R.I.P. Cosmo... I fuckin' loved you buddy. I'm really going to miss you.
Please just set-aside 6 minutes of your day for this short documentary. Thank you to Bryan and Anderson @ The Film Vault - this certainly did make me cry.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
R.I.P. Cosmo / Last Minutes With Oden
R.I.P. Cosmo... I fuckin' loved you buddy. I'm really going to miss you.
Please just set-aside 6 minutes of your day for this short documentary. Thank you to Bryan and Anderson @ The Film Vault - this certainly did make me cry.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Things Done Changed: R.I.P. Technics
Yesterday, Technics maker Panasonic released some sad news for anybody who is a fan of Hip Hop and analogous DJ'ing - amidst dropping sales numbers of analog equipment, Panasonic has decided to discontinue the production of Technics turntables. Since 1972, 3.5 million SL-1200 turntables have been sold, as well as countless accessories and headphones bearing the famous Technics name.
Most commonly known as Tec 12's, this analog turntable became a staple item of the majority of DJ's, mainly because of its 27 pound base, Direct Drive mechanism and solid shelf-life.
Tec 12's were not the only analog turntables on the market, but unequivocally, they were the best with more than 3 decades of reliability to its name. Should you happen to own a Tec 12, or preferably a set, hold on to it because like all other outdated electronics, these will become antiques and will certainly be of great value to collector's in the near future.
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The death of the Technics SL-1200 is an example of the increasingly-quick decline of hip hop music. As somebody who grew-up on hip hop - it is saddening to see the game like this. In and around the time I entered high school, some of the best hip hop records ever released could be found fighting for space on the shelves at local record shops.
Wu-Tang's 36 Chambers was as pivotal of a release as any, and had me contemplating wearing black toques in the summer months and balaclavas in public places. Mobb Deep's The Infamous and Nas' Illmatic painted a picture of struggle and despair in Queens, New York that by virtue of the growth of hip hop, could not be replicated today. Illmatic still stands as my favorite album of all time. Not to be left of the list, Biggie's debut album Ready to Die hit stores in '94. Tribe Called Quest's Midnight Marauders also dropped in 1993 and is also as listenable today as it was 17 years ago. On the west coast, Dr. Dre released The Chronic and Snoop broke-out onto the scene with Doggy Style - two of the best albums to drive-around to looking for trouble/honeys ever. In addition to the said albums released within this time frame, there were also highly influential releases from Tupac, Geto Boys, De La Soul, etc that marks this period as the Renaissance of Hip Hop.
Seven of the greatest accomplishments in the history of hip hop music were released within a window of a year, and despite my comfortable upbringing, I could identify with the artists and translate their struggles with gang life and broken-homes into my own with acne and losing my virginity. I feel sorry for kids growing-up today idolizing the likes of Lil' Wayne and Drake. Not to discredit the aforementioned artists, because I used to love me some Hot Boyz era Weezy, but how can any child identify with these artists and use the music as inspiration when all they're rapping about is cars, ice and hoes. At least with Mobb and Nas, I could hear their frustrations and attempt to empathize with their struggles.
The death if the Technics SL-1200 turntables is another piece of evidence of the decaying nature of hip hop music. It's sad.
Like Biggie said on Ready to Die - Things Done Changed.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Things Done Changed: What Happened To The Alley-Oop
Well the Miami Heat are 0-1 and I couldn't be happier. As I previously stated, I am switching my allegiances this year and placing my full-support behind the Boston Celtics.
If there was a negative from last night's game - it would be the lack of Rasheed on the Celtics bench cracking wise. Mr. Wallace is currently without a team, and boy do I miss his antics.
After watching that compilation of pre-Celtics Rasheed, I must admit that I had completely forgotten about his skills. Some of those one-handed lobs are disgusting, which reminds me; what happened to the alley-oop? Amidst years of excessive spleef consumption and a general disregard for sweating in practice, Rasheed used to throw it down with some lanky authority. Where once NBA highlight reels were consumed by the alley-oop, it seems these days the slam dunk has become an egocentric pursuit practiced single-handedly and the alley-oop has become a rarity.
"I represent Harlem World, not Melrose Place"
Just like Sheed's hops, R.I.P. Big L
In case you were wondering, this site has not exclusively become a sports website. There are some interesting bits n' bobs coming through the pipes - be patient.
If there was a negative from last night's game - it would be the lack of Rasheed on the Celtics bench cracking wise. Mr. Wallace is currently without a team, and boy do I miss his antics.
After watching that compilation of pre-Celtics Rasheed, I must admit that I had completely forgotten about his skills. Some of those one-handed lobs are disgusting, which reminds me; what happened to the alley-oop? Amidst years of excessive spleef consumption and a general disregard for sweating in practice, Rasheed used to throw it down with some lanky authority. Where once NBA highlight reels were consumed by the alley-oop, it seems these days the slam dunk has become an egocentric pursuit practiced single-handedly and the alley-oop has become a rarity.
"I represent Harlem World, not Melrose Place"
Just like Sheed's hops, R.I.P. Big L
In case you were wondering, this site has not exclusively become a sports website. There are some interesting bits n' bobs coming through the pipes - be patient.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Ruminations 4.0
An old girlfriend from college once used the term doorchfall to refer to me. She was a smart little whip of a woman, and I fancied her a great deal. She knew me quite well, and the word, which is Dutch, was an adequate assessment of the man I used to be.
Doorchfall: Of Dutch origin, referring to a person who has an affinity for being deceitful
In my high school years and early twenties, I would lie for my own benefit and self-preservation. Not anything major, that would cause anybody grief or tears, but just small lies that I mistakingly thought at the time were for my goodwill. Shortly thereafter, the relationship I had with this young woman crumbled, and I began to realize the importance of being honest. For all the other shortcomings in my life, I strived to be honest and to lie no more.
All people have flaws. Some are more, for a lack of a better word, major than others. While I try my mightiest to be above all honest with everyone in my life, I realize at the same time that others have the same faults I once had, and how difficult it was for me to be an honest person.
The point I am trying to make is that nobody is perfect. Even in love, people have faults and make errors, not because they want to hurt the other person, but because the longer we exercise our demons and continue erring, the easier it becomes, and inherently the less ethically damaging it feels.
