Tonight, a great ovation will arise from the deepest depths of the coliseum to the staggaring heights. For the Patron Saint of Lost Hockey Causes has returned home. Rejoice! For it is only he who can bring solace, joy and wonder to all those partaking in the great sport. We are embarking on great tidings, for truly justice will be at hand.
Welcome back Fernando.
I will be there tonight to congratulate you on a most miraculous return.
Also, some kid named Sidney will be playing. Good for him.
*By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.
"This is art. This is physical poetry. It's like the dance. And when you see it, you're transformed, because they bring you to another place. It's very moving. THIS is the challenge, against which HISTORY will measure these eaters."
I'm so confused. I'm in a constant state of bemusement and bewilderment, and I can't see the light of clarity anywhere. I just don't understand, and because of this, at this very moment, I'm beginning to go slightly mad.
It's been almost a week since last Thursday. Last Thursday was supposed to have changed everything. EVERYTHING. I was told that this was absolute fact! FACT! And now it's nearing the end of Wednesday, and nothing has changed. Absolutely nothing. I have woken up each day for six days straight, feeling the same feelings, running through the same routine, only to become more frustrated with each passing hour, each passing minute. I've looked outside, and people are going about their regular daily business as if nothing monumental has occurred. Are they blind? Can they not see what has transpired? Have they not been affected? Are they immune to the epic power of the event now past? Someone answer me!
Perhaps this is all a game. But it can't be! I'm still here, in the same place, eating the same Chicken Italiano Chunky soup, drinking the same calcium-fortified soy-based chocolate milk. Nothing is right; I haven't gone anywhere. It's like absolutely nothing of importance has happened, and the general population of this metropolitan area, and I would guess hundreds just like it, have had the same absence of transformation.
They lied to me. Those fuckers out and out lied.
Nothing has changed. Life is the same! The Turkey Bowl is a farce. Shame on the MLE! Shame on the Major League of Eating!
An email from a friend of mine, Rich Laffin, prompted the following exchange today:
From Rich: Hey Tylers, Just wanted to make sure you both knew the fire channel on shaw is back. It's a awesome as ever, too bad it's not in HD. Richie
From Tyler: !!!
I have been watching it intently ever since Remembrance Day, I believe. I read somewhere that SHAW Cable wanted to honour the heroes of the wars by completely revamping the holiday fireplace loop. It is spellbinding. The ever-changing setup, the mysterious hand that pokes and prods the fire with his/her fire poker-prodder. It is truly a wonder. I have numerous hours already on tape so that I may relive it's glory forever, or until I'm persecuted for my continued belief in the god "VHS".
We have reached a zenith in humanity, my brethren.
Yours in mediocrity,
Tyler
As some of you Edmontonians, general Albertans, or anyone who read my last blog update may already know, Shaw Cable initiated the 24/7 loop of the Fireplace last week. This loop (on Channel 11 for those in the capital city) consists of a one-hour-plus loop of a fireplace in all its fiery glory. The hisses, the cracks, the pops, and even the snaps are all dutifully included in this audio-visual televison legend. This lazily-programmed channel will be shown until January 20th, which is a damn long time. I'm certainly worried about all of the Shaw Digital Previews I'm going to miss. I'll never know what's happening right now on Animal Planet, or who won the crucial 1997 playoff series between the Blues and the Red Wings. However, all my hand-wringing is for a good cause! Because over two months of sweet, flaming goodness will be at every cable owner's fingertips. It is truly great to be alive! As noted in severalEdmontonmedia stories, "the blockbuster log is back".
Yes, the "blockbuster" is indeed back. In 1986, and every year thereafter, someone at Shaw Cable sets up a camera and tapes a fireplace for the most exciting and titillation footage not seen since the OJ Simpson police chase or the 1972 Munich Olympic hostage crisis. I mean this is a natural, roaring fireplace. This isn't your sissy natural gas fireplace, or some shitty drawing of a fireplace that your son/daughter did, and you had to put it on the fridge, lest you hear their whining for the next two months. And they drew the fireplace green with blue fire. And there's a unicorn in there, or what should be a unicorn. It could be a potato with triangles for all you know.
