At the Brick Furniture Warehouse “free Schneider’s hot dogs and Pepsi on Saturday.”
Mmm, weiner Pepsi. Hot dog water and caramel syrop, two great tastes than taste great together.
“This is pretty good watermelon…tastes like poop. I’m gonna have some cornflakes.” - Stanley Spadowski in UHF
At the Brick Furniture Warehouse “free Schneider’s hot dogs and Pepsi on Saturday.”
The new Mustang is being advertised as “Built for life in Toronto”.
The commercial, in its essence, shows the convertable stuck in a traffic jam.
What are they trying to say? Has no endurance on the highway? Works best when idling? It’s really faster and cheaper to walk or take transit?
Hooray for FORD’s new socially conscious advertising!!!
I was just watching some of “Trekkies” on CityTV. At first it was funny, in a “laughing at them” kind of way, then after a while, it just became sad, so sad that I had to turn it off and run to my computer and tell all my online friends about how sad it was.
No, there was just this one guy who had diluded himself to the point that he believes that everything in old Star Trek series has either come true or will come true. (Some things just can’t, man!)
My favorite line came from this guy talking about his Captain Kirk birthday BBQ, saying it’s grown, and become more fun every year: “this year we had a girl come,” he said in a shaky nervous, yet proud voice.
You can’t make this shit up.
If only I worked this hard at…well, anything else: still plugging away at email@example.com
and it looks so good I think Emote@sauna.org is going to be jealous.
and joining us now, our voice coach:
Today’s message is brought to you by “Mrs. Wiffles’ Frozen Kitchen.” Mrs. Wiffles’ Corn-studded Carrots, you didn’t think we could, but we did. Enjoy them frozen, thawed or boiled. Mrs. Wiffles’ where cold is everything. Who wrote this crap copy? I can’t do this. Jeezus.
that last message was brought to you by the audio commentary from “Mr. Show with Bob and David” on DVD. Because when you need outrageously cornball comedy explained to you in full Dolby surround, you need the Audio Commentary from Mr. Show with Bob and David. Available almost nowhere.
2 Eggo “waffles” (slathered with “Our Compliments” jam (rapsberry))
1 honkin slice of cheese diced up into many smaller bits (”Our Compliments”, fort, starting to grow mold)
1 pickle (Bick’s, dill w/o garlic)
1 small canister of yogurt (Yoplait, strawberry)
1 mug of lemonaid (Minute Maid from concentrate, watered down cause I’m thrifty)
Yes, strange supper. Why? Because I forgot to thaw the chicken. So it was one of those great “Lazy Bachelor” “what’s on hand” meals.
Well, at least it was kinda healthy.
Song of the day:
for pure strangeness, it’s Tom Waits: Kommeinezuspadt.
It’s a German pseudo-swing-dance cabaret song from his amazing “Alice” album.
My new firstname.lastname@example.org page is up and ready for perusal. The only thing not ready yet is the “writings page,” which will feature writings from shit poetry, to shit short stories, to any other shit of mine I have on file somewhere.
The “about me” page is kindof a lark right now…doing one of those “Graig is” Google searches, with some interesting results… my name is like the 1971st most popular name in the US… right above Tibor and Bort.
Some cool photog edits on the site tho… have a peek.
I just found one of the best pictures in the world:
I smell a t-shirt coming!
Blackalicious: Feel That Way is quite possibly the smoothest hip hop song ever… it goes down easier than a gel cap and a glass of water. It’s that smooth.
Not only that, but, if you listen to the lyrics, to the message, man, this song makes you feel good. Really good. Happy. It makes you smile. It’s, quite simply, beautiful.
If you can’t stant the high-res bandwith, head over to www.blackalicious.com for the low and medium res versions of the video. It’s not much to speak of, but it’s as relaxed and non-threatening as the song itself.
The future of hip-hop isn’t Blackalicious, but it so should be.
