Big City Ramblings

The Cake Name is a Lie

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 02:04:49 -0500

I started this blog about two and a half years ago and named it "Big City Ramblings as the topic was my journey from Edmonton to New York City.

Things have changed since then.

I'm moving again, yes, but this time to a locale not eight times the population, of Edmonton but instead to one that's approximately one-fiftieth of my home-base:

Port Alberni, British Columbia. "Big City Ramblings" no longer applies.

I've got tons to write about:

Losing control of my S2000 on a snow-covered Trans-Canada Highway about 70 km west of Revelstoke (it was my only religious experience of the trip: when the rear end of the car kicked out, my scream of "Jesus FUCK!!!" could be heard above the stereo and it was only the fact that Spoonman and I were fortunate to take a performance driving course from the Dowler family back in the day that I was able to get the vehicle pointed in a relatively westward direction without too much drama).

Discovering that living on a boat is far more involved than simply buying a boat and living on it. Needless to say I won't be living on a watercraft of any sort.

Being amazed that not all human beings are assholes. The people here are amazing: friendly, open and honest to a fault.*

And more. There's tons to do: besides the mundane activity of moving there's a myriad of business opportunities, but what I'm looking forward to the most are the plans that Spoonman, BROWNIAN and I have to boat from Vancouver Island to Costa Rica in the summer of 2009 (on a smallish 30-foot express cruiser). We're going to end up successful, dead or homosexual Navy wannabes.

* Apologies to my friends in Edmonton (and some in NYC): the asshole generalization doesn't apply to you. Also apologies to everyone who's read this: I haven't written in some time and it shows.

If You're Going To Plagiarize, Be Subtle About It. Or At Least Do It Well.

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 13:31:24 -0400

Almost 20 years ago (yikes!), Spoonman, Milhouse and myself started what was to be a rather short University career. We had all enrolled in the Engineering program, but despite being as socially inept as possible we just couldn't succeed in course material tailor-made for geeks such as ourselves. I lasted six months, whereas Spoonman and Milhouse made it a full eight*.

We should have seen it coming.

As was the norm back in the mid '80s, all Freshman Engineering students were required to take a Fortran course (yes, that link is about as exciting as you'd imagine it to be). Being shiftless, privileged youth, we quickly determined the best way to get through the course was to have one of us (read: Milhouse) do the assignment and the other two, less motivated fellows would then make some changes to it and submit it as our own. It goes on every day, and we thought we had devised the perfect crime.

Not three assignments into the course, we sauntered into the lecture theater only to see our three student IDs written on the board with a "see me!" written under it.

Busted. Yeah, we were destined for greatness.

But that's not what this article is about.

It's all about my absolute disgust with American television, and how very little creativity is demonstrated by the American networks (although what would you expect from a nation that voted a waterhead** into the White House not once but twice, and where 63% of it's populace identifies itself as religious, with a full 22% of Americans believing the bible is free of errors.).

Case in point: Mythbusters. I really, really want to like this show, but the last two that I watched tested automotive-related topics: first, how to escape from a vehicle sinking in water, and second, if photo radar can be beaten by driving at a very high rate of speed.

"Hmm." I thought to myself. "I could have sworn that both of these were covered a couple of years ago by what is arguably the best show on television: BBC's Top Gear". Sure enough, the Mythbusters tests were blatant rip-offs.

The difference between Mythbusters and Top Gear was only that Top Gear "winged it": for example, when they wanted to test the photo radar "myth", they jumped into a TVR and blew by the camera at 280-290 km/hr. The camera didn't fire, and the "myth" was proven. Mythbusters, on the other hand, were limited by liability and insurance to around 233 km/hr. That's only about 15 km/hr faster than I was driving my SUV (sorry, SAV) on my last road trip, and they had a Murcielago. With a five-point harness. On a race track. With a co-driver. And they failed to confirm the "myth".

Pathetic. It also doesn't hurt that Top Gear is beautifully filmed and they constantly bash the "Good Ol' U.S. of A." ***

Now if only there was a way to trade the Discovery Channel for BBC 2 on my cable system I could stop downloading the exploits of Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May, and instead watch them as intended.

* Milhouse now designs roads, overpasses and bridges for a living. It's enough to make me want to turn in my driver's license.

** I am not, in any way, affialiated with Strategery Tees. They do make a compelling product, though.

*** New York City is not the United States. It's an anomaly, and a good one at that. There are intelligent, progressive people in NYC. 90% of the USA cannot claim the same.

