's still happening. Things like mistaking "your" and "you're", "to" and "too" and "they're", "their" and "there". Misspelling words like "definately" and "rediculus". Using "lol" after every fucking thing you say, like you're some delirious lunatic (really, are you actually laughing out loud all the time?). Stop contributing to the dumbing down of the internet. It doesn't need your help.

1. The Status Update/"What's On Your Mind"

The worst thing that you're doing on Facebook is what was once the status update bar. It seems that our lives have become so mundane, so banal, that even the simplest and most innocuous are supposed to be interesting to your friends. A sub-list of the worst status updates:

- status-baiting (Sam is excited! EXCITED FOR WHAT, SAM? WHY WON'T YOU TELL US?)
- counting down from too many days out (Jack can't wait for Mexico! Only 108 days away! Ooh! I'm excited for you too, Jack! Three and a half months from now, I'll be really jealous. In the meantime, I'll try to care)
- inspirational updates (If you write one after a tough day to lift up your spirits, sure. If you're writing one every day, you're a douchebag and nobody likes you).
- some random shit nobody understands (Julia peeps ur kewl bandies. What the fuck does that even mean?)
- what you're doing right now! (Matt is eating beans. Melissa is watching House. Thanks for the updates, dickwads. Scintillating stuff)

Basically, use the "what's on your mind" bar to tell people what's on your mind. Don't bore everyone with the stupid everyday details. That's what Twitter's for.

Facebook was designed to get people in touch with one another, much like the early televisions did. But now, we're way past that. We're now so caught up with the apparent need to be on Facebook, that we've thrown out any of the original goals. Facebook has de-evolved into a haven for the lazy, the thoughtless and the uninspired. Facebook has seen it's glory days, and now they're over. All we can really do now is look at other people's pictures, maybe quote a song every now and then, write a short piece about whatever, and just make fun of everything and everyone. You're supposed to be using Facebook to impress people, not facilitating their ridicule of you.

True Patriot Love - Part One

I'd like to introduce a new feature here on Rhymes With Tyler - True Patriot Love. Each feature of TPL will focus on a piece of pop culture history that's purely Canadian, or at least has a strong Canadian tie. From The Raccoons and Canada Dry Cranberry Ginger Ale, to Test Pattern and Video & Arcade Top Ten, I'll be writing about true pop culture Canadiana. Which is basically whatever I watched on Canadian TV or ate in my formative pop culture years (1985-1996). Truth be told, I always get a sense of patriotic pride whenever I see or read about these things, and I'm hoping so will you.

I wrote a pilot article last July entitled "That's Enough Already, K-Tel", which was my rant about K-Tel, the Canadian record compilation and shitty product peddling giant. K-Tel pretty much ran a monopoly on record compilations from the 1970's on, churning out album after album with no regard for human auditory misery. Their iron grip on the industry loosened a bit with the efforts of one man. Nay, one incredibly awesome British DJ! Chris Sheppard!

Alright, he wasn't actually a Brit, but damn if his fake accent didn't throw you off. Chris Sheppard was actually a leading figure in the Canadian dance music scene from the 80's to the end of the 90's, and he was an omnipresent force in the record industry in this country. I mean, it seemed for a while that there wasn't a week that went by that didn't have a new Chris Sheppard complation album come out. Destination Dance Floor, Club Cutz, Groove Station and my personal favourite, Pirate Radio Sessions. All with volumes 1 through a fucking billion. Every time I'd watch MuchMusic, there he'd be in the commercial break, with some new album we just had to buy, or else. After a while, it just got sad. I could almost predict the next commercial would be him saying something like "Chris Sheppard's Bunch of Tunes with Annoying Bass Lines and Stupid Chicks Singing The Same Shitty Chorus! Volume 32! Buy my album! I'm living in a trailer!" This commercial is the icing on the cake - Chris Sheppard in his heyday. I can't believe that he stated, without hyperbole, that that particular compilation is the best compilation in music history! Craaaaaazy! It did have The Real McCoy on it, I suppose.

Seriously, though, what was up with that accent? Years have gone by, and all I can think about when someone says "Hey dork, remember Chris Sheppard?", is his accent. Check out this video, and then this one. Did he honestly have that accent for his "persona"? People hate it when other people talk in accents that suck, for no reason other than to get attention, or that it makes them laugh. I used to work with a guy who'd start talking in some shitty British-Scottish-Douche mix, and I honestly wanted him to fall into a vat of corrosive industrial chemicals. Kind of like the chemicals the Joker fell into, but instead of creating a criminal mastermind, they'd just disinegrate skin and bone. Nobody EVER likes a fake accent. Faking a Swedish accent to make fun of customers in IKEA? Ok, sure. Faking an obnoxious French accent at a party with cute girls? No dice, moron.

Chris Sheppard has since retired and is living in Toronto, but even though I never bought or listened to any of his albums, be it a compilation, a BKS or Love Inc. album, he has a place in true pop culture Canadiana. For his stupid accent, his mind-numbing albums and that annoying "Broken Bones" song I had to hear 8 billion times at the bar, Chris Sheppard, you have earned some True Patriot Love.