If a loved one hurts you, take a moment to think and try your best not to take it personal, because there is no benefit to blaming yourself. Never forget that people have faults and that the most ethical of people err. Forgiveness will set you free my friends.
"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong"
- Mahatma Gandhi
Doorchfall: Of Dutch origin, referring to a person who has an affinity for being deceitful
In my high school years and early twenties, I would lie for my own benefit and self-preservation. Not anything major, that would cause anybody grief or tears, but just small lies that I mistakingly thought at the time were for my goodwill. Shortly thereafter, the relationship I had with this young woman crumbled, and I began to realize the importance of being honest. For all the other shortcomings in my life, I strived to be honest and to lie no more.
All people have flaws. Some are more, for a lack of a better word, major than others. While I try my mightiest to be above all honest with everyone in my life, I realize at the same time that others have the same faults I once had, and how difficult it was for me to be an honest person.
The point I am trying to make is that nobody is perfect. Even in love, people have faults and make errors, not because they want to hurt the other person, but because the longer we exercise our demons and continue erring, the easier it becomes, and inherently the less ethically damaging it feels.
If a loved one hurts you, take a moment to think and try your best not to take it personal, because there is no benefit to blaming yourself. Never forget that people have faults and that the most ethical of people err. Forgiveness will set you free my friends.
"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong"
- Mahatma Gandhi
Monday, October 25, 2010
Ruminations 3.0
For my readers who like myself are citizens of the fine city of Toronto, today is the municipal election - and if you don't vote, you can't bitch. Despite the fact that city hall is a non-partisan entity and things rarely get done because of this, it is still important to exercise your right to the franchise. There seems to be quite a dichotomy with this fall's election, as two candidates, Rob Ford and George Smitherman appear to be neck and neck - let's have a look at the tale of the tape:
Rob Ford is a lecherous, wife-beating, child-slapping, Coors Light chugging hardliner who will not only destroy the growth of the arts and culture in the city, but is also a bigot and racist. He is being supported by elderly Caucasians and displaced obese Americans.
George Smitherman is a former drug user, gay club visiting, hard line asshole who lied about the eHealth fiasco and came-out of the whole mess looking untrustworthy. He cares about arts, culture, bike lanes and the environment. He is being supported by the gays, the lesbians and them transformers with both parts and those who are opposed to Rob Ford and his slothful ways.
There is a third candidate, Joe Pantalone, who is a distant third, but has received a great deal of support from younger voters. Despite the support, a vote for Joey Pants is a waster, and based on policy, should be given to Smitherman only as a means of preventing Rob Ford's ascendancy to mayor. In all likely hood Pantalone may be the best candidate, but has zero chances of winning. In a pamphlet left on my front stoop, Joey Pants is pictured holding a cricket bat. I assume this was in hopes of garnering the support of the south Asian community. Rumour has it Mr. Ford was appalled, noting that a cricket bat is his favorite weapon for beating the shit out of his wife.
Vote responsibly my friends, and by that I mean fuck Rob Ford. This city needs better green spaces, public transportation, bike lanes with curb dividers and a more responsible city hall. The only reason Rob Ford wants the gig is because the litany of hot-dog vendors at the southern tip of Nathan Phillips Square and the Red Lobster at Bay and Dundas steps from the offices of the mayor.
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Firstly, I must give credit to all the world's mothers. For the most part, your sacrifices are inspirational. Having said that, just because you're a mom doesn't mean you have to exploit it and your babies. In today's paper (The Star), there's an article by a woman, who based on the content is a mother. It describes the frustrations of how her children dress and how she wishes they would heed her advice. Apparently Ines Sainz has some competition for the Edward R. Murrow Award for Excellence in Journalism. Just because you're a mother, doesn't mean you should have a large platform for describing the plight of your son's jeans being too baggy. It's as if being a mother-journalist is like getting your badge in fire-starting and safety in Cub Scouts and burning your home down. Fuck - do I even have a point?
It's similar to the guy who says 'I'm a good father, I feed my kids, buy them clothes and shit'.... really? Like no shit! You're father of the year, despite the fact that all of those aforementioned displays of parenting are mandatory and by no means identify you as a good father.
I'm not certain where I'm going with this - but being a parent must be the world's most difficult, time-consuming job known to man. Don't blow your own horn telling everybody who will listen how great you are at being a parent, if your son does not grow up to be a rapist, murderer or Rob Ford, you will know.
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Don't forget - tomorrow night.... Lebron and his boyfriends will be in Boston. Unless CBC is running re-runs of Antique Roadshow with Valerie Pringle you do not have an excuse for not watching.
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Rob Ford is a lecherous, wife-beating, child-slapping, Coors Light chugging hardliner who will not only destroy the growth of the arts and culture in the city, but is also a bigot and racist. He is being supported by elderly Caucasians and displaced obese Americans.
George Smitherman is a former drug user, gay club visiting, hard line asshole who lied about the eHealth fiasco and came-out of the whole mess looking untrustworthy. He cares about arts, culture, bike lanes and the environment. He is being supported by the gays, the lesbians and them transformers with both parts and those who are opposed to Rob Ford and his slothful ways.
There is a third candidate, Joe Pantalone, who is a distant third, but has received a great deal of support from younger voters. Despite the support, a vote for Joey Pants is a waster, and based on policy, should be given to Smitherman only as a means of preventing Rob Ford's ascendancy to mayor. In all likely hood Pantalone may be the best candidate, but has zero chances of winning. In a pamphlet left on my front stoop, Joey Pants is pictured holding a cricket bat. I assume this was in hopes of garnering the support of the south Asian community. Rumour has it Mr. Ford was appalled, noting that a cricket bat is his favorite weapon for beating the shit out of his wife.
Vote responsibly my friends, and by that I mean fuck Rob Ford. This city needs better green spaces, public transportation, bike lanes with curb dividers and a more responsible city hall. The only reason Rob Ford wants the gig is because the litany of hot-dog vendors at the southern tip of Nathan Phillips Square and the Red Lobster at Bay and Dundas steps from the offices of the mayor.