I’ve been unutilized for almost two months now. I’m a sad panda.
Normally, hygene and appearance (esp. in public) are important to me… I have an image (not much of one, but I do have one) I like to maintain, and lately, well, I havn’t cared too much.
See what the lack of working class has done to me.
Three weeks ago I went out in public with a beard. Jesus Christ! A beard!!!
Today I didn’t have a shower. This is the second time this week (but not the second day in a row) that I’ve basically forgotten to shower.
Yesterday I went out in public in a pair of Umbro soccer shorts! I don’t play soccer, but I have three pair of Umbros!?! Frag! Umbros have always been interior wear or active wear only… my equivalent to the jogging pant.
And today, unshowered, unshaven, in my typically “indoor” jeans, and that FIDO freebie shirt I got a few years back which I never wear cause cel-phones are cancer-causing demons, I went out to a restaurant. . . IN PUBLIC!!!!
I’ve figured it though. When you spend all your time alone, in a basement apartment with very little natural light, you don’t really care what you look like by the time the opportunity to go out reaches you. Your just so happy to go out, you forget all about normal social hygene practices. You have noone to impress (so you think) and your friends have known you long enough, they wont care if you look total skag (so you think).
Well, I brush and floss regularly at least.
If Seinfeld taught us anything (and it taught us plenty) it’s that relationships are about nuances. It’s the little things, such as someone’s Arby’s fixation, or whether or not they’ll use your toothbrush, or how much they like food, and sex, together, the little things that determine how compatable people are.
For, you see, the big things, well the big things are things that are too ingrained, too inset in a person, the things about a person that really define who they are, what their character is, what makes them unique and special, and sometimes annoying. Even if you don’t like the big things, you’re able to overcome them because, well, you can’t change them.
It’s the little things that matter. The way someone eats a sandwitch without wiping the crumbs from their mouth, or the clipping of toenails that fling across the room, or that nickname they call you… the little idiosyncracies that you hate, they’re the things that make or break a relationship. Even more specifically, it’s when the person refuses to change the nuances, those small annoyances, that it really counts. It’s telling you that “hey, I’d much prefer peeling my scabs and licking the blood than being in a relationship with you”. It truly is. They’re little things for a reason, and they should be flexible, mallable, adjustable, and other similar adjectives.
My goodest buddy Ry told to me today that he’s been scanning the papers recently, looking at the personals classified section, and not for what you think. He’s been keeping an eye out to see if people he knows, or used to know, are getting married, or engaged, or graduating, or dying, or otherwise being successful or having some sort of notoriety.
Why, might you ask?
Well, why would anyone do such a thing? Self-validation, of course. (That may not be his actual intent, but that’s the joke I threw out there when he mentioned it)
Yes, there’s nothing like the absense of success of others to validate the lack of successes in your own life (this is very true for me, who has nothing to cling to right now, but Ryan is on the virge of being artistic maestro, holding his own gallery this coming fall (or autumn as we call it in canada)).
Yes, not having others surpass you on the social ladder in a public sense is the best way of ensuring that you’re still not on the bottom rung (although everytime I step on that ladder, the first rung breaks dagnabbit!).
The realm of dream is strange, reactive to suggestion but feeds off no rules, even the rules you create for it hold no constraint.
I dreamt last night, one dream. I’ve been told this an improbability, yet not impossible, because nothing is impossible in the dream world.
I woke, briefly, with full consciousness of the single dream I had been having since rem happened, but I still was tired so I relinquised myself back into sleep. There I managed to dream a different dream, a dream of me telling my father in written form all about the dream I had just awoken from, in detail. A meta-dream if you will.
Responsive, reactive, deactive, volatile.
Liked “So Easy”?
You’ll like Royksopp: Eple as well, here’s the cool video which is like taking a stroll through an issue of Life magazine circa 1975
And if you go to the Wall of Sound homepage you can check out the Poor Leno video and catch up on the Royksopp news (such as new single out july 29.. but that’s UK so who knows what it translates to in norf ammerikn.)
