I-perbole

I walk the lie
I framed Roger Rabbit
I missed the bust
I.P. Freely
I am 37 of People's 50 most beautiful people
I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cow
I pray for both teams
Iran
I saw, I conquered, I came
P Diddy invented the remix, but I perfected it
I can see for kilometres
New York loves me
I'm Henry the ninth
I enjoy long walks on the bleach
I let the dogs out
I want John Candy
I, I, I, no me gusta!
Wanna get I?
I lash
I just was made for these times
I want to break fast
I heart Weatherbee
V.I.Me
I feel pity, oh so pity
Old McDonald had an army, G.I. G.I. Joe
I want it some
I am the anti-Chris
I faked my own life
I singlehandedly pitched a no-hitter
I know Fung Koo
C.S.I.: Chas Traps
I feel like Chick'n Deli tonight
I Canada
II, Robot
I smell a rant
Isurper
I am the missing ingredient
I Caramba
French Fr-I
I am the fifth beatnut
I sore
If at first you don't succeed, I, I, again
Ask me no secrets, I'll tell you no Is
I dent a tee
I forgot what I was going to slay
iPlod, Shuffle
I's right!
Test if I
You were the last I
I only just begun

Nightswimming

Let's turn on and be not alone

The beach was actually quite the place, as I have swam in much worse. My mood increases tenfold when I'm out in the wild, rather than in the safe jungles of home. I hope that my chicken scratch handwriting acrually worked this time. Thanks for the socks, Jackie. Tonight, I blistered in the shade. The Modest Mouse album has limited replays before it just souns whiny. I wonder how many other random connections will turn out magically. Time to contact my old friends and reintroduce them to my nearest and dearest. The water feels pleasant in my hair and on my body.

Oh no love! you're not alone

More Good News for People Who Love Band News

Those who surround: Right before Anthem for a Seventeen Year Old Girl I heard a voice call out to me, "Chuck! Chuck". I figured it was my imagination. When I looked back, there was Mallory. Who's Mallory, you ask? Well, two summers ago when I had some ridiculous promotions job which found me Centre Island. I used to keep myself busy during the day by writing in a notebook which contained my 'bits'. Mallory worked as a ticket taker at Centreville, and kept me entertained during the day by complaining about her job, (mine was much better, as my supervisor spent her day chatting on instant messenger and flirting with my boss, far away from the island). Mallory also complained about, well, mostly her job, which made me laugh. She also tried to read my bits before they were complete. So she was a summer friend. You know summer friends, right? You see them during the summer, then you say "have a nice life" and probably never see them again. I ran my summer friend at Robarts, (why she was there, I have no clue), and thought that to be completely random. Once again, we did the 'see you whenever', and of course, I ran into her at a party a month ago. As you may have figured out by now, Mallory's was the voice. It's funny, too, because we were having this loud conversation between songs, (we were about fifteen feet away from each other at the time), so about fifty people are listening, and wondering "who are these yahoos?" Mallory then tells "We met on the island", and I swear I heard a collective "Oh". Maybe it was the Rose. I also have a story to tell about a girl holding up a shoe, but I'll save that one for the photo.

I found that it was a young show in terms of average age, but then again, that could be because I am a very old man. Sam and I made friends with a D.J., whose name I forget, (let's call him D.J.), and he remarked that it was also a very 'short' show, as in there were a lot of short people in the crowd. I then pointed out that there were a few tall people, but they seemed to be evenly distributed in the crowd, almost as if the venue had hired them for just such a reason, as in, "Hey, I'll meet you at the tall guy stage left". That, my friends, is a bit.

The Main Event: Modest Mouse took the stage without Isaac Brock saying a word, (which is what I would have guessed), and they launched directly into The World at Large. The band to crowd banter was minimal, especially compared to BSS's Kevin Drew, who talked a great deal about very little at all. Isaac, I guess, lets the music do the talking. Float On was the third or fourth song they played, surprising me, as I thought it would be the encore. I tell you, being four rows away during Float On, with the sun setting and illuminating the trees purple, and feeling the crowd sway...that was a moment.

