Mythology, Cakes, and Male Perversion

Some books that came across my desk today:

100 Characters from Classical Mythology

Sweet Christmas, how many kids did Odysseus sire during the Odyssey? Seriously!

Odysseus: I really need to get back home to my wife!
Random Woman: Hey, hang out and have sex with me for a few years.
Odysseus: *sigh* I guess I have no choice.

Meanwhile, his wife Penelope is fighting off suitors left and right while he's getting it on with every woman he crosses paths with. I don't imagine that ever came up when he made it back to her. Then again, I guess he was too busy kicking ass. The study of the Odyssey we did in junior high never included what happened he finally made it back to Ithaca, and after I read the Odyssey myself a few years back, I see that there was a very good reason for that. Puts any Charles Bronson or Dirty Harry movie to shame, really.

Kids' Birthday Cakes

These are some of the most whacked-out/ornate birthday cakes I have ever seen. And what's the point? A cake is made to be eaten, and as long as it tastes good, who cares if it's shaped like a kite or decorated to look like a hedgehog? Oh right, I keep forgetting that it's a sign that mothers don't love their children enough if the cake comes from Safeway. Sigh.

I still remember flipping through my mother's recipe books and asking her why she didn't make any of the really cool stuff. She'd always get grumpy for the rest of the day and it took me a long time to figure out why. 'Course, after I did, I kept asking why just to mess with her.

I'm really surprised I didn't end up waking up in a ditch one morning with tires squealing off into the distance.

Venus in Blue Jeans : Why Mothers & Daughters Need to Talk About Sex

For cataloging purposes, I have to check if books contain an index. I flipped to the back of the book, and this entry immediately jumped out at me.

War images for male masturbation

So! Um... like, using that for... material? Is that what they're talking about here? I flipped to the page and found out they were just talking about combat metaphors being used a lot to describe... male Onanistic behaviour. Meanwhile, women ended up with cooking and nautical terms.

[very uncomfortable silence]

Yeah, that seems like a good place to stop for the day. See ya next week!

What's in a Name?

I catalogued a series of children's books yesterday called Magic Castle Readers. They're about twenty years old at this point, which is depressing because I was older than the target audience when the books were first released. You get a lot of that when you're cataloguing all of the old books libraries send in because their patrons wanted to get rid of them and couldn't get any money for them off eBay. It's a constant trip down memory lane, except now Memory Lane's full of crack dealers and prostitutes.
I noticed that a lot of the books in this Magic Castle series were illustrated by a very unfortunate person. Not in the sense of unfortunate meaning she was a bad illustrator; indeed, many of her drawings were well-suited to the intended audience. It's that her name was Linda Hohag.

How does a surname like that exist? How? What kind of cruel God would let a name like that tumble down through the ages? You know, if that was my last name, there's no way I'd have ended up doing cutesy-type drawings for children's books. I'd probably be the meanest son-of-a-bitch who ever lived. I'd be mainlining heroin into my eyeball. I'd be punching presidents and pissing on preachers, that's how damn angry I'd be. And yet, here's Linda Hohag, giving the world some of the most saccharine drawings that have ever been committed to paper. I mean, look at them! Those are her pictures scattered around this note.
To have such a cosmic burden and still be able to draw stuff like that? That takes a special kind of mental illness, my friends. A mental illness beyond the likes of which modern medicine can cope.

After that, I looked at a book titled Thank You, Mr. Falker. It's a sweet story about a teacher who helps his student overcome a learning disability. I was reading it and was trying to focus on how I'd like to help somebody like that someday, too. But could I keep my concentration? No Falking way.

...I think you can figure out why.

No Backlash for Old Men

First, No Country for Old Men. Best Picture of the year, according to the Academy! Overrated piece of crap, according to the audience I saw it with.

First off, you might want to hold off on seeing this movie until you can watch it at home by yourself or with some trusted friends. Because the movie contains lots of silent, tension-filled stretches, and believe me, those scenes are a whole lot less effective when you're surrounded by a bunch of fidgety cattle chewing their popcorn cuds.

Second, by all appearances the movie looks like an effective cat-and-mouse thriller. And it is! For the first part of the movie, at least. Then the narrative suddenly veers off into another direction, one that's dense with the metaphors and symbols that were in the background before. Most people will be content to be pulled along during the first half of the movie -- like I was -- then be shocked when the movie starts asking questions of them. It's sort of like having a fun day out water-skiing when suddenly the driver cuts the cord and tells you to swim back to shore.

