2006: More New Business Cards

Alrighty. Now that the holiday hangover is officially over, and I'm all ready to enjoy a new year, I thought it best to review the year gone by. Also, because it will be fun, sobering, and perhaps depressing, each month will be getting a review, mostly based on whether or not I bought a new t-shirt. Yep, it should be depressing. What a fun time we'll have! Let's dive head first!

JANUARY: The highlight has to be my trip to Mexico, in the Mayan Riviera. Free drinks, gorgeous half-naked ladies, and fantastic weather. I came home riding a high, which was short-lived. Lowlight: My girlfriend of a personal-best 4.5 months asks to get out of her contract with me and requests a trade four days after I get back from Mexico, and two days after I give her gifts. Funny how I would feel worse about a certain defenceman dumping the Oilers in June than her dumping me.

Rating: C - Mexico and being dumped even each other out, leaving a mediocre month.

FEBRUARY/MARCH: Did these months even exist? I honestly can't think of anyhing that made these months memorable. February was only 28 days, so I guess there's that.

Rating: D - Low rating for me not believing that these months existed.

APRIL: I come to the realization that I cannot work at Ticketmaster any more, and that feels great, like being on fire, and someone throws a crapload of baking soda on you, because they know that it's an oil-based fire, and water would only make it worse. Also, I buy every Oilers playoff home game, making some people question my sanity. Oh, the hindsight! I also purchase a vehicle for the first time, boosting my top speed from needy to autonomous. Killer.

Rating: B+ - For shaking off a huge employment weight and starting a hockey memory for the ages.

MAY: I started a new job which was a return to a post-secondary institution, which has a 70% female population. That's groin-grabbingly awesome, and so was the staff retreat to Banff. But more awesome were the Oilers. Greatest month of the year candidate, due to the Oilers instilling in me feelings I haven't felt in many years with this team. Unyielding pride.

Rating: A+ - New job and playoff series' wins. I have a metaphorical erection when thinking about May.

JUNE: I can only really remember the 19th, mostly because I have never cried so hard, and with so much passion and emotion. The day they lost Game 7. Some of my friends know that I don't show much emotion, pretty much ever. I'm sort of emotionally barren, but that seems harsh to say. However, when that empty net goal went in, I lost it. Every sad moment from the last decade plus that I never cried or showed emotion at came roaring back into one torrential tidal wave of tears. Thank goodness I had some support that day, or I may have taken a place on the High Level bridge.

Rating: A until June 19th. F for every day after. Obviously.

JULY: Went on a pubcrawl in Calgary during the Stampede, which in turn sparked this vessel of creativity and pop-culture worshipping known as this blog, which I think is pretty neat. Late in the month, the cabin party at Mitch's created some of the most memorable moments while drinking. The outhouse fire, movie quoting, the naked hottubbing. This weeked had it all, and it wins the award for the best summer moment.

Rating: A- - A great month, bookended by two fantastically fun weekends of drinking debauchery.

AUGUST: Birthday number 26. I made the turn past the quarter-century, and I spent it as best I could. Mostly drinking with friends. Not too shabby. Besides that, I only remember being hot and sweaty. All the time.

Rating: B- - Nothing crazy, however the 1989 Playboy from Greg may be the best gift I've received since turning old enough to see naked breasts.

SEPTEMBER: There's just something about the start of school and being there to appreciate it. MacEwan is basically a fashion show. It's Laguna Beach: Edmonton. Do I protest? Fuck, no. I'm crazy, not stupid. The highlights of September are the Spiked Punch Tour Pubcrawl, and my chauffering of both Pilot Speed and the Trews for the school concert. I can now drive a 15-person van with aplomb. I can also now use 'aplomb' in a sentence. Also, congratulations to my friends Jay and Josie for finally getting around to getting married. The amount of time they dated was starting to compete with my time at the University.

Rating: B+ - A high rating for the amount of beautiful women in a concentrated area known as my workplace. My eyes have never seen so much eye candy, and now I think they have diabetes.

OCTOBER: I made my own blood for Halloween. That's pretty much it.

Rating: C+ - For the homemade blood, the month salvaged itself from mediocrity.

NOVEMBER: I'm just glad that my airbag doesn't release when I slam into the centre wall on Groat Road. I see from my driver's side visor that airbags can kill. I probably don't want that. I was feeling pretty cocky before that accident, and now I drive like my grandmother.

Rating: D- - "Boo-hiss" for the truck accident, and a louder "boo-hiss" for the insurance company dragging their feet.

DECEMBER: A fine month to end the year, as working for a college again leads to some awesome holiday time. The Christmas holidays are again a lesson in familial gluttony, but I'm happy to have gone to Lethbridge, if only to berate my cousin about the unfortunate possible consequences of a one-night stand. New Year's Eve yielded some cool memories, some scary douchebag memories. So nothing new there.

Rating: B+ - Not too cold, not too shitty. Just the way I like it.

So there you have it. Some highlights of the year that was, 2006. And now that I look back, I realize that I had an extremely boring year, save for the Edmonton Oilers. Sorry that you had to read all this. I'll try to do better in 2007.

I'm Stocking Up For Next Christmas!

This past Christmas has come and gone, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to showcase my favourite entrepeneur, bringing about his fantastical deals never before seen outside of the Garden State.

And if the video doesn't work - Winter Wonderland

Also: 50th Post! Wheee!

The Divine New Year's Eve Comedy

And so it has come and gone. The last day of the past year, and the first of the present.

As I begin to embark on yet another year of new t-shirts, and other banalities, I find it intriguing to look upon the past year, and see certain areas of growth, change, enlightenment, and all other kinds of humanist bullshit. But that's for the next post. I so rarely produce journal-type posts, but I feel that for certain occasions, like New Year's Eve, it warrants a small amount of reminiscence, if not for my own remembrance later down the road. Therefore, since no-one has asked for it, here's my homework writing assignment: What I Did For New Year's Eve. Spine tingling!

Since my inception into the legal drinking club, I've spent five New Year's Eve's out of eight at a house party. In fact, the last five years in a row were at those house parties (for the actual New Year's Eve - any "New Year's Eve After New Year's Eve party that I created for the U of A doesn't count). For this year, the ninth, I was happily given the task of finding some activity that exceeded beyond the comforts and boredom of mine or a friend's abode. My dear friend Morghan, who had endowed me with the search of a great party, trusted me so much that she would veto each suggestion I came up with. That's trust. Eventually, it was decided that since some members of the female gender would be wearing heels, the party at Dante's Bistro would serve well. Also, it had a "Casino Royale" theme, and James Bond is fucking cool. Dinner would have to be had elsewhere, as Dante's had dinner tickets for only the cost of a kidney. No dice. Dinner, I suggested should be close, and should fit the theme of the evening. The answer was almost instant to me, i.e., a couple days before New Year's. Julio's Barrio. So simple. So delicious. A evening was born.