It's too bad the rest of the show was kind of meh. Don't get me wrong, Modest Mouse put on a hell of a show, and having Sevvy and Mallory around, and seeing Sam in the mosh pit, (it's too bad the D.J. disappeared, still I know where to find him), was all great. I just find that Modest Mouse's songs all tend to drift together a little. They didn't play Blame it on the Tetons, a great slow song, nor Shit Luck, a 'yeller'. Ocean Breathes Salty doesn't compare to Float On, perhaps because of the lack of a singalong chorus, and I honestly couldn't tell Richard which songs they had played, because as I said, they all tended to drift together. I find this same issue plagues with the band of the moment The Arcade Fire. Is there a word for this symptom? Droning, maybe?

The exception to this rule was the great closing song, (in both album and show) The Good Times are Killing Me. As the Flaming Lips couldn't make it to back them up, Modest Mouse enlisted help from what looked like members of all the bands who had played before, though the only ones that I could recognize were BSS. Also, there were a bunch of playing the tambourine. Maybe I had too much...ah, forget it!

Other Notes:

- Modest Mouse has two drummers. That always freaks me out for some reason.
- They had a guy playing the cello.
- People crowd-surfed, and this was probably the most inappropriate band to crowd surf to. Gentle swaying would have sufficed.
- They played an encore, but I can't remember a single song.
- The ferry ride back was very pleasant. I tried to break away from 'my group', to get a head start, and they ended up far ahead of me in line. Dang.
After the show we went to Fran's, and my chicken club was delicious. Sep asked the pierced waiter for a mojito, and he had no idea what that was.
- I doubled up on sunscreen, and my arms are as white as ever.
- Joke Club on July 5th.
- sometime life's OK

Good News for People Who Love Band News

The Set-Up: Sevvy's brother decided that he found enlightenment, (and, we imagine, a girl,) in Espagne. So this left her with one very expensive ticket to sell, (i.e. give to her best friend). Even though her brother implored her to hawk the ducat, Sevvy would have none of that and I luv her for it.

Her first choice was her best friend, who shall remain nameless at this point. The three of us had a meeting of the minds on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. By this, I mean that we, along with some character named Shawn, drank mixed drinks on Sevvy's rooftop patio until the doorman booted us. Parmida...whoops, I mean the unnamed friend scooted off to her next engagement and promised to return the next day. I'm not quite sure what happened between Saturday and Sunday, but at 4 o'clock Sunday I got the call I was dreading / hoping - Parmida's dropped out, I couldn't find anybody else nearby, and would you like a free ticket to the Modest Mouse show?


Woo Hoo!!!!


Of course, being a typical Sunday afternoon, I was camped out in front of the TV watching a ball game, and this one just happened to be the Jays and the Nationals, (on channel 1, no less). Okay, that's not entirely accurate. I was trying to catch the ballgame, and Richard, fan that he is, was watching Spice World. At one point, he turned to me and said "what's more embarrassing, the fact that we both saw this movie in the theatre, or the fact that we're both watching it now?" Good question, Rich.

After I got the call, I changed into my concert gear, (Hang the D.J. shirt, 'summer jeans' and Patriotic American Flag camera I picked up in NYC), and off we go! Sevvy said I was hyper, but maybe that was the four glasses of Rose that I downed. Plus, it was a free concert. A free outdoor concert. Maybe it was the Rose.

The Participants: Me, of course. Also, a slightly ticked-off Sevvy, (for not only did her best friend flake, but she had to put up with me for five hours or more). Also toting tickets were Sevvy's buddies Sep and Sam, a brother combo. Sam could relate with me, as he was his brother's second choice after his 'friend' couldn't show up. A hot dog for Seppy and me learning some choice Persian phrases later, and there we were on the island, being greeted by the sweet sounds of Metric. The first song I heard as I exited the ferry was Combat Baby. That was a nice moment.