Schindler's List, Feline Version

Wed, 31 Jan 2007 16:11:46 -0500

There's something about this video that made me think of Poland, circa 1943. And yet, I cannot stop laughing.

"You vill be reunited in zee family camp!"

West Bound and Down

Thu, 25 Jan 2007 03:10:06 -0500

Every few months I get the overwhelming urge to jump in a vehicle and go somewhere -- this time it was to Seattle, where a few months ago Spoon & I discovered that bargains and outlet malls can be found like genital warts on Paris Hilton. Allegedly. Of course, these excursions can never go smoothly.

January 23, 2007

6:00 am: Alarm goes off, I sleep through it. So much for making Seattle in one day.

9:00 am: I finally stir. I make a couple of cups of coffee, which I treat like shooters.

9:45 am: On the road at last!

10:00 am: I forgot my handphone. Back to the condo. Fuck!

10:15 am: Back on the road, with the GPS cheerily reminding me to turn left to get to Seattle.

10:45 am: Winter road trips rule! No traffic, and global warming has ensured that it's above freezing and the roads are dry.

11:20 am: It's been four months since I've ingested coffee. I haven't pissed like this since the last time I dropped acid.

12:00 pm: I have a good idea why I don't travel well with others. Between songs like this:

and me screaming the lyrics in concert with K's Choice's "Not an Addict", Sly Fox's "Let's Go All The Way" and the eternal favorite "Jessie's Girl", I can see how this would become tiresome quickly.

12:37 pm: Edson has a Wal-Mart but no Starbucks. Edson sucks a fat cock.

1:54 pm: Hinton sucks a fat cock too. How can they advertise "All Services" on the "Welcome to Hinton" sign without it having a decent coffee shop? The local Wal-Mart is doing great business, though.

2:55 pm: My God, it's full of mountains.

(did anyone catch the "2001" reference?)

4:15 pm: If you need Internet access in Valemont, forget it. They protect it better than Emma Watson protects her balloon knot. (Is it legal to talk about her that way yet? If not, then I meant Emma Thompson). There's wireless hotspots everywhere, but none to be had by the weary traveller.

6:00 pm: Blue River is still discovering the television. I hold up my MacBook Pro and the populace bows to me like I'm displaying the golden idol from the first Indiana Jones movie. Needless to say, there's no Internet here either.

7:25 pm: Finally, somewhere semi-civilized. Clearwater at least has some open hotspots. The weather stinks so bad, though, that this is where the trip ends for me tonight.

(yes, the music is deliberate)

750 km in one day: a pussy number for someone who's driven Edmonton to Toronto straight.

January 24, 2007

9:37 am: What is it about road food that makes it impossible to shit? As soon as I get home I'm going to take a dump that will require that I call a plumber.

10:05 am: Back on the road -- late as usual, but I should actually get some shopping done today!

2:20 pm: The weather is better ...

... and I'm going faster.

Spoon & I did about this speed on the 401 in Toronto back in the day. The 1988 Mustang GT we were driving felt like it was about to take flight or careen into the guardrail. My SUV (sorry, SAV) felt perfectly stable. BMWs rock!

4:20 pm: At the border -- at last!

7:30 pm: Through the border -- at last! I first thought I was being held in secondary inspection to make Osama's uglier brother, who shared my customs plight (as well as our too-small waiting room), feel better. However, when four ... yes four customs officers started digging thought my vehicle, I began to wonder if Anthony decided it would be funny to call ahead and report me as a senior Cali Cartel member. When I was finally permitted to leave, the officer who handed me my keys gleefully informed me that they decided to detain me because "I don't look like I belong in that car". Go fuck yourself, you donut-scarfing, wife-beating, kid-touching menace! Of course I don't have the balls to say that to Mr. Picked-On-Every-Day-In-Grade-School's face, but hoo boy did I ever think it!

8:55 pm: I finally made it to Fry's Electronics. In a related issue, I've finally learned how to properly set my new GPS: when it was not set correctly, it took me through the nickel tour of residential Seattle, including a few neighborhoods where I was seven shades too pale to fit in. Fry's was worth the looks I received (that mirrored those that the customs officers were giving Osama's homely sibling) though; it's a veritable Mecca (hmm ... the third Muslim reference in this entry ... maybe those customs officers had me pegged correctly all along) for the electronics & gadget geek.

January 25, 2007

1:06 am: I'm finally uploading a (very) rough version of this entry. Links and more photos / video will come later.