Because of this, I could barely make my way out of the theatre due to the buttery fog of ill-will hanging in the air. My final thought about There Will Be Blood goes double for this movie: Be prepared when this comes out on DVD, because you're going to be pummeled by the constant stream of opinions telling you how bad it is.

Boned

So the boss was in the store putting up Easter and St. Patrick's Day decorations last night. I swear, you probably haven't seen so many leprechauns and rabbits in one place in your entire life. Also, he put scattered a bunch of St. Patrick's Day coins around inside our counter/display case, so it looks like an Irish pirate just got really dazed and confused and said, "You know what? I'm just putting my treasure here. Now to listen to the Pogues and drink Guinness on Regina's mighty shores! Arrrrrgh and Begorrah!"

The boss was hanging up some banners in the window and lamenting on how we didn't get enough stock from one of our suppliers this week. I just nodded along while rearranging the chocolate bar racks. All of a sudden, he said, "I got a boner in Edmonton."

I look up.

Joel: Really? You got a boner in Edmonton?
Rolf: NO! I said I've got to PHONE HER in Edmonton the next time I'm down.

He walked into the stock section of the store.

Joel: Well, you know, Edmonton's a big place. Lots of people get boners there.
Rolf: *grumble* Joel, that's TMI.
Joel: What? What's so TMI about that? It's not like I'm talking about myself. Although I did live there for close to sixteen months, so it's not unconceivable that I got one myself! Hell, I probably had...

I was cut off when he walked into the cooler and slammed the door.

Ten minutes later, after he had finished restocking, he came back out.

Joel: So, did you get your boner just because you liked being in Edmonton so much, or was it...

He turned around and went back into the cooler.

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That

I used to run a blog with my friend Dane. A lot of the time we'd just gripe at each other, or Dane would go out drinking and then complain about something. Few who read it could ever forget about his infamous stripper rant. Anyways, as it tends to be with personal sites, we could barely get any of our mutual IRL friends to read it. Ever try that? Like, "Oh man! I thought of something really funny, but I can't tell you about it! You have to go online and read it so I get increased traffic." People pretty much stop being your friend at that point.

Back in 2005 when I went to college, the hosting for our image files got the plug yanked and as such we had a bunch of those ferocious Red X's plastered all over the site. What makes it worse was that my computer had died earlier in the year, taking all of the original copies down with the ship. So to get our site looking pretty again, I had to start from scratch.

Since I was back in school and didn't have buckets of time, I figured I'd do a Google Image search for "dane and joel" and see what I'd come up with. Those kind of searches tend to be crapshoots, but this time I found a picture so hilariously awesome I set to work touching it up right away. Here it is.



Regular readers got a laugh out of it, but Dane complained that he didn't get to be the cool guy. I'd never be able to pull off cool hair like the other guy though, so sorry, I guess we're stuck in our roles.

A couple of months later I was back in Rocky working at the store to raise some extra cash on the weekends. A friend of mine came in to the store to say hi, and he said, "So... I went to your site for the first time the other day. Is there something you guys need to tell me?"

Just goes to show you. Sex sells.

Heavens to Betsy, Exit Stage Left!

Earlier this year, my friend Rob came into the store where I work my second job and said that our old friend Loren was in town and that I should meet them at the bar later. Of course I accepted! I'm terrible at getting back in touch with people, but when they come a-knockin' on my door, I always let them back in. Then they usually throw me out and start peeing in my sink, but whatever. A little Comet and it's like new!

I went to the bar after I closed the store and had a pretty good time, even though I wasn't really drinking. After all, I had to drive back home and I really wasn't willing to sleep in my car again. I have a story about that but I'll probably wait until some other time to tell it. At the end of the night, after my friend Mike threatened to beat the crap out of the DJ, it was decided we'd all go to 7-11 to get some post-bar snacks. (Or is it 7-Eleven? Seven-11? I can never get it right.)

On our way out the door, I saw one of my friendlier customers on his way in. He was quite an amiable fellow when he came in for cigarettes, and always 100% there throughout the entire transaction. As I walked past him, I gave him the cool-guy nod you give when you're a cool guy and you want to let other cool guys know you think they're a cool guy as well. He shouted "HEY HEY HEY!", wheeled around, then grabbed and pinched my ass.

What the hell would you do after that? Hopefully something better than I did, which was go "WOO WOO WOO" like Dr. Zoidberg's Curly impression, then do an old Vaudeville exit out the door.