If you've ever had company over for Christmas, and you've got everything laid out for a super-awesome party, you know why this channel is there. You've got family, or good friends or just people you met at the bus station coming over for Christmas cheer. You've got some liquor, some egg nog, some quick edibles like little cheese cubes, some cut pieces of a ham sausage, and maybe some crackers, like "Sociables". You've got some generic Christmas music playing in the background, which might be Roy Orbison's Christmas Special, or God-forbid, "Christmas Album" by Boney M. You're all dressed up in some Christmas-themed sweater or dress-type getup. The tree is alit with wonderful lights, and retarded decorations collected through the years, some of which you once thought were "cute", "adorable" or "cheap".
There's a TV in the room. It's just there, taking up valuable folding chair space. What do you do? The answer's simple, and you can thank Shaw Cable for it. Simply turn on the Christmas firelog, and you'll have a wondrous distraction from the aunt that always gets drunk and throws up in the toilet by the back door, or the grandpa that always yells, and is somewhat racist.
So please, this holiday/Christmas season, take a few minutes and truly appreciate the simple pleasure that is the Shaw TV fireplace. I think you'll be glad you did.
After watching The Natural about 45 times on AMC over the past two months, I've noticed some commonalities between its plot and my blog. For starters, they both star a rugged blond dreamboat, adored and respected by multitudes of women and men alike. Now, all personal delusions aside, when you look at the development of the character in Roy Hobbs, and the progress of this site, there are some similarities (with the film, not the book. The book ends on a shitty note). Roy fashions a powerful bat from a fallen oak tree; I fashioned this "powerful" blog from a fallen level of physical activity. Roy was a 35-year-old "rookie" with a big-league club; I was a 26-year-old "rookie" when I started writing. Roy's natural talent turned the New York Knights into a contender, but then his interest in a woman compromises his playing ability; My natural writing ability turned "Rhymes With Tyler" into a distraction from work, but then my lack of content and subject matter compromised my update frequency.
But Roy came back from his slump, and in the end, he was victorious, as seen in the video above. Luckily, he had his back-up music playing on the old Victrola. For me, I've come back to writing after a two-month hiatus, with the easy topic of writing about coming back to writing after two months. My backup music is playing on the old JVC 3-disc CD changer. Is it cheating? Possibly. Is it the easy way? Absolutely.
My last post was on September 13, and admittedly, it's not much of a post. I had to put something in there, just to keep the site running. So really, my last post with any real compositional elements would be August 23. Fuck, that's a long time ago. What the hell has happened since then? Nothing? Nothing at all worth writing about? Actually, that's where the irony lies. There's been plenty to write about, but mostly journal-type material. Which, if you've read any of my blog, is material that I don't want to write about. I don't need to write about my life, as I've stated a few times before. My life isn't that interesting, per se. My secret life is awesome! And I write about stupid, nostalgic things in my secret life. Jerry O'Connell, eat it. I've just had the writer's block of late. I needed a break from writing about cereal, children's shows and sarcasm for just a small while, and when I felt up to it, I could return.
So here we are. What's happened to me since two days before my birthday? I will explain, using one big ugly sentence.
I drank the day before my birthday, I drank the day of my birthday (in Calgary), I went houseboating in the Shuswap, I got carbon monoxide poisoning, I went camping in Wainwright, I wore extremely short denim shorts, I started organizing events for the SA of Grant MacEwan, I met and drank with Kari and Tory of the Mythbusters (Tory's first time in Canada was Edmonton!), I made fun of shitty-looking PT Cruisers while bonding with Irshad Manji, I got a key cut, and other such activities bordering between super cool and super inane.
Because I couldn't find anything worth commonting about that wasn't about me, I didn't write. And no matter how loud the lamentations of all my readers were, I just couldn't subject them to that type of banal narration (sorry, mom and dad). However, we've reached a turn-around. I've just noticed that Channel 11 has the Shaw Christmas Fireplace on the loop, WELL before it usual scheduled airing, and what's this? A new-look fireplace? The inner pop-culture nerd in me is ecstatic! (and inner Grandpa as well, apparently. Because old people like watching static images for a very long time. Uh, apparently)
I feel invigorated!
*Cue inspirational music*
Let a new age of writing begin! Let the remembrance of nostalgia re-commence!