1:04 pm: Done! I'm just chowing down and I'll be back on the road toot-sweet. Now just to make it through customs unscathed, and I'll consider this trip a success.

3:20 pm: Dealing with Canadian customs is an absolute pleasure compared with the shitdicks from the States. In and through in five minutes.

9:55 pm: As much as I wanted to travel straight through to Edmonton tonight, it's far too foggy and snowy here in Revelstoke to night drive. One more hotel night!

January 25, 2007

7:05 am: I'm finally on the road at a decent hour. I should be home in time to hit the bar tonight!

1:30 pm: Is it a requirement that to be a trucker one must have an extra chromosome? These two photos were taken within 20km of each other:

Sometime in the pm: Yes, I made it home alive. Now I just want to get out of Edmonton again ...

Happy New Beef!

Sun, 7 Jan 2007 21:16:52 -0500

The new year is a time for planning, betterment and most importantly, reflection. Really, reflection isn't all that important, but for the sake of this blog entry it gets a promotion.

My List of Beefs, 2006 Edition

In no way should this be taken as a canonical list, it's only what's coming to mind on this 7th of January, 2007.

- Religion. Might as well start out big. Is there anyone in the civilized world that still needs a collection of fables, myths and bogymen to get them through the night? Hey kids, there's something new in town: SCIENCE. It may not have all of the answers, but at least Michio Kaku doesn't require that a hippie feed hundreds with a single fish (proof that Jesus was a Jew, by the way. What a cheap fuck) nor does Stephen Hawking dictate that if one blows oneself up he'll get to rail 72 virgins. It's all ridiculous. Faith? Fine. Keep it to yourself. Religion? The definition is "man's interpretation of god's will", aka bullshit.

- Alberta "non-residents". If you live in Alberta, you know these assholes well. They've shown up in droves to walk our streets paved with gold and have now turned what was a marginal city to begin with (Edmonton) into an unbridled shithole. With no roots (and let's be honest: very little social savoir faire: after all, those that can pack everything they own into their 1977 Caprice or 1980 F-150 and leave life behind on the spur of the moment probably didn't go to finishing school), they are treating Edmonton (and especially my neighborhood, Old Strathcona) like their personal toilet. They know who they are: they're driving a car purchased at an E-town dealer but it still has Saskatchewan plates (wouldn't want to contribute to the local economy when they can suckle at the Saskatchewan government's teat). They think Calvin pissing on Ford/Chevy/Dodge is high comedy. Their Sunday best consists of Bearwear and a "Make Mine Beer!" t-shirt. Fuck them all in the mouth. Speaking of The Bear, who the fuck still listens to terrestrial radio?

- The Musical Tastes of 20-Somethings. I know, I know, I'm going to come across as old and bitter, but so be it: I'm in my upper 30s after all. When did the "My mother doesn't understand me so I've got to cut myself" caterwauling of "A Simple Plan" or "My Chemical Romance" become good music? For that matter, I've heard nothing but raving about "The Decemberists" from the horn-rimmed glasses crowd, but all they are (from what I can tell from a listen to "The Crane Wife") is a modern interpretation of prog-rock. Pick up some King Crimson or Jethro Tull and enjoy some original music, not the rehashed, pretentious whinnying of Colin Meloy (quite possibly the worst vocalist I've heard since the "How's Your News" theme). It's utter dogshit and makes me wish for the resurgence of new wave.

- Hypocritical Blog Authors. I moved to Toronto for 2 1/2 years for a job and own "The Crane Wife". What of it? At least I'm not testifying on a street corner.

I Wasn't Always This Ethical

Thu, 30 Nov 2006 08:51:18 -0500

I've owned and operated my own moderately successful li'l business for over two years (after over a decade of owning and operating other startups with mixed degrees of success and failure), and to this day I'm amazed that my day-to-day dealings are (mostly) on the up-and-up.

You see, I inherited much of my entrepreneurial drive from a cousin who will remain nameless, but who could teach ethics about as well as Michael Richards could teach race relations.

As such, I probably shouldn't express disbelief at the time we came up with a money-making opportunity back in 1986: we took out a classified ad in the trash-tabloid The Globe. Not just any ad, though: we wouldn't be selling anything, instead opting to beg patriotic Americans for a few bucks to help ... well, maybe I should simply reiterate an approximation of the ad copy:

Help a Patriot!
I'm stranded in the frozen Canadian North. Please
send what you can to (insert P.O. box here). Help
this Vietnam vet return to the United States.
God Bless!

