7.28.2005

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing

Brilliant! You know, this move away from Broken Controller is liberating. No longer am I confined to making the quality posts that my fans expect! Here, the rules are much more relaxed. I can write off-the-cuff! I can make a post about how the mop bucket smells like it's filled with feces and people will love it! You hear that, Dane? I'm here to grab that indignant little persona you've carved for yourself and kick him square in the junk! Now dance for me, bitch! You know, a little soft-shoe or somethin'. I've got some LFO in the car if you need any inspiration. No, you don't need a muse? All right, then. Hey, I'm going to make a sandwich, you want one? Sure thing. No, I'm not going to feed it to you! Well, you're just going to have to work something out then! Okay, fine; stop dancing. Oh, you don't want to, now! Whatever, keep dancing for the rest of your friggin' life then!

FIFTY YEARS LATER

"We are gathered here today to honour a man, who I daresay is one of the finest people I've ever known. His contributions to mankind are simply immeasurable! The list of his achievements is --"

*KAFF KAFF KAFF KAFF KAFF*

"Excuse me! You're interrupting the funeral for one of the greatest people in history! How dare you desecrate the funeral of the one whose initials are JDN? Three letters that helped rewrite the course of history! If the man himself was to witness this, he'd be outraged! Now off with you, or else you'll feel the wrath of John Dennis Nealon's family!"

"Fine, whatever. *grumbles*"

[walks off to the back room of the funeral home]

"Hey man, you're just in time for hobo detail!"
"Grand. Fuckin' priest..."
"Hey, just never mind that now. Whoof, now there's a stinky bugger! You hear the story of this guy?"
"Nah, I sure didn't."
"Well, it seems when they found 'im, there was a weeping hobo dancing beside 'im. No matter how hard they tried they couldn't get the fucker to stop dancing. So they shot his legs off. Yeah, he's off getting electroshock now... oh well! Let's heave this asshole into the fire!"
"Want to say a few words?"
"Hey, this one have a name? Let me see... ah yes, Joel. Joel was some dude we found in a back alley. Let God take him into His arms, and let's hope there's a gutter in heaven for Joel to hang out in. Let's get this over with, we got ten more to go through before we can take a break."
"Word."

It's time to go home.

Here I am. I’m sitting at my desk. I’m looking at my computer. It’s a Mac.
There’s the clock. The seconds tick away. The evening draws near. It’s almost time to go home.
I need drink. There’s my glass of pop. I hope it’s still cold. Damn am I thirsty.
I raise the cup to my lips. I can nearly taste the sweet sugar liquid. It’s going to be good.
“FUCK!”
There’s a bug in my drink. My day has gone to hell. I throw my cup across the office. The janitor can clean it up.
Does this ever suck. The day was great. Something had to piss me off.
The climax of my rage is almost here. I need to hit something. I need to hear something snap.
There’s the wall. It’ll take my wrath. I unleash my fury.
SNAP! “FUCK!”
My hand hurts. It’s starting to bleed. The blood trickles down my knuckles. I lick it off.
The rage builds again. Do I hit the wall again? Yes. Damn am I stupid. I better go home.

Have a good weekend everyone!

Going, going, gone

From the coverage on the news, the girl missing in Aruba seems to be the only lost person in the world.
I guess I assumed that there was a lot more from the milk carton ads and posters hanging around at the police station.
Why is this one person getting all the attention?
It’s not fair. It doesn’t make sense and it’s making the investigators look like idiots. The longer they drag the story on; the stupider the police look.
I hope she’s not dead, but it’s usually believed that after two weeks it’s not likely to find a survivor. This search has been going on for two months now.
We should be using the man power to find people who have a chance of being alive.
As the pursuit continues, it shows how stubborn people are.

A Bold New Direction

The mop bucket smells like poop!

7.26.2005

Here I Yam!

All right, now that my personal blog has gone bye-bye, I'm going to be setting up camp over here. I hope Dane doesn't mind! Oh well, if he does, it's not like he can anything about it anyway. Up yours, Dane! Ha ha!

7.25.2005

bicycles, penguins and natives oh my!

Lance Armstrong won his seventh Tour de France, and now he’s retiring.
It’s about time. We can now quit letting him win. All the other racers didn’t want to beat him and hurt his feelings. Lance might get upset and depressed.
The cancer could come back. The seven-time champion wouldn’t have the heart to keep up the good fight. He’d eventually pass away and the guy who beat him would was Armstrong’s death on his shoulders.
I wouldn’t want that either. I’d let him win every race as well.