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Firstly, I must give credit to all the world's mothers. For the most part, your sacrifices are inspirational. Having said that, just because you're a mom doesn't mean you have to exploit it and your babies. In today's paper (The Star), there's an article by a woman, who based on the content is a mother. It describes the frustrations of how her children dress and how she wishes they would heed her advice. Apparently Ines Sainz has some competition for the Edward R. Murrow Award for Excellence in Journalism. Just because you're a mother, doesn't mean you should have a large platform for describing the plight of your son's jeans being too baggy. It's as if being a mother-journalist is like getting your badge in fire-starting and safety in Cub Scouts and burning your home down. Fuck - do I even have a point?
It's similar to the guy who says 'I'm a good father, I feed my kids, buy them clothes and shit'.... really? Like no shit! You're father of the year, despite the fact that all of those aforementioned displays of parenting are mandatory and by no means identify you as a good father.
I'm not certain where I'm going with this - but being a parent must be the world's most difficult, time-consuming job known to man. Don't blow your own horn telling everybody who will listen how great you are at being a parent, if your son does not grow up to be a rapist, murderer or Rob Ford, you will know.
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Don't forget - tomorrow night.... Lebron and his boyfriends will be in Boston. Unless CBC is running re-runs of Antique Roadshow with Valerie Pringle you do not have an excuse for not watching.
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Saturday, October 23, 2010
Cut Cut Paste
Life can throw curveballs your way, and these curveballs may present challenges, but if it's a fastball at your knees and you make $125 million to swing a piece of maple - you better swing that bat.
While I initially thought the final pitch to Ryan Howard was ball 4, this graph states otherwise. The legend on the right identifies the location, call and pitch sequence. Strike 3 - I stand corrected.
Rangers - Giants World Series starts Wednesday. In related news, my reproductive appendage has crept back into the torso from which it once so beautifully descended.
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My apologies for the half-ass post today, but if there's two things I love, it's massive phallic symbols and inclement weather conditions coming from the Northeast. Note how he gently strokes the red member in hopes it expires it's liquified babies all over the coastal and Baja regions of Mexico.
While I initially thought the final pitch to Ryan Howard was ball 4, this graph states otherwise. The legend on the right identifies the location, call and pitch sequence. Strike 3 - I stand corrected.
Rangers - Giants World Series starts Wednesday. In related news, my reproductive appendage has crept back into the torso from which it once so beautifully descended.
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My apologies for the half-ass post today, but if there's two things I love, it's massive phallic symbols and inclement weather conditions coming from the Northeast. Note how he gently strokes the red member in hopes it expires it's liquified babies all over the coastal and Baja regions of Mexico.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Rooney Stays Put
Didn't see that one coming. A week after expressing his desire to leave Manchester United, the stocky ginger goal-scorer from the council estates in Liverpool has signed a 5-year extension at Old Trafford.
Hopefully now Mr. Rooney can just focus on the pitch following a difficult month, with admissions of threesomes with working girls, all the while his wife Colleen sat-about pregnant eating Speculoos with a spot of tea and watching Corrie Street.
Apparently at least one City fan with access to spray cans didn't want to see him leave United for the neighbouring rival, and would prefer instead to continue signing ex-Arsenal players past their prime and the often injured from Spain and Italy.
I'm no expert on adversting, but what an awful advert - Rooney has the nose of a seasoned drunk in his late 50's and Rio appears to be giving fellatio to a line of text.
Man City - Arsenal Sunday on Setanta if you'd fancy watching the most graceful and eloquent football square-off against the most negative, inherently Italian tactics employed by City gaffer Roberto Mancini.
Hopefully now Mr. Rooney can just focus on the pitch following a difficult month, with admissions of threesomes with working girls, all the while his wife Colleen sat-about pregnant eating Speculoos with a spot of tea and watching Corrie Street.
Apparently at least one City fan with access to spray cans didn't want to see him leave United for the neighbouring rival, and would prefer instead to continue signing ex-Arsenal players past their prime and the often injured from Spain and Italy.
I'm no expert on adversting, but what an awful advert - Rooney has the nose of a seasoned drunk in his late 50's and Rio appears to be giving fellatio to a line of text.
Man City - Arsenal Sunday on Setanta if you'd fancy watching the most graceful and eloquent football square-off against the most negative, inherently Italian tactics employed by City gaffer Roberto Mancini.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
NBA 2010-11 Season: The Best Thing Since Ass
If there are two things on this planet I despise, they are LeBron James and the Boston Celtics. Generally I hate all Boston franchises and their white-washed fan base of Tom Jones singing, pink jersey wearing, Tom Brady masturbatorial inspiration douchery.
Next Tuesday, LeBron and his new bunk-buddies the Miami Heat square-off against the Celtics in the opening game of the 2010-11 NBA season and I could not be more excited.
Considering how many vitriolic statements I've made towards the Celtics, it may surprise you that I am actually disregarding my past hatred to throw my complete support behind the Celtics Tuesday (there is nobody as surprised as my ex, who is a massive Kevin Garnett and Celtics fan. I once bought her a KG shirt and nearly vomited as I handed the cashier my money - however I must point-out I drew wood every time she made an NBA related anecdote.) Furthermore, since Queen James and the Heat are the odds-on-favorite to win the Eastern Conference and dethrone Doc Rivers and his boys, and my hometown team, the Raptors look to be nothing more than a skeleton of their former selves, I will be supporting the Celtics this year in hopes they destroy Miami.
I offer three postulates for why this match-up and season-long battle will be the best story in the NBA's best season since Michael torched the Utah Jizz in 1998.
Next Tuesday, LeBron and his new bunk-buddies the Miami Heat square-off against the Celtics in the opening game of the 2010-11 NBA season and I could not be more excited.
Considering how many vitriolic statements I've made towards the Celtics, it may surprise you that I am actually disregarding my past hatred to throw my complete support behind the Celtics Tuesday (there is nobody as surprised as my ex, who is a massive Kevin Garnett and Celtics fan. I once bought her a KG shirt and nearly vomited as I handed the cashier my money - however I must point-out I drew wood every time she made an NBA related anecdote.) Furthermore, since Queen James and the Heat are the odds-on-favorite to win the Eastern Conference and dethrone Doc Rivers and his boys, and my hometown team, the Raptors look to be nothing more than a skeleton of their former selves, I will be supporting the Celtics this year in hopes they destroy Miami.