Anyways, I saw the guy in the store on Wednesday. He was a lot less friendlier then he usually was and wouldn't make eye contact. I mean, come on! Pinch a guy's ass and you don't even acknowledge him the next you see him? I feel so used. I need to go out for a bunch of Haagen-Dazs and watch The Notebook again.

Man, men are such pigs.

Book Club Pick 2: Twilight

Welcome back to the Joel Nielsen Book Club! We've been on hiatus for a while, so all of our members could catch up on our last pick, Darkfever. They keep crapping themselves and throwing themselves into walls every ten pages or so, and it's really slowing down their progress. Regardless, we stride boldy forward with today's pick, Twilight by Stephanie Myer. They're making a movie based on the book, so it's gotta be good, right? Right? Almost as good as Jumper, I hope.

Here's what the publisher summary has to say:

About three things I was absolutely positive.

First, Edward was a vampire.

Second, there was a part of him--and I didn't know how dominant that part might be--that thirsted for my blood.

And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

So, I was thinki...

...

No. No! I can't go through with this. This is just too much. You know how many stupid vampire romances I've catalogued since I started this gig? Countless! All agony!

And lusting after vampires, still? Sure, it was cute the first couple of times, but come on! You think gazelles get all hot and bothered over lions? "Ooooooh, he's so dark and mysterious! He feeds on blood but I'm so sexy that he has to contain his blood lust and not eat me and that translates into passion and" AGHGGHGGGHGHHGGHGH *smashes head into keyboard*

Damn vampires.

Anyways, I just catalogued the set of Twilight novels, and it came with a poster. It's yours if you want it. Consider it your reward for making it through my deranged, tortured rant.

Tonight We May Lose The Battle

My Tuesday night ritual typically consists of me bumming around in Southpoint Common in Red Deer before going to see a movie. This would be a bad idea and extremely expensive if I had more money to spend. Thankfully, I don't, so I ended up going to Value Village last night in a bid to waste time before watching Juno.

It was extremely busy there last night. If I didn't have the focus of a sugar-rushing toddler I'd have noticed the signs in the window, but it took an announcement over the intercom for me to recognize that there was a 50% off sale going on. At first I thought, "Really? A 50% off sale at Value Freakin' Village is something to get that excited over?" It then dawned on me that there are probably starving families who need this kind of thing to make ends meet, and I was promptly humbled. Then I tripped over one of the constant stream of Hutterites and I promptly went back to being surly and cynical.

A short while ago I'd be able to walk into the place and have enough clothes to last for six months, but the effects of time on both my appearance and my disposition have put an end to that. Now I don't like a cool "ironic" dude, I just look like some sad wino. Of course, I probably always looked like some sad wino. It's just taken me this long to realize it.

God, I hate buying shirts. It's something I used to love until I realized every shirt looks perfectly ridiculous on me. The upper half of my torso looks smashing in a large! Really it does. But then these idiot love handles make my lower half look like an overstuffed bean-bag chair. And of course, if I swap it around and wear an extra large, my upper half is swimming in fabric. One of my friends once asked if I was wearing a maternity shirt. I suppose there's always tailoring.

Once I finally made it to the till in the checkout lane, the rather frazzled clerk asked "How are you today, sir?". I immediately replied with a very sunny "Good! How are you!" I don't know if you've noticed this but if you say this in a very busy store the clerk will stare at you like a dog that's been shown a card trick.

Wir sagen Willkomen, Bienvenue, Welcome...

Hammer Time

During the fall of 2002, otherwise known as The Year of Living Dangerously, a very pretty young lady came into my store and asked if we had any long-distance phone cards. I replied yes, and she flashed me a wide grin, saying that she'd definitely be back another time for more. "What's so great about our phone cards?" I wondered to myself, "Same as you'd get anywhere else really." I went back to my crossword puzzle and the thought quicky drifted away.

After buying what must have been over $200 worth of phone cards, she finally got fed up with waiting and asked me out on a date.

After our first date I went to visit her at her house and meet her son. She was getting ready in the back so it was just some quality time with me and the tyke. I've never been great with kids, but I can drum up some youthful spirit when the situation demands it. Damn if it isn't exhausting, though.

The little sprout had a toy tool kit with all of the bits and pieces made out of hollow plastic. He was quite excited to show off his screwdriver, his rachet, and his level. Next thing I knew he wound up and smacked me in the knee with the hammer. Of course, the thing was flimsy so it didn't hurt. I ignored the fact the kid just assaulted me for no good reason, and I decided to play along. "Ooh!!!" I groaned in mock pain. He laughed maniacally and did it again. "Aieeee!!!" Again he brought the hammer down. I shot out my leg and said "Gee, my reflexes are good, doncha think?" He was having too much fun.