On Saturday, August 18, 18 intrepid, determined, and slightly "not all there" individuals threw caution into the wind, as well as common sense and adult values, and descended upon a quaint 'burg in central Alberta.
Their sole goal was to once again be victorious in the game of fun, but to also show that a wonderful adventure could not be found only within the cozy orange lights of a big city, or even a reasonably-sized city.
The task was simple: Find a small town, and exploit its measly local taverns and sip & spits. My ingenious mate, Greg G, took it upon himself to scour and scout only the most fitting of towns to meet our task. And then he found it: Bentley, AB. It was right under his nose the whole time. Well, actually it was 21 KM west of his nose. He lives in Lacombe, and Bentley is pretty damn close. But he still found it, alright? We had our task, and our target, but we needed a trick. Something to truly make this adventure worthy of a small young adults' novel, like one of the Christopher Pike books where the teens get drunk, but still solve some ridiculous mystery. Then it hit Greg like a sack full of other, more heavier sacks:
Tricycles.
We'd hit the bars by riding tricycles, or if one couldn't be procured, a children's bike, obviously too small for our pizza bagel-filled frames. A pubcrawl, by which we'd travel to and fro by means of embarrassing, yet extreme and memorable fun.
We came, we conquered, we had cheap breakfast. We learned of the legend of Dick Damron, and why that name shouldn't be chuckled at, but instead swooned over. Bentley, you gave us underaged punks who may or may not have been drinking, an abandoned lot to tent in, and a new appreciation for diamond plating.
We give you a fair salute, and a vow to return one year's hence.
My worst nightmare would actually be the moment I realize that my film collection was somehow erased.
Lucky for me, and the health of anyone within punching distance, that scenario will not likely happen anytime.
However, the new Michel Gondry film, Be Kind, Rewind, due out this January, encompasses that exact turn of events. Starring Jack Black and Mos Def, it looks to be just as clever, original, eclectic and strange as Gondry's earlier work, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, and the many music videos he helmed.
Count me in. Way in. Like, seeing it possibly twice in the theatres "in".
After looking at my DVD collection (which is in alphabetical order) I thought I'd share one of my most favourite alphabet-influenced songs, Blackalicious' "Alphabet Aerobics", a collaboration with Jurassic 5's Cut Chemist.
MC Gift of Gab and DJ Chief Xcel are one of the most intelligent and artistic hip-hop duos out there, and this is just another example of their genius.
It's possibly the best thing you'll listen to all day.
Those who know me well have probably just balked at the very fact that it took me until Tuesday evening to finally see "The Simpsons Movie". I had things to do this past weekend, alright? I did see it in its first week, so that should count just the same. If they had read a previous post on this movie, perhaps they'd understand the reasons why I didn't line up for it on opening day. They always say that they read my blog, but they don't, and I know it. I'm not an idiot.
What can I say about the movie? I can say this: I didn't hate it.
But did I really enjoy it? I admit, that some parts of it had me laughing aloud, but for the large majority of the film, I sat there and just absorbed. I knew what lines and sight gags were attempts at being humorous, but I just didn't laugh out right. Unlike the 3 gentlemen behind me, who I believe have not seen one episode in their lives, because in every single scene, they laughed. Not just laughed, actually. They guffawed. And quite annoyingly, mind you. Even at the very beginning, with the title card for 20th Century Fox, and Ralph Wiggum sings along (which every person should have seen 50 times by now on the TV spots), they burst out in uncontrollable laughter. However, this did provide the most comical exchange of the night, which was a shame that it had to be before the movie:
(Ralph sings along with the "da-da-da-daaaa" of the 20th Century Fox theme)
Stupid Ass Guy: "That's the funniest part of the movie! (he's not joking) Me: (turning to face the guy) "I guess you can leave then."