I offer three postulates for why this match-up and season-long battle will be the best story in the NBA's best season since Michael torched the Utah Jizz in 1998.
Dwanye, Chris and a Pussy. An entrance fit for a professional wrestler - soooo gay1) As previously stated on this very blog, I hate LeBron James because he pussied-out and signed with Miami. A true champion a la Kobe, Michael, Magic or Larry Legend would never compromise their standing as an absolute killer to join a team because their collected worth seemed destined for greatness. True champions are pioneers, not followers.
The result of the bow tie selection was not as slimming as initially thought.
2) Boston's off season signings were made to defeat Miami and expose their weaknesses. Celtic's GM Danny Ainge could not give a fuck about the rest of the Eastern Conference. Where Miami's strength is in their perimeter play with James and Dwanye Wade, new South Beacher Chris Bosh will have trouble not being brutally raped each night alongside center Joel Anthony - who is Canadian - need I say more?
Because of this apparent weakness, Ainge went out and not only signed 7-footer Jermaine O'Neal, but also his namesake, and generally one of my favorites, the Big Aristotle, Shaquille O'Neal. The addition of these two to a frontcourt that already features future Hall Of Famer Kevin Garnett, 7-foot defensive specialist Kendrick Perkins and Glen 'Big Baby' Davis should spell disaster for the Heat. I can't wait to see Shaq take a massive dump on Bosh's chest while he dangles nearly 400 hundred pounds of blackness from the rim.
With PhotoShop, any moms can bang a baller. Gloria seen here carousing with Delonte at a Cleveland area club.3) Finally, the main reason why I am really pumped for this match-up, LeBron's mom is a slut. During last year's playoffs, LeBron and the Cavs had a commanding lead on the Celtics, until games 5 and 6, when LeBron apparently gave-up and shit the bed. There has been much speculation as to why, but the most likely scenario is a rumour that has gained a fair deal of momentum online. Legitimate sports media broadcasters have made only subtle references to it, but the fact remains, LeBron's ex-teammate in Cleveland, Delonte West, had an affair with LeBron's mother Gloria James. Don't believe me? Google that shit - it's true.
Apparently, the secret affair between Gloria and Delonte was uncovered in the hours leading-up to game 5, and at that exact moment, LeBron stopped giving a fuck about Cleveland and the empire he had built there. You may be asking yourself 'why is this relevant to the Heat-Celtics match-up'? Well, because Celtic front-office maestro Danny Ainge signed Mr. West to play back-up point guard. This was clearly a move to frustrate LeBron, since Boston's starting point guard Rajon Rondo is an All-Star and back-up Nate Robinson proved his worth in last year's playoffs and the need for another point guard is clearly not required. Perhaps Mr. Ainge has wisely found the kryptonite to LeBron's SuperWoman. Genius move.
Can't wait for Tuesday night.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Cut Cut Paste
27-year-old French guerilla street artist JR and a collection of award winning works. The majority of his work is found in the slums of developing countries worldwide, where the expressions depict the plight of the people and raise awareness of their struggles.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Ruminations 2.0
Ever have a drunken night witha lengthy walk home with amazingly precise ipod shuffle results? I wisj I had the muster to assemble and embed the tracks - but trust - I am D as F. Shout-outs to High Contrast, Kano, The Thermals, Randy Newman, Dizzee Rascal, The Stones, The Strokes, The Cardigans, DJ Shadow, The Streets, Chase & Status, Duck Sauce, Axwell, Wiley, Roll Deep, Sharon, Lois & Braham, The Klaxons, The Knife, Daft Punk, LCD Soundsystem, Radish, Tapes N' Tapes, M.I.A. feat. Bun B & Rich Boy, The Replacements... yes it was this long-ass walkery king-canner wilderness fuck job. That's all i got. Oh yeah shout-outs to the ocean dame drizzy.
(sic) that whole mahfuckin' paragraph.
Shout-outs to pillow bed and cheese bread.
(sic) that whole mahfuckin' paragraph.
Shout-outs to pillow bed and cheese bread.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Things Done Changed: Warnings
In a world wrought by the existence of frivolous lawsuits and fine print lawyer speak, all signs, warnings and printed suggestions are meant to be taken literally. Often to the point of ad nauseum, this legal colloquial has bred a new modicum of aggressive ass-covering fine print and no room for contextual interpretation.
Companies are careful to be overly literal and self-explanatory to a fault to avoid a potentially crippling lawsuit. This is why commercial lawyers drive tight whips and call valets and bartenders things like 'chief' and say 'cheers' instead of thank you - like fuck your cheers, I poured you that beer dickweed, I'm not having one with you. Holy fucking tangents Lahey, where were we bra?
Oh yeah an example. True dat, quadruple true.
Obviously a freshly poured coffee expiring vapors can lead to a burning sensation when in contact with flesh and potentially harmful if not properly handled, but is it necessary to have a warning identifying such safety concerns clearly visible on each cup. Would you put your first born child, better yet your dick in the mouth of a great white shark? No flippin' way. Ok that's an awful example. Let's refer to our grade 4 science texts and the chapter on changes of state; when a liquid is heated beyond its boiling point, it turns into a vapour. If a liquid is hot as fuck, but not yet at its precipice of change, it will still release vapours. The precedent for such a warning was a case against McDonald's in 1994 where a woman filed a lawsuit seeking damages for being burned by the restaurant's coffee.
The reason I mention this specific case is that now, 16 years later there are no limits to the ridiculousness of such warnings.
Each example of these warnings was preceded by an instance that either cost the company or employees money, time or grief. Somebodies schnauzer must have taken a crunch on the carpet at Denny's to merit the following, but how excessive does it sound:
NO LIVE ANIMALS!
No shit. Thank you for specifying that I am not permitted by law to bring a live animal into your fine establishment. Can I walk into my neighbourhood diner with the carcass of a dead animal, because according to the signage, it only specifies 'live animals'. You'd think they'd be more specific, by being less specific. Follow me? I mean, in a way much of what the restaurant is serving is likely and example of a dead animal.
