Relax, It's just a Game Show

I have started to take Jeopardy! very seriously lately. I don't know if its because I really have no other function right now besides writing my damn essays and 'sudying' for my one exam, or because questions that I would have no idea asbout four years ago are suddenly falling into the realm of 'common knowledge'.

As many of you already know, I am a trivia junkie. But it always seems as though I get, on average, about nine of the fifteen questions right off the bat in NTN, but in Jeopardy! I am much better at being able to run entire categories. Besides, in Jeopardy! nine out of fifteen questions is a remarkably good percentage, especially if the percentage is higher for Daily Doubles, which it usually is.

Right now Jeopardy! is running their Champions of Champions Tournament, (i.e. let's milk as much money out of this Ken Jennings thing as possible, before he himself becomes a Jeopardy! question). So they keep bringing back these former champions, and Gawddamn are they smart. The guy today, Brad Rutter, had lost a ton of weight, (I was hoping beyond hope that Alex Trebek would mention this in the interview, and danggum, he did!) Even though Brad had changed shape from when he had won the last Champions of Champions Tournamnet, (a modest two week affair that took place two years), he hadn't lost any of his smarts. He seemed to know everything from "Potent Potables" to "Crossword Clues 'F'", (okay, so I made those categories up. Needless to say, he was across the board smart).

For the life of me, I can't figure out how Jeopardy! loses in the ratings to mindless dreck like Wheel of Fortune, which quizzes only how fantastically intelligent you can be when solving a puzzle that has about three quarters of the letters already given to you. Also, WoF features NFL players week, which could never be confused with a Mensa meeting. I'm still waiting for 'former boxing greats' week, in which whoever has sustained the least amount of brain damage will win a fabulous vacation to Aruba. But I digress.

The changes to Jeopardy! have been pretty evident in the past few years, (cooler-looking set, doubling the dollar values, the disappearance of Alex's mustache and the phasing out of Celebrity Jeopardy! save for "Washington Power Players", whatever that means), but the show seems to be improving, rather than jumping over the proverbial shark. This tournament is no exception, (though I'm upset they stopped showing past clips of the contestants wearing their nerdy eighties glasses).

The two changes I can't stand are this 'Clue Crew' abomination, (I don't care if Jimmy is broadcasting from Cape Canaveral or wherever, as I don't watch Jeopardy! from the novelty of seeing a question asked in front of the actual object). I also miss the 'Audio Daily Double', which seems to have been phased out of existence. Maybe Jeopardy! had their feelings hurt by the SNL audio daily double, which was "What is the name of this continent?", followed by a voice bellowing "Asiaaaaa".

If Jeopardy! could find a way to make Jimmy read a question about being set on fire, and then actually catching fire though, all would be forgiven.

So I figured out what I want to do for a Graduate degree. I want to sit around the house all day, while simaltaneously enrolled in a class called 'Jeopardy! studies'. This program would require me to watch every episode of Jeopardy! three or four times, hang with the contestants in an attempt to sponge knowledge, and read abridged versions of actual novels, so all I would know about them were the name and nationality of the author and perhaps what year they won the Nobel Prize in literature. Also, I want a custom-made NTN trivia board, so I can answer the question from home, (anybody listening? My birthday's coming up soon).

Alas, such technology does not exist. In the meantime, I will have to busy myself by watching the show that comes before Jeopardy! in the 3:30 timeslot: Train 48. I can't wait for the Audio Daily Double where Alex Trebek asks: "Name the show featuring this theme song", followed by a booming voice singing "Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah. Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah Train". And then the annoying guy from the show who plays the pretty boy can catch on fire. What is Synergy, Alex?

Goy to the World

I've got Good News and Bad News

Good news: I'm back from Montreal. Woo-hoo, updates!

Bad News: I'm back from Montreal. Boo-hoo, I didn't once get to go to the Orange Julep.

Good News: It's Passover, so I got a chance to see the new babies on Friday, and rid my Mom of the baby fever she seems to possess. Also, I got waaay drunk at the Pseudo-Seder, due to the wine being right in front of me and Rich. The last thing I rmember was asking my Surgeon cosuin to give me Tommy John surgery so that I can finally learn how to throw a fastball. Also, my Dad said that he was proud of me, so I assumed that I lost consciousness and said something witty.