Crosby is a Penguin, which is fine by me. It’s close enough to Canada that real hockey fans will make the trip to see an amazing athlete.

I managed to out party a native. Well not really, he drank a little bit more than I did. I think it was a bottle of Vodka. We both had the same amount of beer though. It’s still the closest I’ve ever came to keeping up with a aboriginal drinker.


Am I a cold heartless bastard just because I don’t cry at weddings. Two people getting married just doesn’t hit any emotional cords. The Death of Superman and Simba’s dad plummeting to his death somehow managed to get me all misty eyed. I guess real people just don’t cut it.

7.20.2005

I like hockey

The 301 day NHL lockout causing the first major sport to cancel a season was exactly what the sport needed.
All I hear from hockey fans now that the dispute is over is how bad they missed hockey. At first everyone was pissed off at the two sides for taking away the greatest sport in Canada, now they can’t wait for the Lottery draft. Where’s Sidney Crosby going to go? Hell, there’s people in my office doing mock draws. They can’t wait for Friday.
Everyone’s waiting for the rush of the week starting Saturday with all the buyouts, the signings and the free agent excitement. Will the Canucks keep Naslund?They can’t wait for the first exhibition game.
This was exactly like taking a break from your significant other and finding out how much you love them being a part of your life.
The lockout made the true hockey fans realize just how much NHL means to them. They need the goals, the saves and the great plays. They want blood, fights and big checks.
For all those casual fans, they’re still going to be casual fans. If there was hockey last year, they weren’t going to attend more games this year. They’ll buy just as many tickets for the 2005/2006 season as they did before.
Only the truly stubborn will abandon hockey. It’s not like the owners and the players wanted to leave the fans with nothing to do. They did what was in the best interest of the sport. It just took a lot longer than it should have. But that’s the competitive nature and pride battling between the two sides.
For the teams that can't survive the holdout, they never should of had hockey there to begin with. Maybe now Pheonix can relocate back to Winnipeg.
I’m already thinking of taking a trip to Edmonton to watch the Oilers in some NHL action. I’ve been waiting a year and a half for this. Like hell, I’m going to put it off any longer.

7.18.2005

Ouch, damn Mike Tyson wannabes

Teen’s nose bitten off in film argument
-Samantha Williams Daily Telegraph

A TEENAGE movie-goer had plastic surgery yesterday after his nose was bitten off during a fight about a Hollywood film.
The 19-year-old man had just finished watching the late session of Sin City, a violent comic-strip adaptation, when he and another man began to argue inside Bathurst's Metro Cinema.

The pair were believed to be arguing about whether the graphic violence in the movie made for good viewing.

They began to fight and the other man bit the teenager's nose off before fleeing the cinema, leaving his victim bleeding severely and without a nose.

This reminds me of two weeks ago when I said I wasn’t a big fan of Life Aquatic. Joel leapt at me. Fangs plunging towards my jugular. I managed to side step the assault and administered a thumb lock which took him to the carpeted floor. To salvage the weekend, I said it was okay but not nearly as good as Bottle Rocket, Rushmore or The Royal Tenenbaums.

7.15.2005

Dung Beetle Guy Begins

Like most young boys, I used to safety pin a towel around my neck and ‘fly’ about the house. I used to dream of wearing tights and battling supervillians. My record was impeccable. Not a single bad guy escaped justice.

But those were the days of incredible fantasy, where a simple towel could send me on day-long, daydream adventure. It only lasted about six years before I grew up, but the fascination with superheroes raged forward and all my spending cash went towards comics.

All the other young teenage boys were looking at Playboy, Joel enjoyed the pixilated ladies from video games and I had the world of comic books to realize my youthful erotic desires.

Looking back, I blame comic books for making me so damn picky when it comes to the ladies. Anything short of an intelligent girl with man’s ideal body who can lift a car over her head, just isn’t good enough for me. I would substitute car lifting for heat vision.

Well, let’s fast forward to a specific date in time. Let’s make it September 1, 1993. I’m 13-years-old and just it’s my first day attending Will Sinclair High School. Mr. Baron is the principal and my home room teacher is Mrs. Hamilton.

Throughout the final months of grade 8 and over the summer, I made a new acquaintance named Orlin. We became such good friends in that period of time that we ended up sharing a locker that first year.

I ended up sitting beside him in the third row, and on his other side of Orlin was Joel. At first glance, Joel was the perfect connotation of a video game loser. First glance turned out to be true. Little did I believe he’d turn me to the darkside of video games.

With Orlin on one side, there was an empty desk to my left. I definitely wasn’t the coolest guy in the world, so that seat wasn’t the pick of the litter. It wasn’t even the cream of the crop. Hell, the spot beside the fat kid was picked first. At least you might get a snack or two sitting beside him.