At this point, I'm tempted to disregard my dislike for walking about holding a dead animal in my clutches only to prove somebody wrong. Yes, I do realize I come off as a prick and seem to complain a lot, but pity those that actually know me.
As stated above, all of the warnings and signs are in place to save someones ass, only because in the past, they've been burned by those who sit on their couch all day watching Nascar and playing scratch lotto's in search of their next payday = frivolous lawsuits. I understand the motivations of said companies looking to prevent a lawsuit, because if I hate one thing, it's obese, complacent Americans who are always in search of making a quick buck at someone else's expense. With the proliferation of all these signs and warnings comes an acceptance by force, since I have no choice but to be constantly in their midst, but No Live Animals? C'mon.
This topic is consistent with one of the general themes of my blog; things done changed. There was once in era where there were only warnings posted next to electric fences and lion cages. Allergies were as common as white, north American born NBA players and children would come home from a day at school with a hole in their jeans, a grass stain and maybe a black eye. We now live in a culture that is over-protecting, paranoid and generally pussy-hole gentrified. Be tough, quit bitching and next time you see a flattened raccoon by the side of the road, grab a snow shovel and a pair of gloves and GPS the nearest restaurant you want to metaphorically shit on.
Companies are careful to be overly literal and self-explanatory to a fault to avoid a potentially crippling lawsuit. This is why commercial lawyers drive tight whips and call valets and bartenders things like 'chief' and say 'cheers' instead of thank you - like fuck your cheers, I poured you that beer dickweed, I'm not having one with you. Holy fucking tangents Lahey, where were we bra?
Oh yeah an example. True dat, quadruple true.
Obviously a freshly poured coffee expiring vapors can lead to a burning sensation when in contact with flesh and potentially harmful if not properly handled, but is it necessary to have a warning identifying such safety concerns clearly visible on each cup. Would you put your first born child, better yet your dick in the mouth of a great white shark? No flippin' way. Ok that's an awful example. Let's refer to our grade 4 science texts and the chapter on changes of state; when a liquid is heated beyond its boiling point, it turns into a vapour. If a liquid is hot as fuck, but not yet at its precipice of change, it will still release vapours. The precedent for such a warning was a case against McDonald's in 1994 where a woman filed a lawsuit seeking damages for being burned by the restaurant's coffee.
The reason I mention this specific case is that now, 16 years later there are no limits to the ridiculousness of such warnings.
Each example of these warnings was preceded by an instance that either cost the company or employees money, time or grief. Somebodies schnauzer must have taken a crunch on the carpet at Denny's to merit the following, but how excessive does it sound:
NO LIVE ANIMALS!
No shit. Thank you for specifying that I am not permitted by law to bring a live animal into your fine establishment. Can I walk into my neighbourhood diner with the carcass of a dead animal, because according to the signage, it only specifies 'live animals'. You'd think they'd be more specific, by being less specific. Follow me? I mean, in a way much of what the restaurant is serving is likely and example of a dead animal.
At this point, I'm tempted to disregard my dislike for walking about holding a dead animal in my clutches only to prove somebody wrong. Yes, I do realize I come off as a prick and seem to complain a lot, but pity those that actually know me.
As stated above, all of the warnings and signs are in place to save someones ass, only because in the past, they've been burned by those who sit on their couch all day watching Nascar and playing scratch lotto's in search of their next payday = frivolous lawsuits. I understand the motivations of said companies looking to prevent a lawsuit, because if I hate one thing, it's obese, complacent Americans who are always in search of making a quick buck at someone else's expense. With the proliferation of all these signs and warnings comes an acceptance by force, since I have no choice but to be constantly in their midst, but No Live Animals? C'mon.
This topic is consistent with one of the general themes of my blog; things done changed. There was once in era where there were only warnings posted next to electric fences and lion cages. Allergies were as common as white, north American born NBA players and children would come home from a day at school with a hole in their jeans, a grass stain and maybe a black eye. We now live in a culture that is over-protecting, paranoid and generally pussy-hole gentrified. Be tough, quit bitching and next time you see a flattened raccoon by the side of the road, grab a snow shovel and a pair of gloves and GPS the nearest restaurant you want to metaphorically shit on.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
At Least He Had Some Time To Think About What Was On His Mine
Because of liquor laws, my bar doesn't serve miners, but I'll make an exception for 32 Chileans and a Bolivian.
No, I didn't laugh at that one either.
At this point, nearly everybody has heard of the plight of the 33 miners trapped in a Chilean mine and the subsequent rescue mission which concluded yesterday. The safe removal of the men was much ahead of an initial schedule and quickly became front-page news worldwide. It's always a treat when you can bury the bloodshed and disaster for page 3 and have a feel-good story out-front.
As ridiculous as it may sound, without a doubt there is an ambitious screenwriter somewhere voraciously penning this last chapter of the trapped miners and their heroic return to the surface, in hopes of having it on some suit's desk for Monday morning and in theatres by 2013.
This is premature.
The real story is Yonni Barrios Rojas. Rojas, 50, was the 21st miner rescued Wednesday around 4:30 in the afternoon. He has 25 years of experience working in mines and was the de facto medic among the trapped colleagues because he had first aid training. He has been married for 28 years to Marta Salinas. She opted not to wait at Camp Hope for his resurrection. Susana Valenzuela, his mistress of 5 years did.
Apparently Yonni's wife ran into Susana a few days after the mine shaft had collapsed at an area nearby designated for family members of the 32 Chileans and a Bolivian. Needless to say she was unaware of the affair, and the two didn't really hit it off, despite the fact that they share much in common (i.e. Mr. Rojas' junk had been all up in both their messes.) Despite the fact that Yonni expressed a desire to have both women awaiting his return, only the mistress Susana was there when he appeared Wednesday afternoon looking more ashy then Chris Bosh's elbows (fuck you CB4, have fun in the showers with LBJ.)