Bad News: I miss you, bread. And I assume that I will also miss beer. Last year, in order to be alll pious and still get loaded, I drank Smirnoff Ice. Man, that shit's disgusting!

Good News: I am planning to replace bread, pasta and rice with meat. So now I'll side Brisket with ham, and beef with pork. I wonder what an all meat diet will do to me? Because I can't stand to lose any more weight.

Bad News: Loblaws does not seeem to stock very much meat on sticks anymore. Is this a lost art, I wonder?

Good News: I've decided to love all races again, including Persians!

Bad News: This rule does not apply in Robarts library. Also, I can't say 'Sikhs' and keep a straight face. That's a comedy goldmine.

Good News: Improved comment page!

Bad News: What the fuck is trackback? I wish I could get rid of it without screwing up my whole page. Any computer geeks willing to rise to the cause?

Good News: When I got home, the first thing I did was watch Jeopardy! This best of the best tournament rocks, and makes me extra excited when I get the answers right.

Bad News: The second thing I did upon returning home was check my fantasy baseball time, and become horrified to see that I am no longer in first place. Have I become one of 'those guys'? You know, the ones that are way too into something violently uncool, but talk people's ears off about it anyways, until nobody listens to them anymore. I'm afraid of the answer.

Good News: My haircut looks semi-decent. I think my long hair was starting to affect my vision.

Bad News: I still hope that David takes me back. Maybe I can tell him we were on a break.


Extra Special Good News: I hope to turn this blog into a travelogue, (travelblogue?) in the near future. Also, I plan on getting myself into lots of zany situations for the sole purpose of writing about them later. Later!

I've got pros (I've got pros) In different area codes (area) Area codes (codes)

Since I promised that I would write about a cheating story, I have to be true to my word. But I gotta warn you. This story is 100% true, and could be going on all across the country as we speak. Here is my sordid tale:

A little more than a month ago, I had to go to Montreal for my grandmother's funeral, since it happened quite suddenly, I didn't have time to tie up all the loose ends that I wanted to in Toronto, (on a weird tangent, I made plans with like four different people for one night without realizing it. This is weird because I normally make plans for like zero different people). Anyways, one of the things I didn't get to do was get a haircut. I was looking kind of shaggy at that point, since it had been about a month since I had gone.

Now at this point I should mention that I am very particular about were I get a haircut. Things just weren't working out from th ages of 14-18, so coincidentally, that was the time that I used to buzz my hair. Any old place could do it, so I didn't need to worry about where I went.

Ever since my time at SOLA, oddly enough, I have going to the same place: Sweeny Todd's at Yonge and Davisville, and I have been seeing the same guy, David, every month. He knows my hair better than I do, he's a Brit, and has been been cutting, and more importantly styling my hair for some time now. He's been there for the mullet(s), he oversaw the coloring, he let my hair grow really long. Basically, I pay more attention to my hair than I do to, say, my checkbook, or to Canadian politics, (did something happen this week?)

So the first thing I did when I arrived in Montreal, after checking into the Ruby Foo's, was go to the Evita salon, which was conveniently located inside the hotel. I had been there once before, (before I met David, so it didn't count), so I knew what I was getting into. There, a pleasant enough woman gave me a pleasant enough haircut for thirty bucks, (which I could charge to the room i.e. my parents). The haircut helped me look presentable enough during the services, so no harm, no foul.

It was strange, though. Throughout the haircut, I couldn't stop talking about David to the woman. I told her how he cut my hair 'for next week', and how every time I go there we have a laugh and end up talking about the fertile crescent or British vs. American humor. I think she was a little annoyed by this, but seemed to like me anyways, which is really important to me, (I told you I take this seriously).

I was planning on coming back, and going to see David about a month later, (which is now), and tell him that I am sorry that I 'cheated' on him, but that there were extenuating circumstances and that I'd never do it again. Then we'd have a good laugh, and talk about the fertile crescent or how Northern Englanders can't be understood by anyone.

By that's not what's going to happen. I'm currently sort of broke. My hair looks like crap, (I'm actually starting to resembele the picture on the left, no offense Ryan), and I am going to Montreal this weekend. I am going to cheat again.

This time I will have no excuse. But I am going to do it anyways.