The clock’s second hand quickly erased the time to the opening bell. Mrs. Hamilton was standing at the front of the class ready with introductions.

It was with 30 seconds left to the bell when she walked through the door frame. My Lois Lane, Lana Lang, Mary-Jane Watson, Wonder Woman, Batgirl, Mystique entered the room.

She was what I always dreamed of. She jumped right off the pages of my illustrated books. I could hardly breath. My chest felt like I was getting a bear hug from Superman, and the Human Torch was scorching my heart.

I froze, exactly like Spiderman did the first time he looked at Venom. The only part of me that moved was my head, with my mouth wide open. It followed the path of the secret identity.

She had long brown hair, a long slender body and, when she got close enough for me to see, the most incredible blue eyes. They were amazing. I wondered if her superpower was having guys getting lost in those mysterious orbs. They’d transport you to a realm of nothingness to float around until she willed you back into the real world. One hell of a superpower.

The desk beside me was still vacant. She was coming this way. It was too good to be true. She ended up taking the seat three spots behind me. Shucks!

Maybe she didn’t sit behind me, but the chase was on. What did I know about her? Her last name was Racy and she was the girl in my superhero fetishes.

Here’s the start of a quick montage to show the passing of time

Over the next couple of months, I’d race to first period just to make sure I was in my desk when she walked by. It wasn’t until December that I had the courage to make eye contact with her.

I wasn’t the ladies’ man back then that I am now. I was 13 and the only thing close to a girlfriend I ever had was at Alberta’s first Big Valley Jamboree. Her name was Tia and she was from somewhere up North. We held hands and I even got my first kiss off her lips. Since then nothing.

I also didn’t want to get trapped on that dimension of emptiness. The eye contact went well. She even flashed a smile in my direction. If it wasn’t for Orlin’s constant pestering or Joel’s non-stop game reviews, my mind would have been stuck on that smile. It wasn’t perfect. There were a couple crooked teeth and on seemed to be slightly darker than the rest, but I didn’t notice or care. She was flawless.

The year rolled on and my superpower of being unable to talk to girls stayed strong. I had managed a small wave, but no actual verbal communication. The wave went over with mixed reviews. She didn’t wave back, but wasn’t looking straight at me. Racy might have not noticed my nervous gesture.

This was my last chance. I had to do something. There was no way I was going to go two months without seeing her. It was hard enough not seeing her for three straight days when she was sick.

I stood by the drinking fountain that was closest to her locker. I knew at any moment she’d exit class and start cleaning out her stuff for summer. I’d been picturing this moment for the last week. Everything was playing through my mind. Too bad it was as real as a 1970s science fiction feature.

In my head I was the biggest stud in the world. I looked like a combination of Peter Parker and Clark Kent. I even had the little Superman swirl on my forehead.

Then she came. She rattled off the combination to her fortress of solitude and started dumping stuff into the trash.

I walked over.

Everything goes black. Voice over. Images coinciding with text flash the screen

This is where I wish I could tell you that everything went as imagined. We had the most incredible summer and we’re still together 13 years later with little sidekicks running around our apartment on the third floor in suite D.

It didn’t happen that way at all. I’ve never stuttered so much in my life. I’m not even sure if I blurted out a complete sentence. She got the gist of my ramblings and tried to let me down easy. She mentioned something about Clark Chest. All the superhearing in the world wouldn’t have made her words register in my head. I just remember her fist to bust through my chest and shatter my, until then, unbroken heart.

She walked away.

The waterworks erupted. I ran out of the school and through the football field. I needed to be alone. I couldn’t face the world. I found an old, abandoned, wooden shed. I curled up into the fetal position and just cried. I rocked back and forth for hours.

I didn’t even notice the tiny creature walking towards me. The bug climbed onto my body and found the metaphorical hole in my chest and crawled on in. At that moment we merged into one being. I now had the all the abilities of the dung beetle and the insect now had the body of a human. We shared each other’s thoughts and could exchange dialogue by just thinking.

At first I didn’t know about my new powers. It wasn’t until l was at Midtown and Clark Chest was there. I used my beetle strength to beat him into a pulp.

I needed to harness my capabilities. I travelled to Europe two years later as a class trip. While everyone was touring Vimy Ridge, Anne Frank’s House, Napolean’s Tomb, the Louvre, I was training the top martial artists in underground Europe. I managed to control my strength and the urge to eat dung.