Now I'll have to stop here and give absolute credit and respect to Morghan for getting the tickets to Dante's, and doing a gargantuan amount of the leg work, and to Mary B for the dinner reso's. That being said, I do have to give credit where credit's due, so I give myself thanks for the ideas, as it wasn't easy to find an itinerary that everyone could get excited over. Backslaps and high praise for everyone!

Since the party was Bond-themed, I took it upon myself to obtain a tuxedo, which I haven't worn in it's traditional look since...1987. My Aunt Sandra's wedding. I was a page, or something. I looked awesome then, and I looked damn awesome two days ago. Look at that picture to the left. Spellbindingly awesome. And thanks to Daniel Craig and his incomparable performance, I can finally be the blond Bond I've always wanted. There's just something about putting on the penguin suit that makes you feel almost invincible. The constant checking in the mirror, the incessant pulling and straightening of various suit pieces, it all comes together into one amazing package. Granted, it has to be tailored, and certain pieces have to be used, and some need to be omitted. Take the suspenders, for example. I've never worn suspenders, mostly because my pants have never needed that "extra help" to stay up. The ten minutes it took me to put them on was frustrating enough, but when you don't wear suspenders, they cause you to imagine things. Like your pants are too short. Imagining something like that does not help someone so paranoid as myself.

After a couple drinks at our fellow partier Angelina's house, we traveled west to Julio's, where six of us initiated the 7pm reservation with style: Jugs of sangria. Oh, and jugs of margaritas. And lots of edible edibles. Now, I don't begin to believe that I'm the bastion of good manners and such, but I guess Angelina does. A mere 2.5 seconds after arriving at our table, our waiter is subjected to "HOW OLD ARE YOU?!" from Angelina. Taken aback, but not missing a beat, he replies, "not old enough to serve you", which I thought was either the product of a quick wit, or a conditioned response to a oft-repeated question. Really though, the dude looked like he was 14. He also looked like me when I was 14. Oh, and his name was Tyler. Just fucking priceless. Since he was a Tyler, I will give him the benefit of a clever wit. It's a namesake standard. We continue to eat, save for me. I ordered a dish, but didn't really eat it. Waiter Tyler declared last call for food, and pressured me into it. Well played, sir. This happened at 8pm, which also happened to be the last call for alcohol, since Julio's closed at 9pm. Our merry band of six decide that the other three of our group will come soon, so we decide to order 4 more pitchers divided equally into sangria and margaritas, bringing the total order by us to 8. In the end, my utmost reverence and respect to the Original Six for demolishing 90% of those pitchers. Well done, everyone!

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate" ("Abandon all hope, ye who enter here")
- Possible sign outside Dante's Bistro.

Alright, so Dante's probably isn't Hell. It's just that the evening ended so disgustingly, that one might wonder. Starting off, though, things were excellent. The bar was decorated wonderfully, the Sky Bar was exceptionally cool, and I recommend anyone to head up there if open, whenever they find themselves in the area. My thanks and a big high-five to my great buddy Dean (aka Poppa McGursky) for being my Virgil of the main bar. Thanks brother.

Let me run down some of the highlights:

- Upon seeing many people in suits, or just shirts and ties, and one fucking stupid looking asshole dressed as Austin Powers, I thought that I had the edge in a tux. The only other dudes dressed in tuxes were old guys, and I thought that during the contest for "Best Bond Look-a-like", I would be a contender. I never saw a sniff of the contest, thus cementing my belief that only douchebags win contests at bars. Except for Morghan winning Oiler tickets last year. That was awesome.

- The main bar was spinning regular top-40 tunes, but the restaurant next door had a live reggae band, and they were neat...for the one song I heard of them. Then some DJ played older tunes (for the older people mainly organized there), including a nine-song Beach Boys remix. The highlight was the conga line that Olivia started. That was hella fun, and we showed those oldies how to really have a good time. Take that, old people.

- Midnight and subsequent embraces. I'm running a nice streak, with each year having it's own special meaning and backstory.

- You can always sense when a fight is coming. The air seems to crackle with some intensity, the mood among the patrons tenses a little, and then it happens. It always starts with two idiots, with one intelligent person trying to stop it. I watched this time as two morons started jawing, then with the help of another, the moment passed. Then, like a massive meatball-asshole-douchebag avalanche, the fight gains momentum and hits an enormous level. My friends and I are getting our coats, when all hell breaks loose. The Seventh Circle of hell, Outer Ring, more exact. Swarms of security guards, who previously looked like anyone else (good move Dante's) rush to the area where my friends and I were loitering not three minutes earlier. Then we see the glasses being thrown. I saw some chairs take flight. The fighting mass grows to what I can see as about 10-15 people, with some 10 more around the edges. It's a disgusting sight, and quite frankly, frightening as well. We gather our jackets quickly, and decide to exit out a rear entrance. Despite one female servers plea that we go out the front, she lets us through when we point out that the front entrance is a "little busy right now". We are fortunate to have a sober driver with us (thanks Nicole!), so six of us pack into a small car, and flee the scene. The bar has become a cop convention by this point, with cruisers numbering in the 6-7 range. This is our travel through Purgatory.

Finally, Paradiso. Some of us are dropped off at Angelina's (those who didn't go home sick), and we regale with tales of the evening past. Dante's may never seem my shadow again, but I'll admit that it did provide me with one of the most interesing NYE's in a long time.

So until next year, when another night will move the sun in heav'n and all the stars.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

Luke 2:8-14 (King James Version)

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Tomorrow, I hope all of you have a Merry Christmas. And happy end of Hanukkah, as well (I hope you saved me some latkes).

My Brain Has Transformed And Rolled Out

It's here!

IT'S HERE!

The newest Transformers trailer has been released, and all I can say is that Christmas has come early, and it was in HD!

Follow the link, and you will enter a wonderful world, and then that world transformed into complete and utter awesomeness.

http://movies.yahoo.com/feature/transformers_hd.html

I linked to the high-definition trailers for obvious reasons. Waiting for this movie is for chumps. I want to see all my favourite Transformers, and hopefully the movie will have some awesome Autobot dance sequences. And a Weird Al song to go along with a kick-ass soundtrack filled with Stan Bush songs.

This is what a 26 year-old man dreams of. Transformers live action. Oh, and girls. Live action girls.

Like I Said, You're Very Fast Argyle

Argyle: Mind if we hear some tunes? (rap music) Hey, that'll work.

John McClane: No Christmas music?

Argyle: This is Christmas music.

- Die Hard, 1988

I am completely sick of every commercial and secular Christmas song out there, so I thought I'd dig up this classic, circa 1987. The next time you hear Telus' shitty monkey commercial and its background noise, or if you ever have to go to an elementary kid's Christmas concert (shudder), just think of Joseph "Run" Simmons, Darryl "DMC" McDaniels and Jay "Jam Master Jay" Mizell. Everything's going to be alright, and funky.

Word.

The Camrose Crawl '06: Evidence Gallery

The Camrose Crawl has come and gone for another year, and I think that all the crawlers involved learned some new things about themselves, gained some new insights. Grew, as people.