I know that this is just a charming story about haircuts and different cities, (does it still count), and 'professional' relationships, but I really feel as though it speaks for something greater. If it's this easy to cheat on a stylist, how can any other relationship be any different? What if I had a girlfriend, (oohhh, that's a big 'if') and I cheated on her with a girl in Montreal. It would be so easy, (well, for most people, anyways), and it would be a one time thing, and she'd never have to know about it, (unlike a stylist, say, who could tell the minute you walk in the door). Or say, I was overseas, like in Europe, and couldn't get my hair cut for a while...

I have to stop now, as I see exactly where this is going.

I gotta say though, it makes me really sad.

How can anyone be expected to stay faithful, if it's this easy to cheat on a stylist of five years?

My Dinner with ReZA

Check the O.R. about my raw fish encounter Here.

Tuned in tomorrow, because I've got a story about cheating on the way. Yes, it's about me. No, it doesn't involve comely Persian lasses...or does it?

No.

Wishin' and Hopin' and Thinkin' and Prayin'

I gotta get out of this place.

If that's the last thing I ever do.

The countdown is on mon ami, as the Chas Traps in Motion tour starts as soon as I can get my gosh darn essays out of the way and into the bag.

The first stop this weekend will be in the lovely city of Old Montreal, where Chas Traps will return for the second time in a month, (like menstruation!), for a passover showdown at my worryin' aunt's house. Yes C-Brad, this is is the same aunt who used to be friends with the Knishes, before Shannon decided to take a bite of one of them. After that, the trip will lead to Kingston, (where we will most likely stop at the Chapters where lil' Avril got her start), continue on through Ajax, (the home of Avril's cute as cake boytoy 'Bizzy D') and come to a temporary rest back in the T Dot. Then after graduation, who knows? But starting today, the wheels are in motion, (let's just hope that they are connected to the train).

Sad news coming out of the Vatican, where my choice for Popemaster General, Cardinal Andrij Harasa...etc. out of the Brass Rail came up short in his bid to become the next pontif. Since this new guy is, how you say, 'really fuckin' old', maybe Haras will get another 'shot', (and pay for it, of course), in the next couple of years.

In another media shocker, the I.D. section of the Toronto Star, a random survey sample trashed the new 'It starts here' Molson Canadian commercial in favor of the old 'I am Caandian' thingy. Let's get the record straight. This new ad, in its full length, is a brilliant piece of marketing, so good in fact, that I have started to request a pitcher of Canadian during my trivia binges.

Let's analyse this, shall we:

The old "I am Canadian" ad is well-known by now; "A Chesterfield is a Couch", "It's pronounced Zed, not Zee, Zed!" blahdee blah blah. We all remember when 'Joe' dropped the first puck at a Leafs game, and how much fun it was to stick it to Americans, and the following ads, which featured jerseying, astronauts and 'Office Glen'.

But here's the thing. Aside from the first ad, they weren't all that funny, (aside for the first time you heard that Office Glen is dead, which come to think of it, is a great name for a Ska band, but I digress). I believe that the appeal fo the 'I am Canadian' ads came from sticking it to stupid Americans, a topos which has since been driven into the ground. Those dumb Yankees think we live in igloos, isn't that hi-larious? If anyone remembers the 'I am, you know I am' song, and God knows I do, you can see that clearly Molson Canadian ads were the most annoying on television, at least until those stupid stupid Alexander Keats Scottish guy ads came on, (the less said about these the better). Clearly, they needed to go in a new direction, and being bought out by Coors was perhaps a step in the right direction.

Now when everybody gets all uppity about the new ad, I think that they are just letting off steam about how Americans have taken over our beer or some similarly pointed patriotic whine. I first saw the ad during March Madness, and let me tell ya, it makes ya tingle.

Okay, so instead of Joe, we get a first person perspective of 'Michael' in little vignettes about his life. We start with 'Michael' coming to his door to greet his buddy, (after conviently walking by a Canadian 24). The buddy says to him, "Put your coat on, trust me", and from there, he's a wingman to a hirstute black man, "You're from Florida and your a quarterback. Yeah! Quarterback!" Then the 'outdoorsy' buddy, who shows up announced and bellows "Pack your Bags", (oooh...an impromptu road trip!)After that, 'Michael' gets what we imagine are impossibly hard to get tickets, (curlig ducats?) from his unnecessarily Guido-like friend, "Don't ask why, don't ask how". Thanks, I wasn't planning on it, (coughcosanostracough). Then we get the office buddy asking "Have you met the new intern", (when I was the intern last summer nobody seemed that interested in meeting me. I guess that's because I wasn't a girl, but again, I digress).