Next thing I knew he dropped the hammer and ran out of the room. What was that all about? Kids these days! If somebody let me whack their knee with a hammer when I was a kid, I'd probably have done it for hours. I picked up the toy level and studied the bubble inside.

After about a minute had passed, I heard his maniacal laughter start up again followed by the thump-thump-thump of little feet charging down the hall. He rounded the corner and came charging at me. In his hands was a very menacing full-sized, full-weight claw hammer. He did some practice swings as he closed the distance between us. At this point my eyes were just about to explode out of their sockets and I leapt up onto the couch, threw out my hands, and yelled "Dude!!! NO!!!!" He continued his mad sprint and brought down the hammer on the couch beside me. I took the opportunity and wrested the hammer away from him. He was a bit peeved by that, but better that then having your cartoonish fantasies ruined by sickening cracks, sprays of bloods and my sure-to-be unrestrained screaming.

And people wonder why I tend to stay away from children.

Jump This!

Hey guys... and gals... and robots. You know, I really don't want to turn this space into Super Fun Happy Movie Reviews by Your Ol' Pal Joel. After all, it's nice to read someone's take on a movie when they have something interesting to say, but only up to a certain point. A VERY SHALLOW certain point. And hey, so far, so good. I've only made some comments on There Will Be Blood, and even then I avoided putting out much of an opinion. Because, you know, I don't put out on the first date.

But seriously, I'm going to have to break that little promise I made to myself, because I went to see Jumper last night. It was terrible. It was awful. It was a complete disgrace to its awesome premise, an absolute waste of time for everyone involved, and nobody comes out of it looking good. Sure, some people try valiantly, and one might think, "well, good for them!" but then one realizes that those in the cast looked at the script and thought it was a good idea, and suddenly all sympathy goes out the window.


The acting was awful. I keep hearing about how good of an actor Hayden Christiansen is when he's away from the Star Wars prequels, but damn if can he show it here. I've seen more convincing emotion from a bucket full of damp rags. His younger counterpart is miles better than he his. As for Rachel Bilson, I never saw the OC, so I have no basis for comparison, but has she ever done anything compelling? Somehow, I don't think she has, but I guess I have no right to make that call. And Samuel L. Jackson? He's pushed me over the line. I can't believe the man's career trajectory has taken him here. Having him in a movie used to be a selling point for me. That ain't the case anymore, to say the least.

Considering the movie is based on a well-loved novel for young adults, you'd figure there'd at least be an interesting plot, right? Nope! Anything interesting is forgotten as soon as its mentioned, while the movie spends an inordinate amount of time focussed on this half-assed "secret identity" romance subplot we've all seen plenty of times before. Wow! He can't reveal his powers to her and its causing tension! Layer the previously-mentioned great acting over this terrific plot point and you have the recipe for a casserole of failure so epic that Jamie Oliver just took a crap in his pants.


"But wait!" someone shouts in the dark. "Wait! The action scenes must be terrific! Lots of teleportation whiz-bang-a-hoo-hoo! That Nightcrawler scene at the beginning of X2 was pretty rad, so this has got to be even better, right? Well, there is some neat stuff to see here, but it's ALL BEEN SHOWN IN THE TRAILER. I know it's a filmgoing cliche to say that "all the good stuff was in the trailer!", but here, it's actually true! I'd never seen something like that before! In most movies, yes, some clips of the neat stuff will be in the trailer, but it'll run a bit longer in the movie, or they'll have some stuff that's not as cool, but is still pretty neat. Not the case here. There's some wacky stuff with a flamethrower, but whatever.

The movie was critically drubbed, but no one I know really pays attention to what critics think anymore, especially when it comes to movies like this. After all, 300 was dismissed by plenty of critics, but plenty of people I know count the movie as one of their favorites. I would advise you to listen to them this time, as I probably should have. I thought, well, whatever! They're obviously coming down from the Oscar rush and they have higher expectations than normal. But no, they're entirely right. It's BAD.

And you know, it's not that the movie is bad which makes me hate it so much. Bad movies can still be entertaining. It's just that the movie misses the middling mark it aims for and ends up becoming utterly boring as a result. It's the worst movie of the year so far, which might not seem that heavy of a statement at first. But when you consider that I started my movie-going year with Alvin and the Chipmunks, One Missed Call, and Rambo, that statement becomes a lot more damning.