I mention that I believe that the three morons have not seen one TV episode, because anyone that has seen the episodes as many times as I have (specifically Seasons 4-8), and truly appreciates the genius that it once was, will note that the movie had it moments, but otherwise just wasn't up to snuff. Hell, even if you've only seen 50 of the good ones, you'd see that it was mediocre at best. If you think "According To Jim" is the height of comedy, you'll laugh your ass off. You're also a fucking moron. All said, the movie, will make you smile, but it will not be memorable later. Which is really disappointing, to be honest. Consider the writers of the screenplay for this movie:
Matt Groening James L. Brooks Joel Cohen (consultant writer) John Frink (consultant writer) Al Jean Tim Long (consultant writer) Ian Maxtone-Graham George Meyer David Mirkin Michael Price (consultant writer) Mike Reiss Mike Scully Matt Selman John Swartzwelder Jon Vitti
15 fucking writers and consultants. FIFTEEN! I am shocked. Some of these writers wrote the funniest, most original episodes of the series. Together, they created 87 minutes of simplistic, ho-hum mainstream "comedy". Believe me, "SpiderPig" is not funny.
I can take solace in this fact: That the great episodes will live on forever in our hearts and minds. This movie will end up clogging the previously viewed bins at the store.
*DAY AFTER UPDATE:
I just re-read what I wrote last night, and it comes off a little jaded and bitter, maybe too much for a cartoon movie. But please understand that this show has indundated every part of my being for almost two decades. On a medium as large as film, I would have hoped that the effort would have been a little better, especially with as much writing talent assembled.
There were things that I really did like though! Example, the voice talent of Albert Brooks, who voiced the "villian" Russ Cargill. Mr. Brooks has voiced some of the most comedic and well-written characters on The Simpsons, including Jacques (ep.#7G11), Brad Goodman (ep.#1F05), Hank Scorpio (ep.#3F23) and Tab Spangler (ep.#GABF11).
One year ago, I set out to create the most outlandish, spectacular, mindgasmic blogging experience this planet had ever seen!
Unfortunately, it turned out a little different, and has become a soap box for sad remniniscing and sarcastic posturing. A pop culture wasteland, if you will.
However, it makes me happy. So there.
I'll keep writing about the things I see, either in my dreams, memories, or outside my apartment window. This year, my articles are going to be bigger, better, even more sarcastic and about even more obscure shit! Get excited! Get excited now!
Since I'm not doing anything really constructive at the moment, and I've finished my leftover Pizza Slut pizza (now with Mystery Pepperoni!), I've been scouring the interweb for some quick fun. And boy did I find some! The Simpsons Movie website has a fun little activity where you can create your own Simpsons avatar. It's every fan's dream!
The Simpsons Movie is opening in just a couple weeks (July 27), and because I have been a Simpsons lunatic since I began watching it in 1990, I will be there on opening day, anticipating the worst. I say the worst, because The Simpsons has been on a slow, steady, painful decline in quality since Season 10. This fall, the show will enter it's 19th season, which means we've had to put up with 9 seasons of crap. The show jumped the shark back in Season 10, with an episode entitled "The Principal And The Pauper", and hasn't looked back. It's continued on with episode after episode of pure banality and inispid writing.
That doesn't mean I won't watch every show and not continue to like it, but I'll take pleasure in the fact that I can reminisce about the good days, and pity the kids of today.
Red and white colours splash the streets and business fronts. The hot July night is thick and sticky, with the combined smell of alcohol and sweat permeating every intersection.
As I walk the strip, I am greeted by throngs of revelers, each proclaiming their allegiance to our great nation, some while standing, some walking, some trying a combinaton of both. And some are just trying to stay vertical for a few more minutes, so they can find a suitable place to throw up.
Ahead of me, I hear a very heartfelt and endearing cry from some random Whyte Ave drunkard. His declaration encapsulates all that's great about our nation's birthday. You my friend, are this country's greatest living hero. And yes, I will give you a high-five. The most patriotic high-five I can muster. "Woo" is right sir, "woo" is right.
Another Canada Day has come and gone, like so much of the beer and liquor consumed by me and countless others. We drank, we sang, we stumbled back to our domiciles, happy in the fact that we survived yet another celebration of freedom. We drink, and yell and see live music because we can. I am extremely proud of this nation and our wide variety of confection items, and to that, I will drink every Canada Day, and really celebrate what makes this nation the tops in the world. Nay, tops in the fucking universe.
