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.