Yonni Barrios Rojas is an asshole, this is clear. I'm an advocate of NOT FUCKING SOMEBODY ELSE BEHIND YOUR SHORTY'S BACK - sorry, had a moment... fuck my early 20's - but by no means is this the story. People are for the most part untrustworthy. The intriguing script would center around the first meeting of the two recipients of Yonni's liquefied babies at Camp Hope, and from there, spiral out of control into a hilarious comedy starring Penelope Cruz as the hot mistress (obviously exaggerated from photos I've seen of Ms. Valenzuela - she's gnarly looking) and another Latin woman as his wife, if I can only think of one. Oh yeah, that en fuego mammy from "Y Tu Mama T'Ambien" that runs away with the two boys (played by Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna) because she is dying of cancer. She's so hot she gets the two young men to rinse each other. I just IMDB'd her, I think her name is Ana Lopez Mercado. Having said all of that, there is an opportunity for an amazing script there, and if I had more time, I'd write it myself.
On second thought, perhaps I will once I've finished the first season of Big Bang Theory: B.E.T. Edition (see below.)
No, I didn't laugh at that one either.
At this point, nearly everybody has heard of the plight of the 33 miners trapped in a Chilean mine and the subsequent rescue mission which concluded yesterday. The safe removal of the men was much ahead of an initial schedule and quickly became front-page news worldwide. It's always a treat when you can bury the bloodshed and disaster for page 3 and have a feel-good story out-front.
As ridiculous as it may sound, without a doubt there is an ambitious screenwriter somewhere voraciously penning this last chapter of the trapped miners and their heroic return to the surface, in hopes of having it on some suit's desk for Monday morning and in theatres by 2013.
This is premature.
The real story is Yonni Barrios Rojas. Rojas, 50, was the 21st miner rescued Wednesday around 4:30 in the afternoon. He has 25 years of experience working in mines and was the de facto medic among the trapped colleagues because he had first aid training. He has been married for 28 years to Marta Salinas. She opted not to wait at Camp Hope for his resurrection. Susana Valenzuela, his mistress of 5 years did.
Apparently Yonni's wife ran into Susana a few days after the mine shaft had collapsed at an area nearby designated for family members of the 32 Chileans and a Bolivian. Needless to say she was unaware of the affair, and the two didn't really hit it off, despite the fact that they share much in common (i.e. Mr. Rojas' junk had been all up in both their messes.) Despite the fact that Yonni expressed a desire to have both women awaiting his return, only the mistress Susana was there when he appeared Wednesday afternoon looking more ashy then Chris Bosh's elbows (fuck you CB4, have fun in the showers with LBJ.)
Yonni Barrios Rojas is an asshole, this is clear. I'm an advocate of NOT FUCKING SOMEBODY ELSE BEHIND YOUR SHORTY'S BACK - sorry, had a moment... fuck my early 20's - but by no means is this the story. People are for the most part untrustworthy. The intriguing script would center around the first meeting of the two recipients of Yonni's liquefied babies at Camp Hope, and from there, spiral out of control into a hilarious comedy starring Penelope Cruz as the hot mistress (obviously exaggerated from photos I've seen of Ms. Valenzuela - she's gnarly looking) and another Latin woman as his wife, if I can only think of one. Oh yeah, that en fuego mammy from "Y Tu Mama T'Ambien" that runs away with the two boys (played by Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna) because she is dying of cancer. She's so hot she gets the two young men to rinse each other. I just IMDB'd her, I think her name is Ana Lopez Mercado. Having said all of that, there is an opportunity for an amazing script there, and if I had more time, I'd write it myself.
On second thought, perhaps I will once I've finished the first season of Big Bang Theory: B.E.T. Edition (see below.)
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Ruminations
We here at the Bad News Blog are committed to proper and thorough journalism and the pursuit of the truth. Because of this transparency and the absolute honest approach we take, I would like to point-out that I invented Facebook years before that jewey Harvard brat. It was initially a collection of my favorite baseball cards collected in a binder, each of which had mildly-offensive mustaches drawn on with a sharpie.
Anyways, where was I? Has anybody noticed how adorable raccoons are looking this summer? To reference Darwin, I believe these furry pests are actually evolving into a cuter version of themselves, which is smart in the sense that I am more willing to have them rifle through my garbage without throwing a jagged rock at them. Survival of the fit. Take that creationists!
Ever notice how some words that describe something quite wonderful actually sound a little negative. Inversely, there are terms that refer to terrible things that actually have quite a nice ring to them. Vaginal intercourse sounds yucky, but it can be very satisfying. On the other hand, Juvenile Diabetes is a horrible congenital disease that attacks the innocent, but doesn't it have a nice ring to it? Juvenile Diabetes bra.
For somebody that loves punctuation, boy oh boy was I disappointed by a recent colonoscopy. Here I thought I was going in for a sentence break, but instead had a camera shoved-up my ass. Amazing.
The other day while flipping channels, I saw maybe a minute of that show Glee. I wanted to abort both my ears and my eyes. That shit is terrible, but the hysteria which surrounds it makes sense because WE ARE ALL TURNING INTO SOFT LITTLE FUCKIN' PUSSIES!!!! Sure, I exfoliate with a nice apricot scrub and make sure to moisturize each morning, but I eat as many dead animals as possible, and if I could, I'd kill them myself. With a bat, bludgeoning the most helpless of animals, eating it raw with a nice au jus or hollandaise.
I hate when the title of a show or film is misleading. Like Nelson said to Bart when exiting the cinema after seeing 'Naked Lunch'; "I can see at least two things wrong with that title." This explains my complete and utter disappointment with the popular sitcom 'Big Bang Theory'. I had hoped it was comedy starring two best friends played by Mo'Nique and Queen Latifah, as they search for a decent man who understands the benefits of bangin' a big ass. Eureka! I should write this script... Now.
Big Bang Theory: Episode 1 Scene 3
LaTheresa (Mo'Nique) walks hurriedly down the sidewalk, stopping on a dime and turning into a Subway sandwich location, nearly destroying the doorway and the entire foundation with her girth.
LaTheresa circumvents the dozen or so people in line to face her best friend, ShaReefah (Latifah), who is in the process of making a veggie wrap for a petite asian woman.
LaTheresa - "HEEEYYY YOO Micheele Kwan git da fuck up outta ma way ya heard me? It's lunch time holla if ya hear me!!!"
ShaReefah - "Whaddup giiiirlfriiiend? What it do today girl?"