I do lie sometimes, not about people, but about things I've done or not done. Not because I get a kick out of it, or that it's a product of anything pathological, but merely because I sometimes raise people's expectations fraudulently. Much like the father that says he's going to take his son fishing, but then can't because he's too hungover and the car's upside down in the parking lot of the Save-On Foods. I sometimes talk some big game, but fail to deliver.
So here we are. I had this great plan to write this huge post about my week-long trip to Niagara Falls for the Canadian Organization of Campus Activities (COCA) Conference that was going to be chock-full of scintillating adventures, hilarious high-jinks and tom-foolery the likes have never been seen in that town, ever. I was going to have pictures, hilarious analogies, and hyphenated words that aren't really used anymore, because they sound so stupid, like "tom-foolery". It was going to be such a feast for the eyes and brain, that you, the reader, would have nothing left to do in life but send me kudos after kudos. You'd send me kudos until that imaginary kudos limit had been reached, and you'd sit down wherever you feel most comfortable, and have this funny satisfied look on your face, and mutter, "now that's giving some fucking kudos!".
And I would have accepted your kudos with great appreciation until my ego would be so large that it would take TWO dump trucks of pride to follow me wherever I went. However, hubris is a cruel mistress, and I was quickly brought back to humilitytown with a realization as cold as the waters of the very falls I visited (I think they were cold, anyway): I HATE journal posts. I personally think that nobody really gives two shits about what I did, where I went, or how much urine I may accidentally consume in a day. It wasn't ever the point of my blog to begin with (I think the original point of creating this thing was to give me an excuse to write about obscure cartoons, but I've broadened my horizons some). So all that being said, I've decided not to write what would basically amount to a COCA report, but instead write a Top-Things list, that being the most creative and original thing I can think of at the moment. I totally invented the Top-Things list, by the way. That, and the game "7-Up". True story.
So without further unnecessary ranting, here's my "Top 10 Things Seen In Niagara Falls At The COCA Conference". *Applause*.
10. The Beer Store. This is something completely foreign to somebody from the west, where liquor stores here have had the government's leash removed, and they're free to roam around and play with other liquor stores. Apparently, we haven't come up with the completely sane idea that to combine a beer store with a bottle depot is greatest idea since the Magic Bullet. One stop beer shopping and 3-second muffins are changing the fucking world. Believe that.
9. Two strip clubs next door to each other. Oh, your gentleman's club doesn't take grease-stained rolls of loonies for my three-lady lap dance sandwich? You object to my raging sweatpants boner? Then sir, I will tuck my manhood into my waistband, and take my business next door, where they know how to treat a man who recently bathed in gutter run-off.
8. $4.50 water bottles in my hotel room. Sure, this may not seem like an awesome thing, but while drunk, I opened one up. It makes the list, because it confirms two things: one, water is getting really expensive, and two, I'm pretty stupid.
7. The pyramid Hooters restaurant. "X-Treme Action Entertainment" is exactly how I'd describe this Hooters. The exact same promise is on the Giza pyramids in Egypt. True story.
6. Sneaking tall cans of beer into a hotel ballroom banquet. If the liquor prices are going to be really expensive, then by all means, one should take matters into their own hands. We're not mad at the hotel for scolding us for bringing in outside liquor, we're actually amazed that they did it after we finished them. And thanks to them for taking away our empties while we drank. Double-plus service!
5. This gas station. Contrary to what one might think, one cannot just collect beaver at a gas station on a whim. You at least have to be attractive.
4. 30+ bands/artists performing in 5 days. If you were at the conference, and you saw every band and artist, you get a huge, electric high-five from me. High-fives cannot be redeemed for cash.
1. Marineland. It's really going for a different demographic these days.
If anyone from COCA reads this (that would be a miracle), do you have any other notable notables? Jot them down in the comments section. It's safe, and it's sexy.
Our favourite Dark Lord has been given a makeover recently by some inventive, ingenious and outright imaginative artists.
The Vader Project is presented by Master Replicas, and curated by Dov Kelemer of DKE Toys, one of the largest designer vinyl and art-toy distributors in the world, exclusively representing over 50 companies, artists, and designers. Kelemer gathered the hottest underground and pop surrealist painters, artists and designers and gave each artist a Master Replicas 1:1 scale prop replica of the Darth Vader helmet used in the Star Wars films. Each helmet served as a blank canvas for each artist to paint, design, mash up and customize in their own unique style.