So, please, don't reward this film. Never watch it. Don't rent it, don't see it on television. If someone else puts it on, leave the room. If it's your house, tell them to leave.

There, I've said my peace. I won't mention another movie for at least two weeks.

Hearts A-Flutter

There Will Be Acting

You know, it's part of our civic duty to go and watch some of the Best Picture nominees every year. Because although the Academy Awards are typically a big bloated pile of pig manure, at least they aren't the freaking Grammys. Or the Junos for that matter. Celine Dion getting more nominations than Feist? Three cheers for irrelevancy, folks! The music industry is like a grotesquely obese man wearing a belly shirt, really. His shame is out there for everyone to see, but he doesn't care! You'll see his gut and like it. After all, why should he change? It's not like people are going to look at something else! Oh, wait... they are. Sucks to be you, big boy!

That probably would have been more inspiring if I said it three years ago.

Anyways, seeing as most of you are probably making your Oscar choice Juno or No Country for Old Men, I figured I'd go see There Will Be Blood last night. I wanted to make it a double feature, but There Will Be Blood is a little over 2 and a half hours long, so nix that to that idea. I can imagine some of you are saying no to the movie based on the length, so all I gotta say is: Suck it up, buttercup! If you can make it through the Lord of the Rings epilogue where nothing happens but hobbits saying their teary goodbyes to each other, then you can damn well handle this.

Short summary: Daniel Day-Lewis plays Daniel Plainview, an oilman who accidentally kills Santa Claus. The oilman is surprised to find out that he needs to replace Santa Claus due to some buried clause in some contract... somewhere. On his way he discovers the true meaning of Christmas and that since he's a false idol that draws attention away from the Holy Birth he is blasphemous and must be destroyed. He goes on the run with the Ghost of Christmas Past and the Little Drummer Boy on an epic journey into the depths of the human soul.

Or not.

So what did I think? Well, that's surprisingly not relevant. I've often found that people regularly ignore my opinions on movies, music... pretty much anything. They're glad to hear it, and may find it amusing from time to time, but they rarely listen to what I have to say. And you know, at this point in my life I really don't mind. That is, until they come back to me and say they finally checked out the movie I recommended... based on somebody else's recommendation. I mean, come on!

What I'd like to do today is point out that this movie is primarily a character-driven piece. Many of you might have figured this out already based on all the praise Daniel Day-Lewis has been getting while the rest of the movie is barely mentioned. Pity poor Paul Dano. The film pulses with each beat of Daniel Plainview's blackened heart, and this ultimately leads to how much you're going to get out of the whole thing. There's a plot here, folks, but it's not going to sustain you if that's what you're looking for. If you think you'll find Daniel Plainview compelling, then the film will be compelling.

Just be prepared, because when There Will Be Blood comes out on video, there's going to be a TON of people squawking on about how bad it is. I guarantee this. Heck, they're already doing it now. Go visit the forum on the movie's page on the IMDB.

And finally... I drink your milkshake! I DRINK IT UP!!!

Damn right, it's better than yours!
A joke too far

Playtime

Hey champs, I slept in this morning and had to make up the lost time during my lunch break. And since that's when I write these things, it's going to have to be a short one today. This could be welcome news for some of you.

I catalogue lots of kid's books during my day, and I'm always kind of amused by the child's view of what adulthood is like. I was "cataloguing" a story about this dog who, after having a busy day at work, was chilling beside the fireplace and reading the newspaper. All of a sudden, the doorbell rang. He sprinted to the door, and saw three of his friends standing outside. They shouted at him to come out and play, so he threw on a scarf and cannonballed into a nearby snowdrift. Oh, the laughter that resulted!

It's not like it's a big deal or anything, but seriously, could that ever happen? DOES that ever happen? If you were hanging around inside and three of your adult friends pounded on the door and told you to come make snow angels with them, and there were no kids involved, what would your reaction be? Personally, I'd wonder about what kind of recreational drugs they were doing beforehand.

Strange how such an innocent thing seems so far away.

Sneaux de Toilette

There was a big blizzard in the area last night, and naturally, it blew in during my hour-and-a-half drive back to Lacombe. So, based on my experiences I'm writing a guide on how YOU! Yes, YOU! can survive driving through an hour-and-a-half of frozen winter shit.

The first order of business setting the XM radio to the comedy channel. After all, there's no better time to be hit by a giggle fit than when a situation demands finesse and absolute control. Then again, last night they were playing a whole bunch of those inane prank phone calls that make the Jerky Boys look like erudite intellectuals. I guess I didn't need to worry about laughing.