I then joined the superhero union and started my internship in Rocky Mountain House. I’ve since moved on to the bigger city of North Battleford. I can’t wait to be upgraded again or maybe given a sidekick.

As for Racy, I haven’t seen her since. She didn’t come back for grade 10. I was now too busy for girls. I was now a superhero. Crime was my bed fellow.

7.14.2005

Yada, Yada, Yada

A deal is in place. About damn time.

I’m not going to take a long time a write a huge post because I have to start planning my team for the upcoming fantasy hockey season. Oh my god, who to pick?

Anyway, my favourite addition to the new CBA is the chance for owners to take the players to arbitration. Now if a player sucks it up for a season, he could lose a bunch of money.

Hopefully this will eliminate players having one good season just before their contract expires. You won’t have anymore high-paid, one-year wonders.

Now, I’m looking forward to the draft lottery and can’t wait for the season to open up. I’m not one of those people who are going to boycott the game. I love hockey too much to do that.

Other stuff, mainly me bitching...

I think we need another leader like Hitler to take care of all these terrorists. He just about wiped out all the Jews with no mercy. I’m sure he could get rid of Al-qaeda in no time. Look at how quick he rolled over France.

Why do the natives in North Battleford think they can wander where ever the hell they want? I don’t know how many times I’ve nearly hit one of them when they dart out into the street. I know back before the evil white man came, they could trounce around where ever. It’s not that way anymore. We came, took over and created a set of guidelines so we wouldn’t be cleaning the blood off the grills of our expensive automobiles.

People who have easy desk jobs should be able to drink at work as long as it doesn’t affect the person’s performance. I think my job could be greatly improved with a nice six-pack at my side.

DJs who don’t take requests and play crappy top 40 dance music all the time should be beaten. The only night club in North Battleford caters to the 16-year-old population, and they wonder why it’s so slow in there. Maybe they should try to attract costumers that are legally able to enter the establishment. Joel should have kicked that guy’s ass.

Getting naked and dancing to REM alone in the living room of your one-room apartment sounds a lot better than it really is. Maybe if I was a hot chick, it would greatly improve the activity.

7.13.2005

It's time for a dance off

The club was hoppin’. The joint was jumpin’ and two fools were in the middle of the dance floor.
Dane: Wiggity-wiggity...
Joel: Whack!
The pair were bustin’ it up in front of the fancy lights for all to see. They didn’t have a care in the world. Alcohol fueled their systems and embarrassment was no where to be seen.
Dane’s attempt at the robot got some queer glances, while Joel’s turtle spin gave the duo a little extra dancing room.
Dane: Man does the music suck.
Joel: Yep.
The shaved head clerk from the Rocky Mountain House area wasn’t paying attention. He loved the music. It took him back to that gay bar in Amsterdam where he was first hit on by another person. The next time would come three years later at the Republik, but Joel batted her away in no time. Her breasts were too big for Joel’s taste.
Dane: I’m going to go request some Beastie Boys.
Joel: Yep.
The skinny reporter, who only entered the field to pretend he is a superhero, walks over to the DJ booth. The disc jockey, was skinnier than he was and if needed could kick the crap out of him.
Dane: Can you play some Beastie Boys?
DJ: No.
Dane walks away. The rage grows with each step taken away from the booth.
By now, Joel has found his way out of the music and back to the table. There’s a rye and coke in his hand, a kokanee on the table and two Bazooka Joe shots.
Joel: Here.
He hands the beer to Dane.
Dane: Thanks.
They grab the two shots and drain the creamy blue fluid down their throats.
Joel: What did the DJ say?
Dane: “No.” That guy’s a friggin loser.
Joel: I thought you said he was cool?
Dane: Shut up!
The back of Dane’s hand reaches out and smacks the side of Joel’s face. A nice red welt forms. His eyes well up with water.
The team of two check out all the ladies at the bar. It’s a useless gesture because neither of them would even approach a member of the opposite sex. They both know that if they did a huge orgy might erupt, and that’s too much for the community of North Battleford to handle.
Joel: She looks like a very attractive lady.
He gives a little head nod in the direction of a girl in a tight blue shirt.
Dane: Yes, I concur. She is very appealing. How about her?
Dane stands up, walks over to the dance floor, pats a girl on the head and returns to his seat.
Joel: She’s alright. She just doesn’t look like the type you take home to mom. She’d probably just want to do it all the time, and my stamina is way down ever since I quit those videogame marathons.
Dane: You’re right.
Dane walks up to the bar and grabs a couple more drinks. Between the two of them, they have a incredible amount of intelligence, but at the moment neither of them could count the drinks drank that night.
Joel: I like videogames.
Dane: I’m a superhero.
Joel: Playstation rocks!
Dane: Superman could beat the crap out of Captain Marvel.
Joel: I can’t wait for PS3 to come out next year.
Dane: Fantastic Four wasn’t that bad.
Joel: I once cut the heart out of a customer with a Mr. Big bar and ate it in front of my dog.
Dane: I ate an ant in grade 5. I can’t really back that up. You’ll have to take my word for it. Wait, what was that?
Joel: In front of my dog.
Dane: That’s messed up.
Joel: Shut up!
Dane: Kay.
Just then another horrible song blasts through the speakers and the buddies hop to their feet and give each other the thumbs up. It’s time to get the groove going once again.
Three songs later. The ugly lights turn on. The girls next to the two guys take a leap back from fright. The pair don’t care. There’s beer at home in the fridge. They leave the bar and take off down the street.
Joel: It’s no Fish Bowl.
Dane: Shut up!