The event ran from May 24 to 28th, 2007 at Star Wars Celebration IV , a landmark event being held at the Los Angeles Convention Center to celebrate the 30th Anniversary of Star Wars. From what I've seen in these pictures from Metroblogging: Los Angeles contributer David Markland, the creativity knows no boundaries whatsoever.
A brief hiatus, and then two Pointless Nostalgia posts in a row! What a wonderful treat for my faithful readers, or those who've just clicked the "random blog" button and have stumbled upon this past times pine-a-thon. A treat nonetheless, I'm sure.
As you know, I live alone, save for my thoughts, which are often incoherent and hungry. My bachelorhood, although exceedingly awesome and valuable to me, often creates a perpetual state of boredom whilst alone, so I often try and find activities that will at least take up some of my spare time before I go to sleep. I've gone through a wide range of attempts, but so far, have been unsuccessful, with most activities either sad, boring or illegal. I just couldn't release my grown-up mind from it's maturity shackles, so I ended up with lame one-person games, like "timed newspaper reading", "guess the smell in the oven", to "blindfolded balcony beer bottle-tossing". Every attempt I conjured up fell flat and crumpled, much like a passer-by being hit with a beer bottle. Then, a revelation inspired by my trip to Vegas: Escorts! Then, a better revelation: build a fort.
Building a fort isn't a new idea, it's been around for centuries. When we were kids, we'd sometimes go at great lengths to build intricate vestiges of solitude out of the only supplies we had readily available. Namely, beds and couches, and all that's a part of them. Building a fort was a way for children to escape to a fantasy world, where instead of their parents holding court over them, they would be the rulers of their most sacred lands. They'd enter their kingdom and be swept away in a sea of unbridled imagination. The fort was their special place. For me as a child, it was a wonderful gathering point for all my toys and dreams. The Transformers could spend some precious moments going over world-saving techniques with the G. I. Joes. He-Man would wax poetic about Eternia, but nobody else knew where that was, so they made fun of his furry bikini bottoms. Ewoks happily ran rampant across fields of cotton sheets bearing their likenesses. And I was the overlord, the great deity. The best part was being in your world, and then after a while, you'd open up the sheets, or move some pillows, and you'd get that blast of cold, fresh air. It was nirvana.
The fort would then be the solution to the doldrums, and my couch would be a great start. So there I was, staring at my striped sectional in my living room, dreaming big, sweeping thoughts about the world I could create, and what awesome name it would have. I did have some help for the initial prototype design, to which I will perfect over the coming months. My friend Maria, who's creative inspiration is indispensable, suggested the ageless "tunnel" fort design. The fort design itself has to work with the materials presented. Since I have a sectional, L-shaped couch, a tunnel design works quite well, and it provides a two-pronged fun approach: one, it allows for a centre courtyard, for conversations about sweet anythings. This area can also allow for a small peephole to see the TV, and therefore catch some NBA playoffs. The second bonus, is that it allows for trips from one end to another, perhaps as a guide for going back or forward in time, if one so wishes. I myself have just travelled to the Renaissance period and back by going from the end by my stereo table to the end by my reclining chair, then vice-versa. That period is crazy, let me tell you.
So my suggestion for eliminating unpleasant rainy days, or days off of work that just don't seem to have the right amount of make-believe, try building a fort. It doesn't matter what it looks like, just as long as you built it, and you fill it with pillowcases full of awesome. Sometimes, if you just come up with a theme, the fort will fulfill that theme, no matter how far-reaching. My next fort will be "Makeout Room".
So here I am, back from a self-imposed three week hiatus. I needed to take a little break, considering I had no ideas. Nothing. Well, nothing funny or interesting anyways. I just want to really define myself as a writer who cherishes quality over quantity. I don't want to be that blogger that posts everyday with mundane, trivial information about the goings-on in their pathetic, shrink-wrapped lives. I want my posts to be thought-provoking, controversial, enigmatic.I want people to read my posts, and when they're finished, they'll sit back and cock their heads upwards and while their eyes unfocus, they'll stroke or scratch the chin/neck area, while muttering, "Ah, yes. A fine point. Well played, sir".