Ever again.

The main thing to keep in mind when you're going on your wintry way is to maintain a comfortable speed. Don't rush! Speed kills. Or at least drains your wallet and forces you to deal with a condescending tow truck driver. I ended up in the ditch once and the person who stopped to help me refused to help me place the chain on my car because he didn't want to be held responsible for "any damage to my vehicle". So I had to figure out where to put it, only getting "I wouldn't put it there if I were you" when I was going in the wrong direction. It got to the point where I figured that if this was what I was going to have to go through just to get back to civilization, then it's not worth it. I was going to go run into the forest and hang out in a tree, far away from the agony of chains and ditches, and live on a diet of wildflowers and squirrels. So yeah, don't end up in the ditch.

Also, somebody will have left tracks in the snow ahead of you. It's up to you whether or not you want to follow in these tracks, but keep in mind the person ahead of you might have been really drunk or simply have no grasp on the concept of three-dimensional space, so don't be surprised to find yourself veering into oncoming traffic. I don't think "I was just followin' the trail!" will be good enough for your insurance company.

If it was only this, then driving in winter would be simple! Relaxing, even. However, there will be other people on the road, and more often than not they will be in a bigger hurry than you. When you see somebody's headlights in your rear-view mirror, one of two things will happen:

1. If the vehicle behind you is light-weight with low-grip tires, they will inevitably shoot past you and leave you swerving in a cloud of snow. I guess it's up to you to stop and help them when you find them in the ditch later on. Just let them put the chain on themselves. That's always fun.
   
2. If the vehicle is heavy with lots of grip and 4x4, they'll just hang out behind you with their brights on. Naturally, this vehicle will be bigger than yours and have the headlights placed at the perfect position to leave you fumbling in the glare no matter what you do.
   

Things will become their most complex when you see an oncoming vehicle, however. Unlike other times when you're sort of free to to follow the path of least resistance, here you're forced to stay on your side of the road. And since there's usually drifts of snow in the area you're forced to now drive in, you're constantly fighting being dragged into the ditch. It's like trying to thread a needle while some jerk is shoving your arm every ten seconds.

Still, as hard as dealing with other drivers during a snowstorm can be, it's heartening to know that at least you're not the only goddamned idiot with places to be.

Welcome to the Secret Shame

Allow me to preface this by saying that I'm not a very big fan of anime. Never have, and probably never will be. There are some shows that I've enjoyed, I'll certainly give you that. And I have more than passing knowledge about the whole anime scene due to my being a gamer, being that gaming has always overlapped anime in the ol' Venn diagram of geekish interests. But seriously, the day I shift myself in the geek hierarchy to join the subculture that gave the world those intensely creepy hugging pillows would have to be an interesting day indeed.

If I wrote stuff that people actually read I'd have to include a sarcastic note to the effect of "Oooh, let the flood of hate-mail begin!", but since I'm not, I guess we can just move on.

Back when I was a young lad fresh out of school, I made some mistakes. Terrible, terrible mistakes. However, these were not sexy mistakes, and such tragically unsexy mistakes don't lead one on a life of dangerous, sexy adventure, which is usually associated with a young man who makes frequent mistakes. Instead, such terrible -- yet downright tedious -- mistakes drive one to live the life of a shut-in. I'm not going to bore you with further details but I've never really found much in the media that speaks to my experiences back then. Not that I'd actively seek something out that forced me to return to the extreme depression and utter isolation of those times, but whatever.

It was wholly by accident that I did discover it last year, and even more shocking that it came in the form of an anime. Welcome to the NHK does a wonderful job of documenting the highs and lows of being a completely unproductive member of society, from having high-flying dreams of realized potential, to seeing those dreams crushed under the lead weight of personal inertia.

I quickly downloaded the entire series and I've been buying copies of the manga as soon as they're released. I'd been thinking of buying the DVDs when they were released here, too. And what a stroke of luck! I found them for sale in the Best Buy in Red Deer.

Well, now that I think about it, maybe it wasn't a stroke of luck. Maybe it was some other kind of stroke. After all, how else would you explain the cover I saw as I eagerly snatched it off the shelf?


What the hell is this shit? There's no way I could bring this stupid thing up to the counter! I mean, it's not much, but I do have SOME pride. I write these posts during my breaks at work and I'm desperately looking around, hoping nobody can see my monitor. And the ridiculous thing is that picture has absolutely NOTHING to do with the show! There's nobody dressed like that in the entire series! They just threw that on there so that some perverted asshole will pick it up, get a nosebleed, then buy it. That's guaranteeing some sales, I suppose.