Looking ever frustrated by both her hunger and socio-economic situation, LaTheresa replies angrily:
LaTheresa - "You know, trying to git me and mine a muhhhfuckin sandwich. Let me get a foot-long cold cut trio wit a side of Kobe finishing all over ma big-ass titties"
Both women laugh hysterically, so much so that ShaReefah begins coughing rather violently, turning to her manager, a timid, kind man from Bangladesh.
ShaReefah - "Hey yo Slumdog Chamillionaire let a sistah git a break for about 5. You know me need me a Newport."
LaTheresa - "True dat mahfucka, you best be making me that damn sammich first ya heard what I said mafucka did I stutter?"
Imran, the diminutive manager completes the preparation of her foot long quadruple bypass, hands it to her as ShaReefah removes her apron and latex gloves and is followed outside by LaTheresa, who has in but a minute already devoured half the sandwich.
Commercial Break
At this point, I believe I have no other choice but to continue writing this script in hopes of having it optioned by a major production company. Thanks for visiting Bad News Blog again, I appreciate your support.
Anyways, where was I? Has anybody noticed how adorable raccoons are looking this summer? To reference Darwin, I believe these furry pests are actually evolving into a cuter version of themselves, which is smart in the sense that I am more willing to have them rifle through my garbage without throwing a jagged rock at them. Survival of the fit. Take that creationists!
Ever notice how some words that describe something quite wonderful actually sound a little negative. Inversely, there are terms that refer to terrible things that actually have quite a nice ring to them. Vaginal intercourse sounds yucky, but it can be very satisfying. On the other hand, Juvenile Diabetes is a horrible congenital disease that attacks the innocent, but doesn't it have a nice ring to it? Juvenile Diabetes bra.
For somebody that loves punctuation, boy oh boy was I disappointed by a recent colonoscopy. Here I thought I was going in for a sentence break, but instead had a camera shoved-up my ass. Amazing.
The other day while flipping channels, I saw maybe a minute of that show Glee. I wanted to abort both my ears and my eyes. That shit is terrible, but the hysteria which surrounds it makes sense because WE ARE ALL TURNING INTO SOFT LITTLE FUCKIN' PUSSIES!!!! Sure, I exfoliate with a nice apricot scrub and make sure to moisturize each morning, but I eat as many dead animals as possible, and if I could, I'd kill them myself. With a bat, bludgeoning the most helpless of animals, eating it raw with a nice au jus or hollandaise.
I hate when the title of a show or film is misleading. Like Nelson said to Bart when exiting the cinema after seeing 'Naked Lunch'; "I can see at least two things wrong with that title." This explains my complete and utter disappointment with the popular sitcom 'Big Bang Theory'. I had hoped it was comedy starring two best friends played by Mo'Nique and Queen Latifah, as they search for a decent man who understands the benefits of bangin' a big ass. Eureka! I should write this script... Now.
Big Bang Theory: Episode 1 Scene 3
LaTheresa (Mo'Nique) walks hurriedly down the sidewalk, stopping on a dime and turning into a Subway sandwich location, nearly destroying the doorway and the entire foundation with her girth.
LaTheresa circumvents the dozen or so people in line to face her best friend, ShaReefah (Latifah), who is in the process of making a veggie wrap for a petite asian woman.
LaTheresa - "HEEEYYY YOO Micheele Kwan git da fuck up outta ma way ya heard me? It's lunch time holla if ya hear me!!!"
ShaReefah - "Whaddup giiiirlfriiiend? What it do today girl?"
Looking ever frustrated by both her hunger and socio-economic situation, LaTheresa replies angrily:
LaTheresa - "You know, trying to git me and mine a muhhhfuckin sandwich. Let me get a foot-long cold cut trio wit a side of Kobe finishing all over ma big-ass titties"
Both women laugh hysterically, so much so that ShaReefah begins coughing rather violently, turning to her manager, a timid, kind man from Bangladesh.
ShaReefah - "Hey yo Slumdog Chamillionaire let a sistah git a break for about 5. You know me need me a Newport."
LaTheresa - "True dat mahfucka, you best be making me that damn sammich first ya heard what I said mafucka did I stutter?"
Imran, the diminutive manager completes the preparation of her foot long quadruple bypass, hands it to her as ShaReefah removes her apron and latex gloves and is followed outside by LaTheresa, who has in but a minute already devoured half the sandwich.
Commercial Break
At this point, I believe I have no other choice but to continue writing this script in hopes of having it optioned by a major production company. Thanks for visiting Bad News Blog again, I appreciate your support.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Style Not Speed: The Eroica In Chianti
Each year in Chianti, Italy, a beautiful middle-Italian wine-producing region buried deep within the hills of Tuscany, a cycling race takes place that cares very little about performance and results. For each of the last 14 years, the "Eroica" has taken place in these very hills, paying tribute to an era of vintage bikes, vintage clothing and Italian cuisine.
The race, which takes place the first week of October, this year featured 3,500 riders and cycling enthusiasts from around the globe who took to the hills of Gaiole in Tuscany. The only prerequisites for the race are steel-framed bikes from before 1987 or newer models fitted and assembled with vintage accessories and hardware. The clothing must also be vintage, and it helps to have an appreciation of fine Italian wine from the Chianti region and mortadella, capicolla and prosciutto-stuffed paninis. The 24-mile route is littered with spectators and enthusiasts wearing vintage clothing themselves, handing out paninis and large goblets of Chianti, remembering an era when for many, cycling was the only distraction from the rigours of everyday life.
In Italy, cycling is considered to be a national sport, and the people take a great deal of pride in not only the sport, but their own national heroes who have defined it in the past. For many of these enthusiasts, the Eroica is a means of remembering the nostalgia of an era in cycling when the playing field was level, and blood-doping was only a pipe dream of sorts. Here fans of cycling legends such as recently accused Spanish rider Alberto Contador can race while consuming native Italian meats without worrying about the prospects of a tainted sample affecting blood-test results for doping. According to Roland Wolbold, 65, a racing mechanic from Stuttgart, Germany, the Eroica is a throwback to a time when "doping meant red wine with eggs."
Racing vintage bikes that require far more effort for a lesser result than the newer models on steep gravel roads with a bellyful of wine and cheese - sounds like an amazing experience no? Sounds like a rather heroic feat, which makes perfect sense as 'Eroica' is Italian for heroic.