With that being said, here's a post about shitty candy.
I've long grown out of the candy obsession every kid goes through growing up in our western culture, but there was a time where candy was the currency of the youth. Kids would buy and trade other kids for the latest sweet concoctions of store-bought wonderment. Bullies would offer protection for a full package of Bottlecaps and Gobstoppers. The best soccer-baseball players would be snatched up by teams who could offer the most candy cigarettes (not the chocolate kind, but the gum ones that blew fake smoke). The daily summer pastime would be to ride your bike with your friends down to the 7-11, or its bastard rival, Red Rooster (now Reddie Mart), and gorge yourselves on whatever treats you could purchase with your allowance or birthday money. For me, there was one candy item that was too good to pass up. It was blatant in its offering of a no-frills sugar high. It's promise of 'fun' seemed so brazen and cocky, that one couldn't pass up the chance to see whether that proved true. The candy of note? Lik-m-aid's Fun Dip. The powder-like substance you can board an airplane with.
Who were the marketing geniuses who thought of this? I want to shake the hand of the person who came up with the idea of a "no style, just substance" candy. Somebody knew that all that the kids wanted was an edible item that was sweet and made them really hyper for a short while. No frills, no stupid gimmicks. Just fucking sugar. So what do they create? Sugar. In a package. With an applicator stick, which is also edible. There is no difference between Fun Dip and sticking your freshly-salivated wet finger in a sugar bowl or restaurant package. I once read an article that remarked that Fun Dip is like edible sand, but that almost gives it personality, and the promise of being able to make glass with it. And then some dumbass kid's going to want to eat that glass. It's just sugar. That's fucking it. Sure, it's coloured sugar but even that's giving it some credit. It barely resembles the fake-ass flavours that entitle the separate chambers it's in. Is it simple? Yes. Is it fun? A test should answer that.
My friend Maria brought the latest edition of Fun-Dip for us to try, and I was immediately disappointed to see that they had replaced the fat kid licking his lips on the package for three kinds of coloured dish soaps with faces. It seems somewhat hypocritical to change the mascot. The fat kid was an apt mascot, because he was true to the spirit of the candy: No lies, no false pretense. It's just sugar, and if you eat lots of it, you'll get fat. I understood it, but apparently putting fat kids on candy is too cruel, or something. I was, however, happy to see that the flavours (Orange, Cherry, Grape) hadn't been given some stupid candy powerup to become Outrageous Outstanding Rock Star Orange, or something equally as moronic. That's in keeping with the "what you see is what you get" theme. Good for them!
We decided to share one package, as I felt I was out of shape sugar-wise to handle a full, large-sized Dip for myself. We unwrapped the edible sticks of chalk, gave them a saliva bath, and dove into the first flavour. The first taste didn't exactly bring about waves of memories of summers and innocence gone by, but it certainly made me feel a bit younger, maybe dumber. After a couple of dips, I couldn't really figure out what made this dip so "fun". So Maria and I decided that we'd challenge each other to down whatever sugar was left in the pouch.
And that's where the fun comes into play. The "fun" in "Fun Dip", isn't the dipping, it's the daring your friends to see how much straight powder they can handle all at once. The fun is seeing your friends face, once smug and confident, become a collapsed, puckered implosion. After what seemed like an hourglass was opened into my mouth, I understood what the attraction was about: If your mom never let you eat sugar straight from the packet or bowl, this was the next best thing.
I am a proud member of the U of A's "7/1 Club" - 7 years, one degree. I am in a perpetual state of mediocrity, although grocery baggers at Safeway seem to disagree. I consider pennies to be useless, but cannot resist picking one off the street, for fear of missed good luck. I cannot tolerate ignorance, but I don't know anyone who is truly ignorant. Some seem to have issues with my acceptance of single life, I say it helps me with making hilarious voices.
Tonight, a great ovation will arise from the deepest depths of the coliseum to the staggaring heights. For the Patron Saint of Lost Hockey Causes has returned home. Rejoice! For it is only he who can bring solace, joy and wonder to all those partaking in the great sport. We are embarking on great tidings, for truly justice will be at hand. 