The Show: I, of course, ran ahead, as I am wont to do. Because by the time we had managed to get our collective act together, it was 6:20 p.m. We missed opening acts Do Make Say Think, Keren Ann, etc. yada yada, whatever, Metric was on stage! Sep had made a comment to me earlier, saying that he had never seen me in the daytime before, (which is probably true). I called him my 'night friend'. This is exactly the problem I had with Metric. They're a 'night band'. It just seemed wrong for them to be playing an outdoor show with the lights going and the sun up. Every time I listen to the album, I am transported back to last summer. I was expecting the same during the performance, but more so, and, I dunno, even though Emily Haines had the skirt and keyboard and inward dancing thing going, I feel like they are best enjoyed in badly lit indoor club. I did miss half the performance, but the consensus at the show was 'ehhh', when it should have been 'yeah'. Right band, wrong place.

It was strange because right after Metric ended, I realized that I was at a show nearing the end of a long day, and somehow, I had managed to move up pretty close to the front of the stage. Fantastic! I'm not moving. Sammy had caught up to me at that point, and I was afraid the other two were going to be M.I.A. the whole show. Sammy started taking pictures of me with his Canon Powershot, (the guy's a gadget fiend, you should see his cell phone). I thought he was taking vids of me, but it turned out he was surreptiously filming the cute girl behind me. Perv. We also made friends with this large guy behind us, but he started to scare me, so we moved over a little bit. We were like six rows back of the stage!

Then came the organizers of the night, Broken Social Scene. For those of you who haven't seen them live, (maybe you decided 'free concert'? I'll wait til they charge a bunch of money), they rocked. There was a lot of chatter, as between each song like fifteen people had to change instruments. I gotta say though, they seemed to having a rully happenin' time, there was always someone new to watch, and the sheer size of the band, like the giant horn section, never seemed superfluous. Their two greatest songs were BY FAR the rollicking Almost Crimes and the ethereal Anthem for a Seventeen Year Old Girl, which featured the returning Emily Haines, who was now wearing a red t-shirt, and finally seemed to be in the right place. I gotta say about Broken Social Scene though...their greatest strength is also their greatest weakness. They sound good, really good for such a swelled band, (I counted only one false start, and one weak microphone), and their songs are generally upbeat and easy to sing along to, even if you don't know the words. Problem is...with fifteen or so people jamming on stage, a bunch more watching from the side, (I saw family members, friends, and those without a part in the current song), and it just seemed like the audience was crashing someone else's party.

But wait, there's more!

The Good Times are Thrilling me

Modest Mouse was fantastic! Way to go second choice!

We'll always have standby.

Pics to follow...

Urban Cookie Collective

My birthday represented a turning point in my life. After fighting it for so long, I stopped trying to separate my friends for so long, I have decided to bring them all together into one giant mish-mash to see what happens.

The results, it appears, have been overwhelmingly positive, as evidenced by Tuesday's menage, and further by yesterday's melange. This is an actual E-mail received by an actual person. If he had a blog of his own, I would let him post this, but, c'est la vie:

i had the strangest dream

your friend passed out, lost her cigarettes, i found them, and jack
left his helmet here...

oh. that happened.

Unlike the Liza post, I have no snarky comments to add.

What began as a quiet night of trivia and basketball became a watershed night of fun. Chas Traps and Terminal Rabu, (along with support from silent partner Rohab Dales), to finally go into business together, (this corroborates with my father telling me to start putting ads on this site, as if my seven readers would somehow give me enough money to pay for Grad School, but I digress...) Mike has always been my #1 comedy supporter, (kind of like an athletic supporter, but less itchy), since Day Numero Uno, and if bits about terrorists flying planes into the World Trade Centre because they were pissed off that their copy of Mike Tyson's Punch-Out! didn't allow them to skip past the incredibly long opening of Little Mac training in New York City don't do it, we can always construct some sort of internet pyramid scheme. Everybody loves those.