Song of my freakin’ year is more like it, man this thing is cool:
Royksopp: So Easy
They take a sample of a classic Frankie Valley tune (is it Frankie Valley? I dunno, I’ll ask my moms, she’ll know) and turn it upside down, keeping the poetics but adding the lush.
Sweet, it’s sweet. All I have to say, a new favorite, easy.
Do you remember back in the day when one of those peanut butter companies decided to skip the oh so labourous process of having to use a separate jar to keep peanut butter, and another to keep jam, and combine the two into one swirling brown and red (or brown and purple) mix (I could come up with a really disgusting comparison item as to what it may look like, something in the defecal range but I won’t go there)?
I never tasted it, and the idea of having a pre-mixed peanut butter and jam combo at the time was (and still remains) an abhorration of humanity (or at least condomentity… that would be a collective of condoments and not a living being that is a condom). On the same note, I could never tolerate it when people would spread peanut butter on a slice of bread and then spread jam ontop of the peanut butter… it’s just wrong. The second layer of spreading pulls up the first layer in such a fashion that if you had to re-dip your knife into the p.b. jar, you’d get jam inside. Grody to the max. And there were some people who would do that, you know, jam on top of p.b., and then put another bread slice on top. I mean, you couldn’t have put the jam on one slice and the peanut butter on the other???? What is with you people?
The only way a proper pb&j sammich should be made is like this:
step 1: place two slices of bread one face up and one face down;
step 2: on slice 1 spread peanut butter;
step 3: wipe excess pb from knife on second slice so as not to taint the jam;
step 4: on slice 2 spread jam;
step 5: join slice 1 with slice 2 so that the pb face and the j face mesh, forming a binding agent which holds the two bread slices together.
step 6: (optional) slice diagonally into 1/2s or in a crosshair fashion into 1/4s
Now, don’t get me started on other combos, like that ketchup and relish combo, or the ketchup and mustard combo, or the mayo in a squeeze bottle.
The country is going to hell, we need a demon president.
Some people love a good sweat, but not me.
That sensation of glandular moisture oozing from the small portals of the body, ech. It’s the equivelant of bathing in drool.
Nature’s coolant… nature, cool it!
Thankfully I’m not a stanky sweater, no overwhelming odorific eminations (unless I leave it for a few days, which I’m not incredibly prone to do, thank you) but that doesn’t matter, just the moisture is enough of an annoyance in itself.
Which brings up this ad for Right Guard Xtreme Sport “Power Stripe” Anti-perspirant/Deoderant: “Chill” scent. The ad features two hip-hopping guys who bear more than a passing resemblance to Method Man and Redman (if it is not, in fact, them). Now, I don’t know about you, but when I think of sweating I think of Method Man and Redman. When I think of Xtreme Sports and sweating I think of Method Man and Redman. When I think of Xtreme Sports and sweating and Right Guard’s corporate image, from now on I’ll think of Method Man and Redman, which is great, because now every time I see one of these guys in a video, talking about screwin bitches and smokin weed, I’ll think of Right Guard and how I should go buy some deoderant so I can screw bitches and smoke weed too.
Good ol’ Wu-Tang deoderant power.
You know you’re a corporate whore when…
(maybe I just wish I could be a corporate whore for once, making some of that chill corporate whore phat cash money)
Speaking of smells… Toronto’s on garbage strike.
Let’s hope everyone puts an emphasis on composting and cleaning recyclable materials instead of you know, fouling up the heat stroked city.
God, I can only imagine what Chinatown smells like after one day of no pick-up…never mind weeks, or months. Ew.
I picked up the first box set collection of the ITV series “The Sandbaggers” today and rapidly waded through all seven episodes. All I can say is goddamn this series is good.
If you ever get the opportunity to watch an episode, take it. You won’t be disappointed. I won’t tell you about it because all you need to know is located here with a great intro to the series on the front page.