Also, when 'Michael' is lifting weights, Teresa comes up and asks him if he's a trainer, (I guess that means that he gets to have sex with her), and he also sees 'Mrs. Cooper' at a bar, (I guess he has sex with her too, living out the 'hot older teacher' fantasy). There are also shorter sexy vignettes involving 'the stunningly hot woman on the plane, who wears a cowboy hat, and perhaps necessistates a communal visit to the plane's bathroom: "Hi, I'm Beth", the French woman, (I never catch her name, but oohlala!), The Indian Woman, (who for some reason I assume is also 'the new intern' becasue she seems to be dressed conservatively for work, "Hi, I'm Maya), and what appears to be a Go-Go dancer, and perhaps the least attractive woman in the commercial, (though maybe it's her wig), "Hi I'm Allison..or was it Stacy?", followed once again by hirstute Black Wingman "Whooo!" and finally the hottest woman of all, who doesn't have a name but "Is so mad at her boyfriend", and then after the "It Starts Here" tag, gives a sexy little pout, Yes! A hot woman cheats on her boyfriend for you. Take that, other dude!

Throughout this ad, a Fatboy Slim song builds to its crescendo in the background. This is a vast imporvement over all the beer ads from when I grew up, which included the songs "All Right Now" by Free, and "All Day and All of the Night" by whoever. Fine songs, but they make me think of the Matador and bootleg hooch more than beer. Fatboy Slim has made some really catchy tunes "Gangsta' Trippin'", "Song for Shelter", and some annoying ones which were overcompensated for by having Spike Jonze make craaazy videos, "Weapon of Choice" and "Praise You". This song, "Right Here, Right Now", is the perfect choice for a kick-ass commerical.

Let me tell you why this commercial kicks the ass of I am Canadian. Sure, it's now 'Canadian by way of America' company and this is NO DOUBT an American ad, but the 'It's Starts Here' concept is done perfectly well. Michael has buddies who provide him with nice things, (rides, sporting tickets, the first shot at hot girls!?!), and in addition, he meets hot women wherever he goes, who introduce THEMSELVES to HIM including at clubs, which practically never (they should do one about Tonic, with "Hi, I'm sleepy Asian girl", or one at the Firkin, "Hi, I'm the blitzed bartebdress, about to go off with the guy who did coke". All Michael has to do, (aside from look like a trainer), is go about his daily routine, and drink mass quantites of Canadian, (though we never see him drink any of it). One assumes, if we live our boring lives this way, mutli-racial and mulitcultural babes, (Teresa seems kind of Jewish, no?) will appear in droves, introduce themselves to you, and, it is implied, have sex with you, and all because you chose to drink Molson Canadian. In contrast, what did Joe offer you? "I'm not a lumberjack or a fur trader." Huh.

You know what, it starts here. Me staring at a computer. When it ends, hopefully tonight, I will have completely finished my essay, HOPEFULLY. Wow, I guess 'Michael' and I lead different lives. I better start drinking more Canadian.

You can feel it all over people

My fantasy team is now in first place. Unfortunately, I had to drop my pregnant third baseman Britney Spears, and I've added the chick with big boobs from Mean Girls to the line-up. No, not LL, the other one. The one that's got a fifth sense. It's like ESPN or something. After watching it again today, it's still a fantastic film, both in terms of watchability and wankability. Ah yeah!

Also, I am happy to report that Fong liked the cake pan clean. Actually it was Tasha who liked the pan clean for him. (P.S. the last statement contains absolutely no innuendo. It is meant to be taken completely literally.) No hidden meanings!

Needless to say, Santiago and I certainly something cooked up something in his kitchen Thursday night (P.S. The last statement, ah fuck it).

So I almost threw another perfect trivia game, but it was a theme round. No it wasn't O.C. trivia this time, (though now I know that i can call on Mike for that), it was...Smithsonian trivia. That's right, Smithsonian trivia. I muffed the question on how much a year-long membership cost, but other than that, it was smooth sailing. God, I'm pathetic.