So as a I hinted at before, last night brought together Marc Rabu, who has undergone the 'whole new style' relationship overhaul, and I gotta say that he is looking 'So Good', (where's my teen girl squad to dress me?) Allen and Erik seemed to resolve their stalemate for one night, Jack was his usual Jack self, which included a wonderful phone conversation which I don't dare repeat, Sevvy scared us all on the ledge, but seems to be doing much better. Kaspar is not only a friendly ghost, but a friendly stud as well, and I was more than happy to take it all in with my new (York) kicks. But no more jokes about flirting with the Gabby's waitresses! If Mike's undercooked chicken fingers lawsuit comes to fruition, the new resto-bar, Grabby's, will incorporate the best of all worlds, and supplant the soon to be gentrified Brunny as Toronto's number one institution, (sorry A Es Pi and Phi).

Our new place is going to incorporate the big ass patio that I love about the King Street Gabby's, the cheap food, bizarre waitress behavior and trivia billiards from the Ferret and virgin, (though the trivia peeps can fall into a bottomless pit at a moment's notice). It will also feature the cranking' jukebox of the stem's, (though no Lutz will be admitted ever), the 'forgetfulness' of The Green Room, something or other from the Labyrinth Lounge, I Dunne, maybe the ticks torches? Grabby's will also incorporate the porn from O'Grady's, the narrowness of the Flatiron and virgin, the wandering old dude from the Sports Cafe who kept ashing in my poutine, oh and let's not forget Carly, the girl from my Poli Sci class who just seems to wander from bar to bar talking on her cell phone, occasionally staring at people. I'm still getting to know Supermarket, and of course, the Rail would have to be well represented as well. Grabby's will definitely feature a nursery for my birthday stripper's three kids, (and remember folks, she's thirteen days younger than me!)

All in all, it will make for one fantastic mixer, at least until the sassy new Brunny reopens. Hey, I wonder where D.J. Heavy is right now. How is it possible that both he and Cecil Fielder have gone missing. Did the earth swallow them both whole? Could anybody other than Springer Top Dog even accomplish that?

Oh, and let's not forget about my beloved Dance Cave. The next Terminal Rabu, Chas Traps, Rohab Dales project is to invent some sort of time machine that will take us back to a time when we could show up at the DC at 1:57, not have to wait in line at the ridiculous red door, and that cute coat check girl will be there reading her Timothy Findley. And of course, Conor and I would resume our Rules of Attraction like dancing. Good times. Though I might install dimmers that would allow you to see what the other people in the place looked like under natural light. On second thought, maybe not.

Grabby's would certainly be 'the spot' until the too cool for school crowd would show up, and try to give me cut eye from every conceivable angle.

What's the deal with going out of your way to give someone a mean look? As Lisa Simpson once queried: Why would they go to our concert just to boo us?

Trivia Quiz

What was the name of Urban Cookie Collective's one smash hit, as featured on Dance Mix '94? Winner receives, appropriately, a well-worn yet still bumpin' copy of Dance Mix '94.

Good news, Misha. Your Tico Torres CD will arrive at any second, personally delivered by TT himself. The rest of you, get cracking!

Come and knock on our door

Okay, so the kisses weren't exactly hers and hers and his, but I've still never more enjoyed being the odd man out. There were no games.

New York Me

I'm back, I'm back, Mr. Garrison is back!

That 'returning to where you live for the first time in a long time' really is exciting, isn't it? I wanted to capture the giddiness that I feel right now, and after cranking the very best of The Smiths, I realize that my trip can best be summed up in three words: Bernie Williams' hand.

How's that for a teaser?

Oh, and the first thing I did when I got back is turn on the Jays game. I forgot we had a team. I wish I could have been at the game tonight, Mike. I hope that MC Shan isn't upset that they lost and he's right now hiding under the seat. And I hope that my two friends 'meeting for drinks' are having an awesome time. Also, it's really really hot out.

You mean the city doesn't shut down without me? What a letdown!

I heart TO

S Club Four (in Toronto)

To Sammy: You truly are the bigger man. You make my silly words into mere trifles.

To Seppy: You are a brave man for doing what you did.

To Sara: Our asides can fill an enitre blog by itself. Are you sure we've never met?

To Sevvy: You are muse-ic to my ears.

Remember, my first and last names both end with 's'. That is where I end and you begin to inspire me.