But not from me, sadly, not from me. All I see on that cover is everything I don't like about anime used to sell one of the few anime that I do like.

Scenes from a Convenience Store: The Chocolate Edition

Have you ever seen those "portion-control" chocolate bars? Like the Nestle Singles or Cadbury Thins? Ever stop and consider what a load of crap that is? These chocolate companies are getting paid almost the same amount of money for substantially less product.

For some perspective, at our store we sell those little Halloween mini-chocolate bars year-round. Our price for one? 25 cents. Our price for the Nestle Single? 89 cents! And you know what? They're practically the same size. Sure, the Nestle Single's a bit bigger, but certainly not enough to justify the price difference.

But whatever, the market's always been based on what people are willing to pay, not on what the product's actually worth. I guess that's what willpower's worth to some people. Although a lot of people buy more than one at a time, and that, my friends, is when I reach for my revolver.


Wheee!!!

I thought the flavoured chocolate bar mania of yesteryear was a bit overdone. Seriously, they even had a lemonade-flavoured Crunchie bar, which was so terrible we had to give it away in surprise bags. Surprise! You just got gipped out of two bucks! Thankfully, after they released the yoghurt versions of several popular brands, people finally had enough sense to say no. However, I never knew other countries had it worse. Here's some of the varieties of Kit Kat they released in Japan: maple syrup, melon, vanilla bean, grape, apple, caramel, kiwi, azuki, and cherry blossom.

A girl came up to the counter last night, grabbed one of the wrapped chocolate-covered cherries, and stared into it like she was some future archaeologist trying to decipher the mysterious runes printed on the package.

Girl: What is this?
Me: It's a chocolate-covered cherry.
Girl: Is it just chocolate?
Me: ...no, it's also got a cherry in it.
Girl: What does it taste like?
Me: Um... chocolate. And cherries.

So she put it down and grabbed a Ferrero Rocher instead. Thank goodness she knew what that was, because if she couldn't grasp chocolate-covered cherries I wouldn't even know where to begin with explaining Ferrero Rochers to her.

Whatever Happened to Tommy Lee Jones?

Oh, Tommy Lee Jones. You kinda had me worried there for a while, but then No Country for Old Men came out and everything seemed great again. Then you go ahead and do this:



Then again, considering how much money some of these stars get paid to do these Japanese commercials I shouldn't be surprised. For more videos of celebrities shilling in Japan go here. You may be surprised at who you see.

http://www.japander.com

Also, I bought a PS3 and the whole Rock Band setup last night. Apparently I don't like money as much as I thought. I may get to play video game drums now but there goes my dream of swimming in money like that cartoon duck.

And yes, I know his name is Uncle Scrooge. Cartoon duck just sounded better. Oh, it doesn't? Well, if you're so smart, then why don't you write a damn note, huh? Philistines.

I Ain't Permission You At All

I just finished cataloguing a whole bunch of videos. It's probably one of the more intensive things about the job, but I love doing it because it gives me a chance to reminisce about these movies.

Anyways, for each of these movies we have to add a note about permissions. Most videos are set so they can only be watched in the home, and you know, that's cool. If you want to broadcast things to large groups of people or charge money for showings, you have to give the production company a taste. This is why videos for schools are so insanely expensive, and why unless you're living in a rich school district most of the videos your kids are watching are at least fifteen years old. I grew up in the eighties and I remember seeing films from the fifties, for goodness sake.

My favorite permission so far has been "for unadvertised, private home viewing only". That's all well and good, but does anybody do any advertised, private home viewing? Like, they're at the lunch table:

"Guess what guys! I'm watching Good Will Hunting tonight!"
"Cool, can we come over?"
"No, it's against the law."

Or have a note on the billboard that says Having a Shrek Marathon this weekend. That's it. No contact info, no address, no anything.

Permissions rule.

Slow and Low

So I went back to Rocky this weekend, as I do every weekend, to find that there's no water in the trailer. Whatsoever. The Big Chill we had this week did a number on the crappy copper pipes in the place. On the bright side we didn't have any self-absorbed ex-hippies having sex with each other, so we take what we can get. Hate to see what the exterminator would charge to get rid of those.