Yeah, that's pretty much bullshit.

But everyone did have an excellent time, and I have collected a few pictures of the event, for all to enjoy, reminice, or perhaps fill up those alcohol-induced blank spots.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/46334739@N00/

I would do a complete write up, but that would only be interesting to those who were there. That being said, I will give the Cole's Notes version of the evening:

1) Meet the group in Camrose at Alice Hotel

2) Ingest first of what could have been hundreds of beers. And one Smirnoff Ice mixed with raspberry Sour Puss.

3) Wake up fully clothed in hotel room.

And that's pretty much it. Oh, there was a plate of cactus-cut potatoes in there, and they were good. Hat's off and a big "hurray!" to Greg G for putting it all together again this year, and I certainly hope that next year's 7th Annual Crawl is just as epic and sprawling and blurry as this year's.

I Look Stupid, But I Guess I Could Look Stupider

Ugh.

Just stop, everyone.

Stop right now.

Stop with the moronic clothing that is supposed to allow adults to harken back to those care-free days of their youth. They're adults. Not children. There's something to be said for maturity, and these pajamas shout out a big "fuck you" to maturity.

Pajama City - Adult Footed Pajamas

No sane adult should wear "footed" pajamas. They're pretty much for the mentally handicapped, or those baby-fetish types. Also, they're for fucking children. Like, 4 year-olds. What's the draw, then? Well, these have a "drop seat back". Now, that's an extremely bad idea. Why? Because some numbnut is going to run around with that thing down, exposing the world to a nasty, fat, hairy ass. That's just possibly the one sight every living person could do without. Somebody is going to take the claim that "you never have to take them off" literally, and sadly, I believe that a great number of those people will be buying the "XW", or "Extra-Wide".

Sigh. Nobody wants to grow up, and now they have the perfect unitard to do that in.

Pointless Nostalgia - Part 4.0

Whoo hoo! Another trip to my favourite town - Rememberytown!

This time around, we're going to be sniffing up some fantastical treats, or rather just one treat. The big treat. Wrigley's Big Red gum. I dare you, I double-triple dare you to find a bigger, longer lasting red cinnamon gum. I'll give you a little while, because it's such a dumb dare.

Growing up in South Detroit, or more accurately, St. Albert, Alberta, Big Red was an awesome gum to purchase. Among the pantheon of chewing gum on the market at the time, Big Red was that grown-up gum that I as a kid just had to fake the fact that I hadn't brushed that day. As an impressionable young junior high student, the convenient across-the-street location of a Shell Store by my school provided me with my cinnamon fraud, and that gum was the perfect cover after a Big Bite hot dog, or a slice of pizza. Big Red didn't have had the athletic feel of "Big League Chew", or the pure, disgusting novelty of "Thrills" (side note: how is it that kid's feared having their mouths washed out with soap after swearing, but would eat this gum like it was edible gold?), but it did have a kick-ass commercial, strategically dipped in a sweet awesome sauce of terrible acting and an insanity-producing jingle:

For some reason, Big Red was portrayed as a somewhat aphrodisiac for the masses. First off, it's bigger than the leading cinnamon gum, so obviously it compliments a man's endowments. Obviously. Second, it would seem to give the chewer more confidence, more personality, and definitely more sex appeal. I certainly can attest to being more attracted to a lady once she's had a stick of gum. There's just something about the robotic jaw motion that's hypnotically erotic. There's been numerous products on the market that claim, directly or indirectly, to attract members of either sex, but this is gum. It costs about a buck or less. Believe me, the kind of gum you chew is the least of your worries.

What I really enjoy is the idea that this gum is so potent, so consuming, that no-one dares leave the side of someone who's chewing it. If your partner just popped a Big Red in their mouth, don't make any fucking plans. You've just been scheduled for a four or five-hour makeout slobber fest. That's pretty encouraging, I must say, and I may have fell for it back in my youth. Of course, I was stupider then, but we all were. Why else did we save all those "Double Bubble" comics in order to get the free beach ball or frisbee? So we could play with something after making out.

Pop culture fans, pay attention to the band member in the commercial. You may recognize him as Peter Billingsly, who played Ralphie Parker in A Christmas Story (1983), my all-time favourite Christmas movie.

Whiteboard Eye Candy

Whiteboards don't have to just display pie charts, bar graphs, or brainstorming session results! They can be used for artistic adventures, creative crusades and wonders of whimsy, as seen in the above animation. It's incredibly awesome, but maybe a little too awesome. I've actually become a little disappointed with my own lack of ingenuity after seeing this. Once, I made a raft out of popsicle sticks, but looking back on it, that pretty much sucked.

Props to Kristoferstrom for this one.

Set Your Faces To 'Stunned' - "Smokin' Aces" Trailer

Every so often, a studio will bestow upon the global community a trailer for an upcoming film so great and intense, that it runs the risk of overshadowing the film itself. I certainly hope that this film doesn't meet that fate.

Smokin' Aces revolves around a dying mob boss taking out a $1 million contract on the life of his former protégé, a Vegas magician turned gangster who has agreed to testify against the mob. The FBI attempts to protect their key witness as an array of hit men and women descend on Lake Tahoe in a race to take the magician out.

Directed by Joe Carnahan, who arguably is responsible for the career resurrection of Ray Liotta, this film reminds me of films by Guy Ritchie, when he wasn't being denigrated on a daily basis by his aging, yoga-sniffing, African baby buying wife. I certainly hope that this film can add to, or even progress the "cromedy" (crime-comedy) genre, much in the way films like True Romance , Pulp Fiction,The Limey or even Kiss Kiss Bang Bang improved on it.

Just mark January 26, 2007 on your calendars, and maybe four of your friend's. This is going to be a barn-burner. Guns.

Watch the movie trailer below, or watch it on this site, or in high-definition from this site (recommended is the 39 MB.)

Read My Other Post

I apologize for any long periods between posts on this site. Writing for two sites is hard, and yet somehow, I knew that. However, since I don't believe in copying myself, I will simply direct you to the other blog site for my latest rant. It's super easy - just put your mouse over this link and push the button! Yeah, do it!

http://www.thirtylives.com/wordpress/?p=77

Have a great one, everybody!

Fisher-Price Surrenders

Some toy companies are starting to understand.

Not every child is going to grow up to be doctors, lawyers, or business leaders. Not every child wants to practice his or her spelling proficiency, math abilities or reading and comprehension. Some kids just want to grow up and be just like their mommies and if they're lucky to know who he is, their daddies as well.

The truth is that there are some children in this world (I will guess mostly American children, but we Canadians aren't all bastions of proper child-rearing ourselves) that are going to fall short of the "ideal" future. Some kids will become victims of their environment, and will give in to temptations of drugs, cheap prostitutes, circus performing and of course, tattoos. Or, some kids will learn from their parent(s), and want to mimic those they look up to for guidance, knowledge and bottle-opening tricks. I am quite pleased to see that the good folks at Spin Master Toys have come up with a vessel for fostering the deviant direction that some kids will ultimately take. They've really tapped into what kids want, and they've created a kick-ass toy to get those kids prepared for adulthood, which will involve watching daytime infomercials and having multiple conditional prison sentences.