Pointless Nostalgia 8: Snack Fruit Is Always The Sweetest

No, the picture to the left is not of a character from Alien Nation. Nor is it a vampire that's just been stabbed with a vial of the anticoagulant EDTA by Blade. Nope, it's just some kid that's had an extreme reaction to a lunchtime treat, and from the looks of it, a bad allergic reaction.

This edition of Pointless Nostalgia brings us back to school, and more specifically, the lunch hour we always looked forward to while there. While we were incarcerated in our provincially-sponsored educational jails, the few times we had to have a little fun on our own were cherished as the temporal treasures they were. From kindergarten to Grade 9, recess (short or long), gym class (for the athletic) or field trips (fun ones, not educational ones) provided a much needed respite to allow kids to be kids, that is, act stupid. Lunch was another one of those treasured times, but it wasn't the kids who got to act stupid. It was the parents. The parents who packed their kids' lunches.

Today I had to pop into Safeway to pick up a few things, when I found myself wandering aimlessly, as I often do at Safeway (there's just so much to look at!). I really like to watch people in all their grocery shopping glory and make internal comments about their choices. Mostly, I try to mentally urge overweight people to put away the 24-packs of pop. That's packs, as in many more than one. After catching a glimpse of an attractive lady, I stumbled into the aisle that had some nutritious things, like bran bars and other stuff that tastes like flavoured nut and particle board. In amongst the healthy and tasty snack façade, I saw something I thought went the way of Gene Siskel.

Gushers were still being made? And people were still buying this shit?

For the uninitiated, Gushers are one of many "fruit" snacks that claimed to be a good substitute for candy in children's lunches or any time that kids clamoured for a sugary treat. While it may be true that the snack contained Vitamin C (25% of the daily recommended, in fact), basically it was candy, just in a different form. Looking at this nutritional panel, one pack contained 13 grams of sugar. Sure, they're not Dunkaroos, but come on. If any parent bought these, and thought it would be a good source of nutrition, then they've failed the test of parenting, and repo men should be by shortly to repossess their children. No, Gushers were candy, and nobody should be fooled into thinking they're something different.

Also, they tasted like shit.

Seriously, I hated Gushers and their stupid commercials. The way the "juice" squirted into your mouth after biting was a rather disgusting sensation. However, since I grew up through the eighties and early nineties, I experienced the heyday of fruit snack development and selection. I yearn for the days when there was a plethora of fruit snacks that looked like stuff, or were based on things. Back then, fruit snacks were another juvenile status symbol, like name-brand clothing and top-of-the-line school supplies. If you had the best fruit snacks, the coolest lunchtime edibles, then you could be a god. And I'm sure if God ate fruit snacks, he'd eat any one of the following:

Probably the very first ever-versatile fruit snack was Fruit Roll-Ups. Every kid has eaten a Fruit Roll-up in North America. It's a part of our culture. In fact, I think you have to name at least three flavours on the American citizenship test. If you didn't have FRUs at some point in your school year, you might as well have been a leper or someone who wears Levi's Orange Tabs. After FRUs got a little boring, Betty Crocker decided to make "pop-outs", where kids could pop shapes out and play with them. That was pretty much as stupid as it sounds. It's a malleable jelly sheet, it's not an action figure.

In the late eighties/early nineties, Betty Crocker rolled out Fruit By The Foot, which was exactly like Fruit Roll-Ups, but longer! It boasted "3 feet of fun!" FBTF was pretty cool, mostly for the fact that you could whip your friends with it. However, I went to a Catholic school, and using the excuse "I'm pretending to whip Jesus" doesn't tend to go over that well. (commercial).

Among the many "shaped" fruit snacks out there, there was one that soared above the rest and rained flavour bombs on their homes. Thunder Jets Fruit Snacks. Sure, anyone could eat dinosaurs, gummi bears, sharks or whatever popular kids' TV show or movie was out at the time, but only the bravest children could eat fruit snacks shaped after jet-planes. Seems now like a blatant attempt to get boys to eat fruit (of any nature), but methinks there's an underlying attempt by the Air Force to get entrenched into kids' psyches early on. I know when I ate these, I just wanted to buzz the tower and play some shirtless volleyball.

But the greatest fruit snack of them all proved the age-old saying: "Kids like candy, moron". So what better way to disguise a fruit snack, then by fashioning it after pop? Enter Sodalicious. Every kid likes pop (except for the diabetics), so this was a natural move. Kids like the idea of having pop as a snack, and parents are dumb enough to believe that this should be a part of a healthy lunch. Look at the commercial! The memories! Who doesn't remember squawking the same "So, Sodalicious!" line over and over again? And everybody had their favourite flavour. Out of the flavours like Cherry, Cola and Orange, I think everyone had a special place in their hearts for Root Beer. If anyone anywhere has some Sodalicious still in a cupboard or something, I'll give up my first born child for it. Please note that the odds are slim on a child being conceived by me any time soon (on purpose, anyway), so I'll probably just end up threatening you for them.