I can make all of my readers a guarantee - next year's first post of October will be of yours truly racing the hills of Gaiole on a vintage bike with wooden frames, knickerbockers and purple lips.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Thanksgiving
Following a week-long hiatus from non-fantasy sports related/career-minded Internet use, I return to the world wide waste with a note of goodwill. Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian people and a happy Columbus Day to my sister and my other American friends.
Today I felt especially thankful, while enjoying the remains of last nights dinner in sandwich form, watching Maury Povich with my brother. Man I love me some Mo Po - he's one poignant guy. I was reminded of just how fortunate I am to have a family unit rid of issues confronted by the guests on today's episode titled "I have triplets - and I'm going to prove you're the father". Estella is a mother of three from (insert any city with a hip hop pseudonym and Magic Johnson movie theatre) who is certain Morris is the father of her triplet daughters. Amidst a scattering a f-bombs and other choice profane words, Estella fires-off a tirade which implies that Morris must be the father, despite the fact she was also intimate with a handful, if not baker's dozen of other desirable unemployed men in the Detroit area. Enraged, Morris rebukes with a enlightened soliloquy explaining admittedly that he may be the father of one of the girls, maybe even a second, but definitely not of all three daughters. It seems Morris' understanding of vaginal insemination and the process of conceiving multiples is a little askew.
At this point, Estella's so angry her weave begins to spontaneously combust, and she angrily demands the results of the fraternity test. Maury looks puzzled, as if the envelope should contain the news that Estella has been selected to rush as a member of Phi Kappa Kanye. Nevertheless, Maury opens the sealed envelope with an agonizingly delayed precision that has both Estella and Morris stare in amazement with the visage of a Popeye Jones. "Morris... You... Are......... (either way, the answer will produce hysterics on somebodies part)... NOT THE FATHER!!!!!
Needless to say, Morris' reaction was one of sheer delight, and you know what - so is mine. I have so much to be appreciate and thankful for. Even on my darkest of days, when my moral is buried deep within the recesses of my soul, I can be thankful that I don't have nary a single prerequisite for being a panelist on Mo Po.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends and family, nay, Thanksgiving to the world and most importantly the kids - Trick lud da kiiids.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Things Done Changed: People Say The Dumbest Things
As previously mentioned in my piece "The Death of The English Language", we are going to great lengths to destroy our native tongue. Not only are we as a people depreciating the value of our language in text, but often with the use of pointless words and common colloquial.
I would like to request, rather implore my readers to cease the usage of the following terms when beginning a sentence:
> honestly
> truthfully
> 'real talk' (urban version of the above)
If you need to reinforce the honest nature of what you are about to say by prefacing it with one of the above words, than inversely you really need to stop uttering so many factually incorrect sentences.
There are also other terms used at the start of sentences that are wasteful, irrelevant and if anything, only show how sophmoric the speaker is:
> with all due respect
> "no offence"
Typically, when somebody begins a sentence by saying 'with all due respect', it is followed by something that completely lacks any respect, as if prefacing the statement can somehow absolve you of the guilt or ramnifications of being rude. The same applies to 'no offence'. It is just so wasteful. Have you no economy for the English language?
Finally, one that really gets under my acetate-like pale skin for the fact that it is just one of the stupidest things a person could say:
> "I'm just saying..."
Christ, yes we realize you are just saying, such is the process of opening your mouth and releasing a combination of understandable audible noises. Typically the above set of words is used when a person is saying something to another party that may be contrary to the listener's belief-system. Somehow, it has become quite common to say this, despite absolutely no evidence to why it is in any way beneficial.
Just be more mindful of the words you use, because you will be judged based on the way you speak. Real Talk.
I would like to request, rather implore my readers to cease the usage of the following terms when beginning a sentence:
> honestly
> truthfully
> 'real talk' (urban version of the above)
If you need to reinforce the honest nature of what you are about to say by prefacing it with one of the above words, than inversely you really need to stop uttering so many factually incorrect sentences.
There are also other terms used at the start of sentences that are wasteful, irrelevant and if anything, only show how sophmoric the speaker is:
> with all due respect
> "no offence"
Typically, when somebody begins a sentence by saying 'with all due respect', it is followed by something that completely lacks any respect, as if prefacing the statement can somehow absolve you of the guilt or ramnifications of being rude. The same applies to 'no offence'. It is just so wasteful. Have you no economy for the English language?
Finally, one that really gets under my acetate-like pale skin for the fact that it is just one of the stupidest things a person could say:
> "I'm just saying..."
Christ, yes we realize you are just saying, such is the process of opening your mouth and releasing a combination of understandable audible noises. Typically the above set of words is used when a person is saying something to another party that may be contrary to the listener's belief-system. Somehow, it has become quite common to say this, despite absolutely no evidence to why it is in any way beneficial.
Just be more mindful of the words you use, because you will be judged based on the way you speak. Real Talk.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Back in Ten Minutes
Woke up this morning with the sun's rays fighting through the folds of my venetian blinds. As I stepped outside, I noticed that the sun was in fact weather's version of a cock tease, and that it was freezing cold out. Brrrrrrutal.
Perhaps this is why today's post is so damn frigid - but I have a bone to pick with a local merchant. The other night, while drunkenly stumbling home, all I could think of was my desire for some crunchy Cheetos, only to find a poorly handwritten sign on my local Mac's Milk promising his return in 10 minutes. I understand that while working the midnight shift at a Mac's Milk, sometimes things come up, and a bathroom break of longer than a leak and a wash is necessitated. Fair enough, however my issue does not lie with the man and his bodily functions, but with the infinite nature of his signage. I use the term infinite in its most literal terms - because when a sign denotes the clerks return in 10 minutes, it never lists a time that the sign was placed on the storefront window.
What is the purpose of putting-up such a sign if the reader has absolutely no idea when it was posted. Am I making mountains out of mole hills? I think not. All I am asking is for some clarity. If you need to take a 10 minutes break to deposit that afternoons tandoori chicken, simply place a sign denoting the duration of the break required, and the time at which said break was taken. I don't think this is too much to ask for. Stay angry my friends.
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