For the low price of only $14.99 (which would be 300 of dad or mom's beer cans), I present to you the GR8 TaT2 Maker (aka I-Tattoo). Now Junior or the little miss can be just like their heroes on the street corner by opening up their very own pretend play tattoo parlour! Just like the website selling the toy, etoys.com, states, this toy certainly is "childhood dreams delivered". What child hasn't dreamt of creating their own replica tattoos? With this device, every kid can get that gang sign inked on, or that skull-and-crossbones that will intimidate everyone in juvy. Oh, I wish I could see the looks on their faces when they create their very own barbed-wire arm band, or that tribal symbol that means nothing. Nothing will make Dad more proud like displaying his favourite Looney Tunes character along with a wife-beater tank-top just like his. And what better way to be just like Mom, than to take off your underwear and ink on an awesome Disney character. There's a Mother's Day moment to remember.

Nope, there's just nothing like a toy that really captures the innocence of youth. You know, Christmas is coming up! Why not get the GR8 TaT2 maker for that burgeoning young shoplifter in the family. Package that up with the "Lil' Thugz Likr" homemade malt liquor set, and the "Tykes Tobacco" how-to guide for rolling cigarettes, and you've got a holiday season for the ages.

I Have Now Doubled My Output Production, Suckas

Since I love writing and posting about anything and everything that I deem awesome and even awesomer in my world, there is another blog to which you can train your reading-balls to. It's going to rock your world, and probably any other worlds that are within spitting distance.

Thirtylives.com

What's the significance behind the name? You'll have to read to find out! Now, that doesn't give you an excuse to not find out, because you just have to click and read. Lazy bastard. Basically, it's a new blog with plenty of contributors, many of whom you'll be happy to meet, and even happier to stalk outside of their workplaces. Have fun! Reading is fun!

The Score: Winter - 1, Tyler - 0

Alas, Winter.

You have started a battle to which I will fight for as long as I breathe your fierce, piercing air. You know not of the passion to which I will maintain a battle, whether of wits or of fists. Know this, Winter: I will not quit until I have laid upon you great pain and anguish and damage amounting to roughly somewhere between $3,000 and $4,000.

There I was, driving northbound on Groat Road, enjoying some excellent Wolf Parade (loud and clapped-along with, naturally), and attempting to shake off a most excellent hangover from the night previous. You must believe that I was completely aware of the terrible driving conditions that I had embarked upon. Winter had made its move early in the night, and still had its hand on the piece come morning. However, my trust, albeit in hindsight, rather misguided, was placed squarely on the four stalwart sandbags placed carefully over my rear axle. Indeed, it would seem that my own hubris was accumulating faster than the blanket of white covering the City of Champions.

Groat Road is not to be traveled nor taken lightly, as I can attest from years of traversing it's serpentine body. It exploits with no discrimination. It can consume the hotshot douchebag riding the crotch-rocket, to the family of four in the Astro van, battling each other and threats of "turning this car right around". Perhaps I did not exhibit the kind of respect Groat deserves, but I certainly didn't give Winter its due. Mea culpa.

Everyone says that they have a small moment of panic when they first get the feeling of control lost. Granted, I may have felt a little bit of it, but when you drive a rear-wheeled truck, losing control in fresh snow sort of comes with the territory. I didn't compensate enough, I compensated too much. Either way, it's a moot point now. Winter decided that it was my turn to have my ride sidelined, and for a price. As I slammed into the centre meridian wall, I immediately uttered the one indisputable retort: "Aw, C'MON!". Perhaps not as terse as an obscenity, but had there been a Michael in the car with me, I would have been quite pleased to have referenced Arrested Development in such a circumstance. After getting to the emergency turnout, I thanked somebody, something, for allowing me to collide with only myself, and not anyone else traveling. Also, much thanks to the gentleman who inquired about my status. Applause for you, kind sir.

When the dust has settled, my insurance company will be hit for over 3Gs, and my pride will have taken a bit of a nock. But Winter, the truck can be fixed, my confidence will return, and I will embark on a campaign of retaliation towards you. I feel the sudden need to alleviate my bladder, and your precious, white snow seems an adequate canvas. Crude, but it's a start.

Pointless Nostalgia - Part Three

The 80's Movie Montage: Lost art, or relic of the neon age?

There are some things that just aren't done anymore. Throwing away Styrofoam containers. Having anything in Styrofoam at all. Giving away regular-sized candy at Halloween. Making an awesome movie montage, complete with kick-ass synth-pop music with smokin' hot lyrics. I certainly miss all of these, but the one that I yearn for the most, the one that I dream about, and secretly ask for when I get the big piece of the wishbone, is the return of the movie montage. Specifically, the 80's movie montage. The 80's montage is a glorious use of celluloid, pure magical genius of light, sound and spandex. In short, it's an infinite amount of brilliance thrown into a awesome-making machine and set on "ice crush". Forever!

For those of you not hip to what a montage is, a montage sequence is a film technique wherein the film needs to show a large-scale process or a lengthy period. Instead of showing this process in it's entirety, brief portions, along with titles and images, can be joined by dissolves (transitions between two shots) and music to compress the lengthy series of actions into a few moments.

The key to the 80's montage is the music. Filmmakers of today are extremely lazy. An editor today will simply find some crap-tacular song in their iPOD that's completely ignorable, or they will attack the Top-40 list of the moment, and hijack whatever's "hot" that very second. The result? An unmemorable sequence in the film that nobody cares about, unless it involves nudity. Now, the 80's montage, it had fucking creativity. Editors and directors of that era would actually find a song that coincided with the actions/themes/characters of the movie. If they couldn't find one, they would commission songwriters and shitty artists to record one. That's dedication to the genre.

Here's some awesome examples of the 80's montage, all of which are pure cinematic gold. Treasure them with all your heart!

Monster Squad - 1987 (Editor: James Mitchell)

Just killer! Listen carefully to the lyrics. "Rock until you drop. Dance until your heart stops". That really hits the nail on the head, doesn't it? Disregard that the song is about clubbing, and these kids are 6-13 years old. It's irrelevant. In this sequence, these kids must equip their stalwart group with everything they need to defeat the monsters. And monsters don't like business cards. Seriously, I read that.

Here's another, more subtle montage:

The Wizard - 1989 (Editor: Tom Finan)

"I live by the groove. If I can't hear it baby, how can I move?". Wow. Those lyrics speak right to the urgency of the situation. Jimmy Woods has to get ready for the Nintendo Championships, so naturally the song reflects his need to "get in the groove". I'm still in awe of this song, and of the killer game action!