Yeah, neither myself nor my cousin were brilliant marketers back then, but we figured we had stumbled upon a phenomenal scam. Please remember this was still years before anyone outside of academia had heard about the Internet, and the web was still five or six years off. Tabloid classifieds were about the only way to reach a national audience of gullible marks.

Or so we thought.

A few weeks went by until the ad ran, and a couple days after that we'd make our daily run to the P.O. box in anticipation of struggling to drag bagfulls of mail (and cash!) back home where we'd then do our best Scrooge McDuck impression.

It was not to be; karma won. We ended up receiving a grand total of three dollars and one death threat. Our net loss wasn't crippling: about $100, but it taught me a lesson about assuming an intelligence level of the demographic that reads tabloids, as well as putting me off of scams for a while.

There's still a part of me that's itching to put a pyramid scheme, religious cult or 419 Scam together, though. I wonder what my cousin's up to these days?

Oh yeah -- If the statute of limitations for fraud by mail is greater than 20 years, then the above story is a fabrication. I am not interested in any scams, have never read The Globe and don't have a cousin.

A Public Apology to Spoonman

Mon, 13 Nov 2006 22:10:17 -0500

We all change as we age; that's only to be expected, and one's foibles from years past can generally be forgiven without any mention. However, some transgressions, even from 15 years ago, need to be addressed in writing.

Ah, 1991. The (first) Gulf War is the (second) best thing on TV. Rodney King learns not to be so lippy. Jeff Dahmer makes Oxford Apartment Stew the new haute cuisine. And two dumb Edmonton boys head to Toronto in a 1987 Mustang to find fame and fortune.

Fast forward a few weeks and the Gulf War is over, everyone's getting along, designer pizza holds the top spots on menus citywide and the Mustang has been totaled.

(Please note that I'm the silly-looking fellow behind Fool Moe Dee. "Michael" as he's known when he's not re-enacting 8 Mile, is amazingly a settled family man with a hot wife. Go figure how these things turn out). **

I had also discovered something that I could only describe as wonderful, completely engaging and the ultimate in televised escapism.

Beverly Hills 90210.

"Fanatic" would not adequately describe my devotion to this show, thus the raison d'etre for this entry. No matter what else was on television at the time I would insist on switching to 90210, at which point there was no talking permitted, except during commercials, and then only to intelligently discuss the show. At no time was any mocking of Brandon, Brenda, Dylan, Kelly, Steve, Andrea, Donna or David tolerated.

Unfortunately, at least in Toronto, new episodes of 90210 were broadcast simultaneously with a newish sitcom, Seinfeld, of which Spoonman was an early adopter. At the time, I'd have none of it, maintaining that 90210 was the pinnacle in entertainment whereas our li'l Jewish funnyman was just another half-hour ham and egger.

This egregious offense has gone unaddressed for a decade and a half, and has only emerged from my personal cold-case file when I recently noticed that TVTropolis was going to run the 90210 pilot episode (a very special two-hour edition, nonetheless!). Figuring I'd bring all of the wonderful memories back home, I TiVo'd it.

Horrid. Absolutely god-awful. Cringe-worthy and douche-chill invoking. Really, really bad. *

As such, now realizing the severity of my early-90s transgressions, I must publicly apologize to the all-knowing Spoonman. He was right, I was wrong.

There. I've asked for forgiveness. Although we should both be begging the gods that dictate style for a quick, painful penance, given our propensity for bad clothes and worse hair back then.

Yes, that's a man-purse I'm carrying.

* (Of course I'll be TiVo'ing the entire first season. Some habits die hard)

** In the Mustang photo, please notice my hair's remarkable resemblance to Luke "Dylan McKay" Perry's 'do. I fucking loved this show!

Why "The Godfather" Suddenly Became my Favorite Film

Thu, 3 Aug 2006 21:16:10 -0400

As Spoonman has already elucidated, he, myself and Milhouse took in six of the eight races at Northlands last night. I'm always up for the ponies, and despite the fact that I like to think that an analytical approach to betting will pay off, I tend to end up breaking even or losing a little bit by the end of the night.

History did not repeat itself. Not even close.

Six races, eleven bets, and zero wins.

It's not like the favorites kept winning, nor were the longshots paying off; just middle-of-the-road glue factories defying the odds and making me feel like an extra on "How's Your News".