Fortunately, tomorrow afternoon my Mom is hosting a woman's tea at our house, and fifty women of a certain age, (fifty), will be filling up 175 Cottingham to the brink. It'll be like Mean Girls thirty years later, (here's hoping). In anticipation of this event, my Mom has moved everything into the garage. Our newspaper boxes, houseplants, clay sculptures I made when I was ten, our microwave, the hush money, have all been tucked away, just in case we look like a normal family with a normal messy house. Perish the thought!

Also, did I mention that there will be fifty women of a certain age, (fifty), in our tomorrow? Let the games begin. I've somehow been roped into taking pictures with my Dad's digital camera. We all know what happened the last time I took pictures. (P.S. the last statement was filled entirely with innuendo. Please read into it).

Blog's Your Uncle

Some prescient, yet random thoughts on a lovely Thursday afternoon:

- I am becoming increasingly obsessed with the idea of a vinyl copy of Fleetwood Mac's Rumours becoming the president of Malawi. I can't think of any better advice that could be offered than "You can go your own way" or "Don't stop thinking about tomorrow". Besides, can anybody name the current Malawiian president, (besides JT?) Didn't think so. I envision it playing out something like this. There's a crisis that needs an urgent decision to be made. The president's aides, (who will be actual people), will rush into the presidential compound seeking sage advice from President Rumours. They will put the record on some random spot and do exactly what the President says. So they put the needle on, and Stevie Nicks sings: "Wake up in the morning. See your sunrise- loves- to go down. Lousy lovers- pick their prey. But they never cry out loud", or "Thunder only happens when it’s raining. Players only love you when they’re playing. Say... women... they will come and they will go. When the rain washes you clean... you’ll know" and somehow, this will be exactly the advice needed to solve the crisis. Sure, you laugh now, but wait until Stevie Nicks is canonized. Saint Stevie...you'll see soon enough.

- On that note, I hope Eboniks is having fun with new girlfriend, Stevies.

- You know you care waaaay too much about Fantasy Baseball when you are obsessively following Jamie Moyer's WHIP. Wait, that sounds skeevy. Oh well.

- My former T.A. and the Political Theory Guru M.J.W. Stickings has started his own blog at the-reaction.blogspot.com. I'm waiting for more posts about Avril Lavigne and Rashad McCants and fewer posts about Fred Barnes and Dionigi Tettamanzi before I even CONSIDER making a comment on his site. I tend to be on the 'fringe' politically.
And by fringe, I mean that I would rather post about the Washington Nationals than the Washington Lobbyists. Speaking of which...first pitch to be thrown out in one hour by George W. I wonder if he'll be cheered or not.

- I am continuing with my new cake fetish by attempting to bake one for Fong's birthday. I managed to find a cake mix lying around the house, called, get this, 'Moist Deluxe', (which coupled with following Jamie Moyer's WHIP, has made for heady times for Chas Traps). I am not exactly what you'd call a 'baker', so the results will be amusing if not delicious.

- If I start hearing 'STDelicious!' on a global scale, it'll piss me off that I didn't license it sooner. I could swear that as soon as I started saying 'McDick's' to refer to McDonalds, I start hearing it everywhere. Maybe I just want attention.

- I needed to hand my Dylan essay before the end of the working day. Because I am lazy, I woke up at 2:15 and got to the Birge Carnegie archives at 5:03, and they ALWAYS close at 5. I begged the security guard to let me in. He asked me suspiciously, "which office are you going to" and I said "J.P.'s". Then he said "Oh, I've known J.P. for eighteen years, that guy's awesome". I swear to God that this really happened.

- I guess that's all the random thoughts for today, what else? Oh, I am currently exploring what to do with my 'Gap Year'. Again, I'd think of something naughty to say, but I am still thinking about Moist Deluxe.

"Pick up the pieces and go home".

The Seven Habits of Highly Defective

Okay okay, so I'm not perfect. Here are some things that always seem to get me in trouble:

Number One: My mouth. Just because I consider my life an open book, (see number seven of the effective side for proof), I tend to also assume that everyone else's life is public domain as well. This tends not to be the case.

It's funny, because what is sometimes my best quality, (candidness), can also be my worst...by far. I feel a though I sometimes have no middle ground. I'm either fully involved, or I'm not involved at all.

Number Two: Sometimes my wallet snaps shut. Again, this is one of those 'no middle ground' deals. I'm often very lavish and generous, but at other times...I'm cheaper than an A-Rod play-off slap, (I personally enjoyed his look of disbelief afterwards, like he was just playing heads-up baseball).