Now the montage doesn't have to be well into the film, or inserted only as an easy way to complete some tasks for the main characters. Sometimes it can be at the very beginning! Peep this:

Rad - 1986 (Editor: Carl Kress)

"Getting ready to break the ice! Feels like time is standing still". I love it! BMX racing and stunts are all about breaking the ice, and I can honestly say that only you can break the ice inside of me. That's right, only you. The quick stunts are just the thing to get the audience in a tizzy, and the Cochrane/Calgary backdrops really strike a chord.

Lastly, the mother of all 80's montages. This montage is everything. It's a saint. It's Mother Teresa. It's Elvis. It's God.

Rocky IV - 1985 (Editor - James R. Symons)

"Hearts on fire, strong desire, raises deep within". This is the greatest film moment in the history of film. Stallone. Lundgren. Training. Talia Shire nodding her approval. Synth power. Hearts on fire everywhere. This sequence leaves me breathles and wanting more wood chopping. Simply perfection.

Keep an eye out for movie montages! Create a drinking game around them! It's fun, even alone!

Face-Melting Music Video - Wednesday Edition

RÖYKSOPP - Remind Me

Granted, this song is from the "Melody A.M." album from 2002, but it's a prime example of how music videos should be, that is, relevant and have the power to be utterly awesome. With the death of the radio star in 1981 (the first year of music videos in the true form), a path had been paved for dipshits in bands everywhere and the opportunity had arisen for these individuals to gather up their dad's video camera and freak out in glorious moving picture and sound.

This video is a testament to those dipshits.

From The "I Don't Know What To Say" Files

Seriously, I'm speechless, but also just a little bit curious. More specifically, I'm curious about who's buying this and what is wrong with those people.

http://www.bettybeauty.com/

What an age we live in.

I agree, though. The pink would be fun.

Girl+Sexy=Costume Awesomicity

Double-clicky on the above video to view, or peep this link: Girls's Costume Wearhouse

It's going to be one hell of a weekend! I'm certainly going to hit on any female dressed up as a "Sexy 19th Century Steel Conglomerate Tycoon"! Oh baby, I reckon she'd go the whole hog, by gum! Like greased lightning! I only pray she don't take me for a soaplock, for truth!

Have a great and safe weekend everyone!

Colour Me Baddddd

http://www.bravia-advert.com/paint/thead/

70,000 litres of paint
358 single bottle bombs
33 sextuple air cluster bombs
22 Triple hung cluster bombs
268 mortars
33 Triple Mortars
22 Double mortars
358 meters of weld
330 meters of steel pipe
and 57 km of copper wire

Makes for one awesome commercial. A huge video, but definitely worth the wait for the high-res version. MUST. BUY. EXPENSIVE. TELEVISION. Wow, it works!

Trailer Watch - "300"

I've never been so amazed by a minute and a half in my life...regarding film (not any bad sexual escapades, you pervs). If you haven't seen the trailer for "300", then I truly pity you. Take it from me, this film will destroy every film that's come before it, in visuals, audio, story and everything else. And it will do it old school. Real old school. Ancient Greek school. That's old.

Set in 480 BC, the Persian king Xerxes sends his massive army to conquer Greece. The Greek city of Sparta houses its finest warriors, and 300 of these soldiers are chosen to meet the Persians at Thermopylae, engaging the soldiers in a narrow canyon where they cannot take full advantage of their numbers. The battle is a suicide mission, meant to buy time for the rest of the Greek forces to prepare for the invasion. However, that doesn't stop the Spartans from throwing their hearts into the fray, determined to take as many Persians as possible with them.

The film is based on the graphic novel by Frank Miller, whom I believe is changing the face of filmmaking for our time (see "Sin City"). What we will get is a film that will bestow upon us visual imagery the likes of which have never been seen before. Judging by the trailer, the film is apparently all in slow-motion, but that's probably for effect. The effect is the proverbial "raging sweatpants boner", but all in my mind. This film has raised the awesome bar to new awesome heights, and I'm hooked. Here's the proof:

http://www.apple.com/trailers/wb/300/trailer1/large.html

I'd put in the youtube.com version, but this has to be seen in either HD or in a large resolution setting.

I Am A Hot Female Celebrity

God, that's a horrendous photo of me. I look like a shiny serial killer. But apparently I look more like hot female celebrities than male ones.

According to www.myheritage.com, and it's hilarious "which celebrities do I look like, but will never attain their level of fame and wealth" feature, I look most like Ronan Keating, who was an integral member of "Boyzone". Fucking awesome. That's not too bad, but what's with all the ladies? I know that I'm a fairly attractive dude, but seriously, Kim Basinger? Must be the chin. Or at least the attempt at facial hair, I'm not sure.

I'm going to assume that this site uses the latest in facial recognition technology, and the lookalikes aren't solely based on similarities in the photo (hairstyle, background, shiny foreheads, etc.). It's kind of disappointing, though. I thought that my mugshot-style picture would have warranted some dark, brooding stars of stage and screen. Nope, I got Holly Marie Combs. Oh, and Alyssa Milano. Throw in Rose McGowan or Shannon D, and I would look like the whole "Charmed" lineup. Does that turn anyone on? I'm slightly more attracted to myself right now, to be honest. Especially since I look a bit like Denise Richards. And she didn't believe me. I bet that restraining order looks pretty silly now, doesn't it Denise?

Say, That's A Delicious Channel!

If you watched any television this past holiday weekend, then most of you in the Shaw Cable nation know of a recent addition to the "static channel" lineup with which Shaw has now blessed us. That means that we now have two, TWO awesome programs that basically involve sweet continuous, day-long loops of something benign and instills in us pleasant, nostalgic feelings of either warmth or hunger, depending on the holiday. Not content with their earthshattering Christmas fireplace show, they introduced Turkey TV.

The official press release from Shaw Cable is filled with standup comedy, highlighted by the following (bold added for effect):

"This Canadian only channel will only be available to Shaw subscribers will be able to tune in to Turkey TV on Thanksgiving Day for on-going coverage of exciting turkey action.

Turkey TV will offer continuous coverage of a beautiful, roasted turkey, surrounded by fresh greens, carrots and tomatoes in an open flame forno oven. Coverage will include up to the minute bastings and exclusive stoking of the fire that will be sure to keep viewers on the edge of their seats throughout this thrilling turkey program."

Excuse me? Have we become so zombified with television that the mere image of a turkey (and all the trimmings) is considered "exciting"? Sadly, yes. Since it's on TV, we'll watch it, and watch it intently. I even caught myself a couple of times staring wistfully at the slow roasted, golden brown bird from heaven. I don't think that I was on the edge of my seat for a 24-hour looped program, but I was sitting near the edge of my bed once. Granted, Shaw Cable is going to hype their non-programming to the fullest extent, but the unintentional comedy is quite amusing. Seriously though, let's not go nuts. I really hope that families didn't gather around the old Victrola and reminice about the time they had turkey together as a family. Maybe about 4 minutes ago. Or the previous day, it really doesn't matter. Putting stupid stuff on the TV isn't a Canadian cultural phenomenon; CBC been doing it for years.