Just one hint, don’t read the episode recaps, they spoil too much. The show is best experienced with fresh eyes (although I can’t see spoiled knowledge lessening the dramatic impact any).
It’s so unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, the closest I can come is the Queen & Country comic book series (also highly reccommended, published by Oni Press) which was directly inspired by the series.
Anyway, I ripped a poor quality copy of the theme by Roy Budd. Do enjoy.
The world in-between sleep and consciousness is the strangest of lands, a place where the mind is privy to intense bites of hysteria and conjurings of panic.
Just, now, then, back there, when I was sleeping, when, just now, then, having a nap cause, hey, what else is there to do I hopped in and out of the world of nocturnal emoticons, and explored that space which I am now going to call “the somnambulant purgatory,” the nether continuum of dreamy consciousness.
This time I experienced a deep rush of panic, my brain hopping backwards in time nearly 10.5 hours to when my alarm went off this morning. I was worried at 8:30 am today that, after I shut my alarm off, I would fall back asleep and miss my court appointment (see earlier post from today).
Well, in the somnam-middle-world I thought I had fallen back asleep after my alarm and now it was 10:30 and I was in deep shit.
So, still, now, my heart pounds heavy in my chest, not rapidly, but the kind of beat that makes your ribs hurt.
And just as I realized where I was, I also realized that it twas not morning, that I had meant only to take a nap, that I hadn’t ate supper yet, and that I really wanted to go back to sleep.
Then I heard one of the strangest noises, the type of noise your only succeptable in Morpheus’ ghost-kingdom, it was a high pitched tone, akin to an old pea whislte, only the burst was shorter, the pitch higher and more electronic. Nothing earthly could make that noise… or maybe something earthly could, but maybe only dogs could hear it.
Lucidity right not is not a travelling companion with my brains nor my typey-typey extremities.
In case you have not heard, Ang Lee is working on the Incredible Hulk movie (with Eric Bana, Jennifer Connelly (sigh), Nick Nolte and some cg effects). Bana is playing Bruce Banner and is, through the miracle of modern computer gizmo-jimbo, performing as the big green machine as well.
But here’s a hitch, when Banner gets angry he no longer magically appears big, green, and wearing purple cutoffs, nope. This time he turns big, green and, ahem, naked as the day he was born… or, naked as the day he was blasted by a gamma bomb.
Looks like there’s another big green thing swingin’ on screen aside from Godzilla’s tail.
Other news. Though the show’s been cancelled, the producers of Lexx are working on a silver screen edition. Hooray! Lexx rolls like jelly on thin cake packed into individual cellophane wrappers.
Had my “day in court” today, or, moreover, I had my “day waiting outside court” today.
The backstory: my car got busted into back in November, the guy who busted into it got busted, and what he was busted for was busting my window to snag my busted cd player.
So anyway, the guy’s been out on the street for a few months now, and today was his court date. I was what you call a “material witness” in that I wore clothes made of material. Actually, all they wanted me there for was to say “yes my car was parked, yes that is my cd player”. Really.
They caught the guy back in Nov as he was doing it, and at the precinct he confessed on tape to it. He was really supposed to plead guilty and get sentencing at the pre-trial today, but instead the guy opted for a judge and jury (in hopes that the prosecution would bargain down to guilty with no jail), which means I have to do this again at the end of July.
You should have seen this guy. He had a nice suit.
I don’t have a nice suit.
What’s wrong with this world?
before the legs got hairy
I don’t know why I was remembering this, but I was.
Back when I was a kid, before I hit double digits (ie 10), I used to hate changing my underwear. I cannot tell you why. It was bad enough I suppose that my mom used to have to check to see if I changed. One time I actually put the new underwear over the old ones in hopes to fool her.
Point: kids are stupid.
Other Point: I was a stupid kid.
song of the day
Enon: Natural Disasters