Number Three: I can disappear for days on end, and then reappear just like that! Basically, I tend to run my own schedule, foresight be damned!

Number Four: I tend to become obsessed with something for a short period of time, to the point that I can't talk or think about anything else. But then a week later, I want nothing to do with it. This happens constantly.

Number Five: Everybody in Denim.

Number Six: You can't entrust objects of value to me, or they will disappear. The only way fro me to remember something is if it is physcially attached to me, (or else I would surely be leaving my fingers and toes EVERYWHERE). I can't tell you the amount of times that I've misplaced keys, bags, wallets, I've been pretty good about cell phones since mine is eighties style. Basically, don't hand me anything for safe-keeping. Besides your ears, of course.

And the Number Seven highly defective habit of Chas Traps is...well, you're reading it. My life is my writing, though I tend to let my fingers do the talking when I am writing and put my brain on auto-pilot.

It's probably the most honest way of living.

I just need to learn to stop being surprised when my effectiveness turns into defectiveness.

The Seven Habits of Highly Effective

Number One: On Saturday Night, I wandered into a party at 2:30 a.m. (ironically, a party at the same house that I had been to a few months earlier, when I was rocking the beard). Upon arriving in the kitchen, I noticed that there was a very large chocolate cake being uneaten. I grabbed a confusing utensil from the wall, (I was later told it was a pasta strainer, it looked like a hyptotizing device to me), and I proceeded to devour a large hunk of the cake out of the strainer, coated with Appleton Rum for good measure. We were then asked to leave right away. I didn't puke.

Number Two: On Friday Night, I wandered into a basement room at 3:00 in the morning, after rocking my socks off at the Dance Cave to the sweet sounds of N.E.R.D. and Metric. This room was set up like an underground studio, perhaps the setting of a snuff film. After one particularly tall girl announced she was bored and asked me to entertain her, I tied her to a chair using the lit-up tubing from the floor. Then I snapped pictures of her in her compromised position, after plugging the lights back into the wall. I could tell she loved it by, well...

Number Three: On Thursday Night, I comforted the VS in her time of need. I hate that I always gotta do that now. I almost puked out of sheer exhaustion.

Number Four: On Wednesday Night, I almost threw a perfect game at trivia, muffing only the last question, about Dan Tanna, (you tell me who he is).

Number Five: Before descending to the lamest of lame parties at Fez Batik on Friday, I consumed a very large amount of meat and beer. No sides, no garnishes, just meat and beer. I was in surprisingly good spirits afterwards, at elast until the beat heavy music starting reverberating at the Batik. Plus the peeps doing their rounds was plenty irratating. If you're gonna take pictures of people, at least make them good pictures! That makes me sick.

Number Six: When my parents arrived home from New York this weekend, the house was in reasonably good shape, I had brought most of the newspapers inside, and I had managed to feed myself, (mostly). This was a vast improvement from the previous times I have been using the place as a bachelor pad. I will never live alone as long as I live, perhaps because I would die of starvation / repetition / inactivity.

And the Number Seven Habit of Highly Effective Chas Traps is...well, you're reading it. Today is the greatest day I've ever known.

By the way, that doesn't mean that I am committing suicide. It just means that I happier today than I was yesterday. It's kind of like a reverse Office Space.

The Seven Year Glitch

There's this friend of mine who came from down south to visit. I want to say that he came to visit me, but we all know what happened the last time I built up home about somebody's return after a long absence.

Anyways, I had a chat with him tonight. Well, it wasn't so much a chat, though I certainly felt like it was an interchange of ideas.

Okay, here, let me put it this way; B-Rad made a lot of damn sense tonight.

I haven't heard kind words like that in looong time. And this didn't feel disingenuous or unnecessarily complimentary or anything like that.

Do you know that feeling when somebody compliments you and feel like they just said it in order to cheer you up? I do, but I normally am flattered by any sort of praise, deserved or not. But then afterwards, it doesn't have the same feeling. It just feels sort of hollow.