But it goes on. To quote Peter Bissonnette, President, Shaw Communications:

"With Turkey TV, Shaw customers will experience Thanksgiving like never before," said Peter Bissonnette, President, Shaw Communications. "Turkey TV is a breakthrough in holiday programming and highlights Shaw's continued efforts to provide its customers only the finest in holiday television."

Yep, an almost static image of a turkey is truly a breakthrough. A massive, fucking breakthrough that's truly going to change the way we look at TV. Since the holiday theme is big, how about Jesus getting nailed to the cross at Easter? Hey, why stop at only holidays? A man digs a hole! A bird eats some crumbs! Motherfucking wheat in a field! All looped, all fucking day! YAY! Also, we viewers get even stupider. Hot dog. How amusing is it to hear that Shaw is dedicated to the "finest in holiday television"? IT'S A FUCKING LOOPED IMAGE OF A TURKEY. Still, it's better than "The War At Home". Eat it, Michael Rappaport.

Halloween: The 27-Day Countdown

Huzzah! It's October, and that means it's almost time for Halloween!

The countdown is now at an even 27 days until the big day. Of course, that number is strictly for the kids. The actual day of Halloween, October 31 and all its sticky-handed glee, has always been relegated to the under 13 crowd. For all the card-carrying members of the "All You Can Drink" club, the magic number is 23 or 24, depending on which day meets your fancy. This year should prove no different than any year's past, and for me, that means finding a costume of a movie character that nobody's knows, drink a whole lot, try to drunkenly tell people what my costume is, pass out somewhere still dressed in my costume, and have people hold conversations about me and what the hell I'm dressed as. I can't wait!

As we've known since we were old enough to eat and appreciate candy, Halloween is all about the costume. It really makes or breaks a great Halloween experience. It can draw admiration and an extra candy bar from even the cheapest house, or it can be a magnet for scorn, insult and trauma-inducing childhood memories. I've had some duds and I've had some winners. I went as Bart Simpson for about 5 years in a row starting in 1990, consisting of a store-bout rubber and foam mask, t-shirt and blue shorts. That was cool for one year, then it just became redundant. I delve into the repeats every other year, mostly because I'm cheap and lazy. However, the winners are awesometacular. I can remember my Darth Vader costume (pictured above, in 1983), and how sweet that dandy was. The only downside was that it was -30 C (isn't every Halloween?), and that stupid flashlight kept dropping the batteries out of itself. (Thanks for your help Dad!). Other rad costumes of mine include this one from 1984, and this from 1985. And I'm still that cute today, although maybe a bit more rugged and spiteful.

However, all the cuteness and innocence of those early years of Halloween get lost easily amid a river of cheap liquor and poor attempts at soliciting sex. When one becomes an adult, it seems that we try to pride ourselves in the creation of thought-provoking, frightening and humourous exhibits of pop-culture or anti-culture, depeding on one's initiative. More often than not, this optimism fails, and we see a plethora of costume fads based on "of the moment" TV shows or films, girls dressed as a "sexy" something (be it cop, nun, or property assessor), and an infinite truckload of pimps (mostly white people, each more idiotic than the last).

And then there's this website, www.buycostumes.com. It's a pretty large-scale costume purchase site that seems to revel in the absurd. It's "adult" costume section is rife with someone's weak attempt at being clever, funny and original. I would guess that a "cosume creation committee" dreamed up these in a brainstorming session, but all the committee members are over 40, and I would wager a bet that anyone who buys the costumes from the site are the people getting arrested on Halloween. People who buy these should be euthanized. Maybe that's too harsh - sterilization should be just fine.

This is just an example of the stupidity running rampant at this site. Somebody is going to buy a "one night stand" costume? Not fucking likely. They might as well be celibate, because no lady/dude is going to want to fuck this piece of shit.
Speaking of shit...

This is a "Bull-shit" costume. See the cleverness? See the hilarity? No, you don't, because this person is dressed up AS A PIECE OF SHIT. Again, for the record, this is a costume that is A PIECE OF SHIT, AND THIS SITE IS SELLING THEM. Unfortunately, it doesn't stop there with the "shit" theme, and I sorely wish it did. Every single "shit" saying is represented here. - "Holy Shit"
- "Tough Shit"
- "No Shit, Sherlock"
- Some flaming pile of shit
- "Poo Poo Platter". This is shit on a plate. SHIT ON A PLATE. Fucking hilarious.
- "When Shit Hits The Fan". For fuck's sake, is this over yet?

There's more, but you get the idea. For the low, low price of $40-$55, someone can look like a piece of shit for a whole evening. This is how far we've come everyone. Oh sure, you could dress up like a vampire, a cowboy, or something that your mom sewed together, but why? Spend some money and make your mother proud! Be that slutty cop, or slutty nurse. Be a piece of shit. Be the fucking pimpest pimp that ever pimped the beat. Or, if you really want to shine on the fans, be this. Or this. You've now become the coolest person EVER. And I want to kick your ass.

Cut The Jibber-Jabber

Hey fools! If you don't want to be pitied, or randomly beat up, you'll check out these check-outs! It's a Mr. T kind of day, all day, everyday. Twice on Sundays, even. Believe that!

Need A Time Waster?

Hey kids! Do you like trivia? Do you like movie trivia? Do you like movie trivia that has blatant product placement?

Of course, the answer to all the questions is yes, even if the product placement is unnecessary and pretty stupid. If you can get past that however, this is a pretty "sweet" trivia picture, where you have to guess movie titles from the visual clues.

I had a pun in that last sentence, and you'll see why it's moderately funny.

http://us.mms.com/us/dark/

Have fun! I'm still playing, but I got 30/50 in 17 minutes (granted, I'm trying to do work at the same time). Let me know what your scores are!

Hint: All the movies are of the same genre, for the most part.

*UPDATE: 40/50 in 22 minutes.

**UPDATE: 50/50 in 43:18. (and yes, for a couple I did a little research. The last one I needed, when I got it, boy did I feel like a dumbard).

If you need any answers, I'd be happy to help!

The Weekend: Quick And Dirty Version

To be quite honest, I really don't like these "diary" posts. Really, who gives two shits what I did, where I did it and with whom? Most likely nobody, and that's somewhat depressing. However, it's been a week since I amazed and humoured you with blaxploitation, and as of right now, I'm somewhat wired, so here's a new post! Shiny!

Friday:

Friday was a long and exhausting day, but one filled with incredible awesomeness that I will remember forever, mostly because I wasn't drinking. It's like riding a train for a week, just to reach the person you love, and when you get to your destination, they still love you, even though it was probably easier to take a plane, but you're kind of cheap. The only downside to Friday's memories is that I must remember them only in my mind, because the idiot in me didn't get any pictures. I hate that guy.