7.11.2005

Damn old people

I just wanted to snap. I wanted to snap an old ladie’s brittle bones and throw them into the top of a slurpee machine and feed the cool refreshing treat, which turns 40 today, to her grandkids. I’d crack up laughing with each sip they took.

Why am I pissed off. An old lady called in to complain about two grammatical errors. One was pled. No such word. The second should have been written instead of wrote.

She suggested we should really take more care when writing our stories and should think about retaking English. She took it 80 years ago and doesn’t have a problem. I bet she’s never even made a mistake before.

Twelve pages of copy and two minor mistakes. That’s a damn good day in the newspaper business.

It makes me wonder why we keep old people around, if they have nothing better to do than read newspapers and bitch about mistakes. By doing this does she feel important? Does she believe she’s still a vital part of society?

Anyway back to work. Yes I know from all the mistakes in my blog I really should retake English, but there’s always that risk I could fail. I don’t want that.

7.08.2005

A comic is a comic and nothing more

A lot of us have gotten in the habit of taking comic books very seriously. We treat them as collectibles, subset of literature, high art. We parse the texts for allegory and metaphor and attribute mythic qualities to the heroes.
--Jason Silverman in his critique of Fantastic Four at wired.com

Who the hell takes comic books seriously?

I guess I’m a little behind the times. I’m still reading comic books for entertainment not intellectual enlightenment. I like watching the great Superman kick the crap out of some evil-doer. I don’t try and figure out why kryptonite is green or red. I always assumed the artist just liked those colours and wasn’t trying to send out a subliminal message.

If I wanted to seek out metaphors and hidden meaning, I’d go back to my grade 9 literature class and actually read those books. I was two for five. I managed all 100 pages of Old Man and the Sea and George Orwell’s Animal Farm. The rest were way too boring. If I started looking for symbolism in comics, it would take away from the enjoyment value. Plus, I’m sure my head would start to hurt from all the thinking. Comic books are supposed to be a means of escape with no educational value.

I really don’t believe that Silverman collects comics. If he does, he probably is buying graphic novels rather than the traditional books.

As for the movie, the advertisements have drawn me in and I’ll probably go watch it. I’ve never been a big fan of the Fantastic Four. A stretch guy, an invisible woman, a rock guy and a flamer don’t strike me as the best group of heroes. Oh, invisible woman can also create a force field. Whoopity-do. Good superhero teams are the Justice League of America, X-men, the New Mutants and Ninja Turtles (not really superheroes, but still kick butt). Fantastic Four is about the 20th group on the list.

He goes on to not recommend the movie. Which is fair, it’s his opinion and it’s not going to stop me from paying the price. Maybe I’ll learn my lesson, again. The first time was at Elektra.

7.05.2005

I'm just a phone call away

Wow, does the editor of a newspaper ever receive some stupid calls.

Idiot #1
We ran a 100-word story about how the crime stats in the Battlefords were lower than normal during the month of May. It was in the back section of the paper and was more for filler than anything.

Well this guy had his truck vandalized. If he was struck, crime must be up everywhere. He complained about the crime spree going on, a gang of 12-year-olds and mentioned that in the past year he knew of three other people who were victims of crime.

He bitched for about ten mintues before I asked him his name, which he wasn’t willing to give.

#2
This was a nice old lady. I’ve met her before. She was upset that we didn’t run a picture of her granddaughter winning a sports award. I tired to tell her, if we ran that one we should run them all and that would mean 56 pictures.

She also went off about how we put more pictures in the paper of the other two high school awards, which I told her that we hadn’t because they were going into the next pape and haven’t been in the paper yet.

Anyway, life is hectic but going good. It always helps to have an afterwork beer.