Okay, so we're standing outside of Ein-Stein's approximately twenty minutes ago, (oh, if anyone gets a chance to look up the lyrics for Millencolin's song 'The Einstein Crew', do so). B-Rad brings me aside, and unleashes a string of compliments that just made me feel amazing. I'm kind of fried right now, but I know that when I thinka bout it, this will be one of those inspiring moments in life that you always look back, (I mean, I can;t think of any of those right now, but maybe they fall into your subconscious). I guess I felt this way when I almost dropped out of school and then went to the alternative school and got my first English paper back.

all of a sudden, all the negative energy that I had built up over my five years of high school disappeared, and I felt like, hey maybe I'm not screwed up.

B-Rad told me that I don't need to slag people, and that even though I get a certain thrill over saying things, especially if they happen to be true it just doesn't need to be said. Simple, right? I guess I haven't thought about it until I put on my consequence glasses.

Urrggghhh, for once I feel like my thoughts are unsettled, even though Conor said I am more real in print than in person, (I feel that way too, something about being able to relax and reflect, its as though I never realized how rense I was in public).

Basically, it was like this. Conor said that I am the guy of kind who he would say "I knew him seven years ago", and since I am assume that he's referring to right now, that gives me until I'm thirty to do...whatever it is that I will do.

I think he means that if I haven't established myself by then, actaully I don't think that it was an ultimatum, just that the next seven years will be crucial.

They start now.

T.O. Resident Claims Meeting With Pope Helped Cure Her Cancer

It's an old creepy man who wears robes and big hat to hide his face!

The only man who both befits that description and has the power to cure cancer is Michael Jackson.

I am a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. I am a big, bright, shining star.

I wonder if it has have occurred to me that I share a great resemblance with Dirk Diggler. I mean, aside from the obvious, of course.

Face it. He is I and I am him. We're both a little on the dumb side, (at least, I feel that way tonight), we both like to boogie, we both work under an assumed alias, and we both aspire to be stars.

I will learn to treat the ending of the film as a cautionary tale. I mean, the ten minutes leading up to the ending, not the ending itself. That's all money, baby.

Oh, and I've discussed this with Mike a few weeks ago, but I come back to it again. So I was watching Porn Star: The Legend of John Holmes, (I thought it was the Will Ferrell newscaster movie, I swear), and they interviewed PTA about JCH.

Now, never mind the fact that Paul Thomas Anderson was probably not even born when that John Holmes motherfucker was rising to prominence, but there he was in the documentary. He was going on about how much he thought Holmes was a star and his glistening cock, and he got more and more creepy as the film went on.

Plus, they filmed him in a badly lit room, and he was sort of slurring his words. You know, come to think of it, PTA was supposed to be the next Tarantino and everything, but since Boogie Nights, all he's done is that (albeit entertaining) frog picture and the Billy Madison is creepy and look! there's Philip Seymour Hoffman disaster, for which Happy Gilmore had to go back to the serious well with Spanglish.

Suddenly, I'm thinking that it wasn't Dirk Diggler standing in front of the mirror holding his limp dick and trying to replicate the success of John C. Holmes, but the director himself, Paul T. Anderson, who wanted to be a big shining star, and has slowly been made irrelevant by Zack Braff, Jon Heder, and the next generation of misfits.



Now who's a narcissist?

April Fool's gold

I haven't really spken in own voice for a while, but tonight's thunderstorm will give me a fresh start. MMM freshness.

So I'm starting to get back into the launch customized radio thingy over on Yahoo!, (and if you haven't checked it out yet, do, it's perfect for short attention spanners like me). Anyhoo, I've sort of been neglecting it ever since last August, when I used it to suffer through another 9 to 5 office day, (which I guess was better than working, but still...). I actually got bumped from the system for a whole month because I 'skipped' songs too often, meaning that I heard thirty seconds of say "Welcome to the Jungle" and decided I'd had enough and went on to the next song. For those people who know me, that's not much of a surprise.

The whole point of the program is that you can 'rate' music and the system supposedly knows what you like. And since I haven't checked back since August, a lot of my summer favorites are highly ranked.

There are all those Death-Metal songs which were awesome the first time, horrible in retrospect, and now just seem quaint. Case in point: Got the Life. I talked about this with Dave yesterday, but now I'm fascinated that I thought Korn was the shiznit, then I had 'Issues' with them, then I found their stuff in bargain bins and pretended that I never liked them in the first place. Now I like them again, just because their music seems so old.

In a roundabout way, what I'm saying is that everything that seems so important at the time, one day ceases to have any meaning at all. Which is my way of saying that the moment right now does not even exist.