The SA of MacEwan hosted a welcome back-type concert featuring The Trews and Pilot Speed (formerly Pilate). Now, since these are Canadian bands, they require the SA to shuttle them to and from the airport, hotel and venue. Now what cool guy volunteered to do this? Me, baby, me. I just wanted to be a part of the event, much like I did at the U of A. So that's what I got to do: I picked up both bands from the airport, and shuttled them to the school and hotel. I also got to run around backstage, host a little bit on stage and chat a whole bunch with both bands. Overall, I can say that the boys in The Trews and Pilot Speed are a cargo plane full of awesome, and I have newfound respect for both bands (pick up their respective CDs now! They're actually really good! I'm not just saying that because we're best friends now!).

Saturday:

Ah, there's nothing like a little jaunt to the country. Lacombe, Alberta. Population: Enough to look like a civilized community. Bar scene: Non-existent, except for a scattered few pubs and hotel "bars" (not really bars, but closet spaces with stools - oh, and dirty). My buddy Greg G. lives out in Lacombe by his own free will, and has always bemoaned the fact that his Edmonton/Calgary/Wherever friends haven't visited his new home or sampled some of the local hospitality. It finally all came together on Saturday.

There were only four brave souls that day, but we experienced a town on the grow! Lacombe is buzzing with activity and stuff. Exhibit A: The Lacombe Corn Maze. I've never been to a corn maze, mostly because I am somewhat afraid that Jack Nicholson will chase after me with an axe while I'm there. I pressed the gents to accept the corn maze's taunt of "come get lost in the maze", or something unoriginal like that. I think a taunt of "The Lacombe Corn Maze: 46 People Did Not Make It Out Alive Last Year" is a better slogan, but I suppose it would freak out the families. Anyways, here's some pics.

The evening would prove to be most eventful, due to the fact that we were all fairly into the sauce, and that's probably an understatement (it always is). With Greg as our intrepid host, we set out to visit the very best, the very finest in bars that Lacombe has to offer. What we found were the finest in greasy, dirty, trashy bars that only a small town can deliver.

We began with pre-drinking at Greg's place which involved drinking games (my favourite was the game involving "Mega Man II", and having to drink each time Mega Man got hit), and some "Co-Op Gold" Lager (as bad as it sounds). After becoming soundly inebriated, we phoned a cab, and was greeted by an ancient driver who piloted a wagon with no dashboard lights. "How do you know what speed you're going?", we asked. "I know what speed I'm going", was the reply. Awesome! Our first destination was Boston Pizza, which was thankfully quite normal. After that, my memory is quite hazy, but I'll give you the gist:
- Most bars had incredibly old and ugly could-be cougars, which Greg hit on, and we laughed.
- Most bars were in hotels, and not good ones, either.
- Some bars had buckets in plain view to catch falling water dripping from the ceiliing.
- All bars had a variety of snacks, most overdue their expiry date.
- A surprisingly number of bars had a "help yourself" popcorn machine, and all had a sign by it saying "use the scoop, not your hands". Sweet!
- Scott's has a desire to bite everyone (runs in the family), but his biting had an unforseen result. Some guy thought Scott was kissing me, and he sent a girl by our table to give me his number on a napkin. I feel sorry for the guy. He's probably the only gay guy in Lacombe, hopefully sees another, but gets shot down. It's just sad, really.
- Some pictures are located here!

Another victory for the Weekend Crew. Tune in again for more wacky adventures!

Movie Of The Day: Black Belt Jones

The year is 1974, and the "blaxploitation" film genre is in full force. What began with "Watermelon Man" in 1970, the genre exploded on to the American cinema scene with films like "Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song", "Shaft", "Superfly", "Blackula", "Black Caesar", "Foxy Brown" and a host of others. Blaxploitation was the first genre to focus on African-American directors and actors, and the first to have truly funky and soul-based soundtracks. Despite some criticisms from civil liberties groups at the time, this genre is now considered to be ground-breaking and instrumental in furthering the development of African-Americans in the film industry.

Black Belt Jones combines ballet-like martial arts choreography, hilarious dialogue (some unintentionally funny, I'm sure), and the most ass-kickingest, funkiest soundtrack of the era.

In Los Angeles, The Mafia learns that a new civic center will be built, and they buy all of the land for the site of the building—all except for one place: a karate school owned by Pop Byrd (Scatman Crothers). They arrange to have Pinky (Malik Carter) come by to force Pop to sell his land, but he is killed by them. It's up to the karate school's students to get the hero, Black Belt Jones (Jim Kelly), for help. Sydney (Gloria Hendry), the daughter of the late Pop Byrd, won't sell the building. Because both of them are marial arts experts, they join forces to "clobber the mob".



The opening credits, which features a score by Dennis Coffey, pretty much sums up this film - awesome! So awesome that it was once put on an awesome scale, but the scale broke, simply because the scale was meant for mortal films. This film is immortal. Kung-fu in a baby blue velour suit? Damn right. Heads through windows? Absolutely! The film doesn't even think about stopping there. The fight scenes are legendary, filled with incredible acrobatics, and super-realistic sounds! I'm sure that if I were to punch a man in the face, it would sound like a circus ringmaster cracking a whip. Those punches and kicks are just that powerful and just as goosebump-inducing as you want them to be.

Jim Kelly, who plays the title role, was a hot commodity. He had just been seen in Bruce Lee's epic Enter The Dragon, and he shows what incredible prowess he posesses. In the scene below, BBJ deals out some serious justice to Pinky's mob. The key to winning a fight is the element of surprise, and Pinky gets it every three seconds. Also, Batman makes a guest appearance.



Black Belt Jones was also one of the first blaxploitation films to openly endorse certain companies and organizations, as seen in this clip. Exciting!



Hey hey! Now I feel like getting some McDonald's! It may be 1974, but you can bet that all the brothers were lovin' it. This next scene will show a few truths about a chase. One, out of 15 guys, only one will have a gun, and he will miss when he shoots. Two, you can steal anything from people if you have a clever opener. Three, that you don't need underwear to be in a chase, and throwing it at your pursuers really pisses them off. Four, that painters will believe anything, and will be willing to buy more paint after they've wasted some.



Black Belt Jones is the secret to having a great time at the movies, with a loved one, or in your parents basement. Just remember this film if you're ever having a fight in a car wash. You'll be thankful.

The Moustache: Why You're Powerless Against It

Lately, I've been thinking about facial hair, and whether or not I should make a spirited attempt at growing some. I have already mastered the art of not shaving, but that only puts me on par with every homeless person out there, including the women - gross. I've never had a full-on, honest-to-God moustache, or anything that someone would find the least bit respectable.

I have a bit of a problem with bald spots, notably in two large circles on either side of my chin. This sort of fucks up any handlebar action, and it depresses me. I once had a chin-only goatee, but it was pretty disgusting. Even I hated it, but I thought that if I kept it for just long enough, then the bald spots would see the error of their ways and get with the program. No dice. Thanks bald spots, I had to look like a douchebag for a whole summer. That didn't help with the ladies at all, who either took one look at it and ran, or tried to pull it off in an attempt to get me to snap out of my state of douchebaggery, much like touching Indiana Jones with fire in Temple Of Doom.