Naturally, this made personal hygiene a bit more of a bother than usual. There was a giant bowl filled with water and a facecloth lying in the sink, and I figured this was going to have to be my alternative to having a shower. It wasn't really something I was looking forward to, so I decided to put off until I went to work. Right as I was shutting down the computer and getting ready I got a phone call from my mother saying that yep, that was the new bathing setup. Only that I should get a new facecloth because she used the one in the kitchen to "wash her ass."

*blink*

Well, wasn't that cheeky of you? Thank goodness I waited, is all I'm saying. Thank goodness I waited.

Anyways, I went back to Lacombe yesterday night early to do my laundry so I wouldn't have to wear my Tusken Raider shirt to work the next day. All's well and good until I get up in the middle of the night and find that the toilet won't flush. There isn't water running in the sink or the shower either. I go to the other bathroom and find the same thing. The hell? Is freakin' Allen Funt hiding in the hall? He damn well better be because this is just sick.

Luckily, I woke up in the morning and found everything was back to good. I wore my Tusken Raider shirt anyway, because what's dignity worth when you're desperately searching for the right authority file on a generically-named director of some D-movie that came out fifteen years ago?

Cataloguers will get it, I promise you.

Darkfever

Well, hello there! Welcome to the inaugural meeting of my book club. I handle at lot of books during my work day, and believe me, there are some fantastic titles out there that are bound to be overlooked. But first, I must take a minute to address some rumblings from the back. Yes folks? What’s that? Why should you listen to me when Oprah’s ready and willing to vomit her book picks into your helpless little chickadee mouths? Well, I’m prettier, goddamnit! Also, I promise not to vomit into your mouths. Figuratively or literally.

Anyway, I’m pleased as punch to introduce to you a wonderful little gem of a book. It’s not often I find a book that inspires me as much as this one. This book was so powerful, I didn’t even need to read it to be blown away! As soon as I read the back, I knew I needed to share my powerful emotions with all of you. All two of you, to be perfectly honest, but anyways, here’s Darkfever, by noted romance author Karen Marie Moning!

Wait… Karen Marie Moning? That’s the name of a romance author? Oh, that’s just too perfect.

Author: Hi, I’m Karen Marie Moning.
Joel: Yes, but who are you where you’re not?

*ba-dum-tish*

Somebody tell me where The Rock is, because it’s time for a rundown.

MacKayla Lane’s life is good. She has great friends, a decent job, and a car that breaks down only every other week or so. In other words, she’s your perfectly ordinary twenty-first-century woman. Or so she thinks…until something extraordinary happens.

A car that breaks down every other week? That’s not normal, that’s shitty!

When her sister is murdered, leaving a single clue to her death–a cryptic message on Mac’s cell phone–Mac journeys to Ireland in search of answers. The quest to find her sister’s killer draws her into a shadowy realm where nothing is as it seems, where good and evil wear the same treacherously seductive mask.


She is soon faced with an even greater challenge: staying alive long enough to learn how to handle a power she had no idea she possessed–a gift that allows her to see beyond the world of man, into the dangerous realm of the Fae…

As Mac delves deeper into the mystery of her sister’s death, her every move is shadowed by the dark, mysterious Jericho, a man with no past and only mockery for a future.

I wish I was sexy and brooding. Then I could stalk people and not get thrown in jail.

As she begins to close in on the truth, the ruthless Vlane–an alpha Fae who makes sex an addiction for human women–closes in on her.

Well, th… WHAT? Vlane? Makes women addicted to sex? Say what, say what? How the heck does that work? Does he have to have sex with them first or does he just point at them and then BOOM! Instant nymphomaniac? To hell with flight or invisibility! This is the new power I want to have! Not for my own gratification, of course. Yeah, I’m sure you all believe me there, but think of all the fun you could have! I mean, you’re stuck in traffic, waiting in line somewhere, having a slow day at the office… all you’ve got to do is just do whatever it takes to unleash the flibbity-flabbity-floo and you’ve got instant entertainment.

Of course, you know that with great power comes responsibility… God, I’m picturing a tragic origin story much like Spider-Man’s here and I don’t know if it’s fit for sharing.

And as the boundary between worlds begins to crumble, Mac’s true mission becomes clear: find the elusive Sinsar Dubh before someone else claims the all-powerful Dark Book–because whoever gets to it first holds nothing less than complete control of the very fabric of both worlds in their hands. . .


Oh, and there’s a trailer for this book up on Youtube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hnjt60RRUXs

Yeah, nobody’s going to watch that beside me, but anyway… yeah, SURE, her name is pronounced “mawning"! That’s a long vowel, fools! LONG VOWEL!