Adding insult to injury, on the final race of the night I thought I'd finally won a pittance: a $10 Show bet, allowing me to save some face and skulk home with a couple of dollars in my pocket. Upon visiting the bettors counter, however, I was informed that I indeed was part of the Bush cabinet and not only was another checkmark tallied in the "loss" column, but I now had to endure the mocking laughter of Spoonman and Milhouse.

In the future I'm simply going to pull bets out of my ass. I can't do any worse.

In the meantime, I'm available to pull a Tom Hagen for anyone. Meet me at The Black Dog or The Next Act and I'll make you an offer you can't refuse.

When All Else Fails

Wed, 26 Jul 2006 14:09:04 -0400

I've solved the age-old mystery of morning defecation.

Despite a daily breakfast of high-fiber oatmeal mixed with fruit, I've spent many recent early mornings breaking blood vessels in my forehead as I strain to evacuate the previous days' rations.

This never used to be a problem: a nightly diet of beer and whiskey ensured that I'd be doing the clenched-ass shuffle, beads of nervous sweat dripping down my forehead as I gingerly made my way to the water closet the next day. The elimination of not only cigarettes but also alcohol from my diet has resulted in a colonic rebellion of sorts that not even copious amounts of coffee can overcome.

Terrified of the prospect of hemorrhoids, I'd taken to exploring other potential cures: herbal tea was a contender, but the possibility of shitting the bed while dreaming of waterslides and soft-serve ice cream quickly eliminated that candidate. More fiber? I don't think it's possible to eat more vegetables, fruit and high-fiber grains than I am now.

After all of this, it turns out the solution was right in front of me the whole time: go for a run.

Planet Organic is only about a half mile from my place, so I figured I'd take a quick run to pick up a mid-morning snack. The journey there was uneventful, but about halfway through the trip back home the rhythmic bouncing of my stride seemed to dislodge something.

Panic ensued.

With quivering legs and the fear that I'd be throwing out my underwear, I managed to get home, unlock my door and throw myself at a porcelain throne that had never looked more beautiful.

Victory ... sweet victory!

When Bidding on eBay, Keep Both Hands on the Keyboard.

Sun, 11 Jun 2006 00:40:31 -0400

On Friday, Spoon and I paid a visit to Long & McQuade to see exactly what bargains were available during their 50th anniversary sale. I have a long relationship with L&M, dating back to 1986 when I purchased my first keyboard, an Ensoniq ESQ-1 from them.

However, not even nostalgia was enough to convince me to pay $800 for an Epiphone Les Paul Gothic -- it's a decent guitar, but daddy has to pay the mortgage.

As such, I decided to try the ol' standby, eBay. A quick search turned up a Gothic in pretty good shape, and with only 30 minutes left in the auction, the price stood at $225 US -- only about $250 CDN ... a veritable bargain!

I figured I'd peruse some of my regular sites while waiting for the auction to wind down, the plan being to "snipe" it with only a few seconds left, then bask in the glory and excitement that comes with the anticipation of receiving and playing a new musical instrument.

CNN ... check (It's not the best source of news, but what's the alternative? The New York Post? It's tough to trust a "news source" that adds speech balloons to otherwise serious newspaper covers -- and yes, that's the real cover)

Freedominion.ca ... check (I like to post there once in a while in an effort to annoy the Bush freaks)

Rabble.ca ... check (I also like to post there once in a while in an effort to annoy the idealistic, yet naive and sheltered hippies)

... and so on.

After 10 minutes or so I'd exhausted my regular list of sites. However, there's always UseNet. Any topic of discussion is fair game, but on Friday, the target was the often nasty, yet occasionally brilliant alt.binaries.nospam.amateur.female newsgroup. As you might imagine, 95% of the amateur photos in this newsgroup would make Ron Jeremy lose his boner, but every once in a while you find a gem or two.

As luck would have it, there were gems a plenty on this particular Friday evening, so what's a healthy young(?) lad to do but whack the ol' applesack. I'll leave out the unsavoury details, but after swabbing off the keyboard I headed back to the eBay auction, only to find ...

... that the auction had ended.

A minute previous.

For $227.50. An absolute bargain.

Fuck.

I'm sure there's a moral to this story having to do with mixing finances and masturbation, but I'll leave it as a creative exercise for the gentle reader to come up with it. It's said that God exacts revenge on those who are impure of hand, but I figure I've been punished enough already.

(Added on the evening of June 11th, 2006): In response to the email I received condemning my prurient use of modern technology, I must refer the gentle, yet judgemental, reader to an audio file from the greatest live theater production ever: Avenue Q. It says it all, and far better than I ever could.