In order to find the perfect moustache for me, I have collected images of a select few, noted for their emission of pure animal ferocity, or their seemingly endless drippings of unbridled male power, or the fact that if the moustache ever cut loose from the face, it would no doubt take over a small country.

Rance Mulliniks

If God played 3rd base (and even shortstop from time to time), he'd be Rance, and he'd have one of the best 'staches in the bigs. Rance's handle emulates pure power draining from his soul, and out his nose. His power is running over his lips, and any woman who graces that pucker will feel only the raw emotion that a utility player-turned-colour commentator can emit. Also, I think his glasses are pretty cool. Since I'm retired from baseball though, I don't think this one's for me.


John Oates

Mr. Oates (pictured here with a less talented woman), has a moustache that every woman wants to nuzzle against, and every man wants to make a photocopy of, and place in their bathroom as a guide. He's got that expression that drives the girls wild, and their "kiss is on his lips". John knows what a "rich girl" wants, and knows what a "maneater" needs. Curly hair. Everywhere. I don't play any instruments, so I don't think I'll be sporting this one.


Ravishing Rick Rude (aka Richard Rood)

Rick Rude's moustache power was so overwhelming and overpowering, that most women could be heard to describe it as "a rude awakening...of sex!" Rick's combination of permed mullet and super soup-strainer seems to project just the right amount of masculinity, and the oiled-up body doesn't seem to hurt anyone. Oh, but Rick's passed-on, so I guess it did hurt a little. I would go for this, but I don't have any oil other than olive oil, and that would just be weird. Plus, I think those pants are actually a body tattoo.

Carl Weathers

I suppose if I find myself boxing a little bit, or maybe if the CIA's got me pushing up too many pencils, and I need to battle a super alien in a tropical setting, I would definitely need this moustache. This moustache made Carl Weathers into the man. THE MAN. This guy was Action Jackson, for fuck's sake. And he was on Street Justice. He's carried a gun, but he also had real backup: his moustache. Carl Weathers keeps it real, so the only way to copy his moustache is to race him on the beach, wearing short shorts. I don't do that, so no go on this one.

Powers Boothe.

Powers Fucking Boothe. This is it. This is the one.

Powers Boothe could easily stare you to death, if he wishes it, and he'd do it with such unbridled electricity, you'd almost believe that you've been stared down by an angel. A growling, sneering angel. He is the ultimate authority on the moustache. His moustache weighs an incredible 47 pounds, and all of those pounds have been deep-fried in awesome. That moustache could level a mountain, or make sweet love to a woman, depending on what song woke him up in the morning. I only wish I could have a moustache as efficient. This moustache gets the job done, and makes fun of you for being lazy. And you were sick that day! Incredible.

So there you have it. Powers Boothe's moustache puts everyone else to the pits of shame and despair, except for Rick Rude's, but only because he's dead (but I have a feeling that even his buried moustache is feeling kind of low).

If you have a moustache suggestion, please let me know! Maybe this sweetheart? Or this tiger-like powerhouse?

Montréal Survivra.

As if you haven't been through enough, now your students have to face their fears again. Three times in 17 years is three times too many. Fear not, you will persevere. Stay strong Dawson, stay strong Montreal. You will survive.

Hot, Wet And Dripping With Legalese

Somehow I can see this happening in the future, and I don't like it. Mostly because I don't want to get sued, and I'll probably get sued everytime. In the heat of the moment, who hasn't touched upon Article 20? Sometimes it just happens.

Vanity Fair Uncovers Babynapping Ring

It's the newest secret Hollywood craze, right up there with the Beach Sand Diet, and dressing up like a homeless person and washing car windows at intersections, claiming it's research for a film (that's your story, right Whoopie Goldberg?).

It's Babynapping, and it's sweeping the plastic nation. Celebrity couples, in the belief that a child will lend some credibility to their "of the moment" relationships, or perhaps get them the Mom or Dad role in the latest Frankie Muniz film, are roaming the Hollywood hills and the neon streets of New York in a frantic search for the perfect baby. After approaching the respective parent or parents of the child, they offer to pay a reasonable amount for the little sprout for the use of it for a year or so. When the parents refuse (naturally), then the celebrity couple goes to work. With the paparazzi close by, one of the power duo will create a diversion by simply walking away from his or her companion, thus giving the media scrum the idea that the relationship is over because of some issue (cheating/too much distance/not enough distance/one's an alien, etc.).

Once the press are scrambling to relay this shocking development to their respective rags, the other celeb will snatch the baby and transfer it to one of their bodyguards, thus perpetrating a perfect "which cup is the ball under?" manoeuver. This process has been working to perfection lately, creating a bumper crop of celebrity couples with newborns.

However, Vanity Fair, a magazine nobody reads, except for that issue with Demi Moore naked on the cover, has recently uncovered this heinous crime of celebrity excess. In their recent issue, their crack team of photojournalists and lackeys who get coffee snagged a photo of Tom Cruise stuffing a young baby into his jacket. The picture also shows Katie Holmes smiling deviously at the day's catch, and clinging close to Tom's jacket, which is likely made of Scientology-brainwashed cows and broken dreams.

They've also made an attempt at disguising the child, with a baby toupee of some sort. It seems they've taken this fake commercial literally:



Of course, when you take a fake commercial literally, you're a retard. Luckily for the baby, it was returned to its proper parents, now assured of a normal life free of pre-teen drug binges and permanent sunglass wearing. Tom and Katie have been freed on bail, and are loose once again. If you see Tom and Katie in your neighborhood, hide your children and educate them on the dangers of becoming a "celebrity child of the moment".

Like A Kid In A Candy Store

Here at MacEwan, it's the first day of school. For me, it's the first day of constantly thinking about baseball everytime I walk through the halls, simply to avoid any unwanted trouser protuberances.

MacEwan is a 70% female campus. I'm a heterosexual male. It's times like these that I'm actually satisfied with my singledom, because quite frankly, I like the odds.

Now if anyone asks, for the rest of the month I'm 21, alright? No need to divulge the fact that when I started my first year of university, some of these girls were starting grade 5. I mean, seriously, grade fucking 5? That's down right scary to think about, so I won't think about it. All I can think about is the next few weeks, where each and every young girl brings out the sexy, until they lose all interest in looking good, and retreat back into sweatpants, hoodies and cover up all that is awesome.

But that's a long time from now. Until then, I will try to keep focused on my job, and not on all the scattered ass around here. To be fair though, that's probably not going to happen. I've already stocked up my pockets with business cards, and directions to my office. Also, I'm a race car driver.

Am I A Dick?

No, seriously. You can tell me.

Hey, here's your chance to waste some time at whatever hot, noisy job you work at and let me know what describes me the best. Not only is this a pure, egotisical excerise to boost my own moral, but it also lets me know who hates me the most.

Just check out this link, and follow the instructions, then leave your name. I'm sure that only my mother will do this, so I give her thanks in advance. Thanks mom! You're the best.

The Interactive Johari Window, Tyler Edition.

Try to be honest, or at least try to try. C'mon! You have nothing to lose! Placate my ego, people. Placate away.