Hey, I'm going to graduate today*

I swear to God, this project completely consumed me during the end of the second year, (aka the few days before I passed out on the sidewalk). As I remember, it was going to be an all girl production, (due a lack of upstanding men at U of T), and the grand moneymaking scheme was to film a U of T women's basketball game, not to titillate, but to show an actual game for like forty minutes in order to publicize the team. If not quite a porno, this would have made a great U of T recruitment film. Only after that, would we have the shower scenes set to Kurtis Blow's seminal song "Basketball", (later to be covered by Lil..whoops, I mean Bow Wow, which I think was his last hit song). Of course, we wanted the women's basketball team, and not, I repeat not, the rugby team.

The idea fell through, I think because this was during the heights of ShareScan, when any file was available from any computer at U of T. This was further inflamed by the fact that the Sir Dan's girl who used to wear tiny skirts had a supposed porno of her downloaded a whole bunch of time, when in reality it was just a blurry conversation she had with some guys. Or was it?

So without further Ajew, here's the climax of the Room 37 opus, entitled:

Con(sensual)Hall

Girl 1: Do you graduate Cum Laude?

Girl 2: No, my courses weren't all that satisfying.

Girl 1:Well then...I'll have to make you Cum Laude.
And when it's time for commencement, you'll be plenty
satisfied.

(Cue Bow Chinga Bow music).


Brilliant. And hey, if Lindsay Lohan keeps heading in the same direction, (how blatantly sexual is that Herbie, "I want to come first" song), she could return to the same place she filmed the mathlete scenes from Mean Girls, and make the sequel, where Cady goes to college and falls in with a different sort of crowd, and it could be called Keen Girls. The soundtrack could be taped at Einstein's and feature perpetual student A-Wald on guitar, and feature Slarky Mark on bongos. The closing song could be the Andrij song for some reason. Plus, copies could be placed in the Frosh Kits free of charge, or sold at the new and improved FUNG. It could be used to scoop up the pre-fab potatoes from the Shepherd's Pie.

*The title post is sung to the tune of "You've Got to Hide your Love Away". Yes, I'm putting it all out there.

Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather

Funny thing, life.

After writing that weather is here, wish you were beautiful post, I got caught in the torrential downpour that took place for about an hour yesterday, and I returned home completely soaked through. Couple that with the beach on Sunday, and my fancy schmancy metro shoes that I bought a year ago are now toast. That's okay, in true metro fashion, I'll probably buy another pair soon. Rather than orange and blue, this time I'm thinking...green and yellow. Yeah, that's the ticket!

I'm sure that it can't beat today's shopping spree. I spent at least two hours at His Master's Voice, (things that make you go HMV), and septn 4/5 of my graduation bling. The compilation of bands performing on some British TV show rocked sufficently hard, (the guy from Electric Six posing was probably the highlight), but of course, it featured a Cure performance. And I gotta say that Robert Smith is looking OLD. That make-up thing isn't really working for him anymore.

Favorite Cure Song: Boys Don't Cry

Mood: Altering.

I also picked up the soundtrack to the Ziggy Stardust concert I raved about seeing in Montreal, (on TV of course), some imported Very Best of the Smiths, which featured all the songs on the other one, but in a cool order, and Operation Ivy (Sound! System!), for a ridiculous 25 bucks. I think that all my four purchases remind me of the Dance Cave, but whatever you do, don't tell anyone.

I had an intense session with Jane, my career counselor today, which has come to really mean business for me. She got me making a scrapbook, (followed by finger painting), and I have become sort of obsessed with it.

I made a Concerta-ed effort to stop taking my meds. I'm not sure for how long, but at least indefinitely.

In a completely unrelated story, I gotta get out from my old bad habit, sending angry / nonsensical / passive agressive e-mails. Just walk away, Chas Traps, just walk away. I used to think that they were med inspired, but what's meds got to do with it?

I'm gonna graduate tomorrow. Lest we froget, the last scene of my U of T set porn is set at convocation. I'll post it in two secs.

And then on Friday, NYC baby! I'm gonna try an experiment where I keep detailed notes, and attempt to capture my experiences in blog form. This was the plan, DM.

Hey, it's better than livejournaling, eh?

Oh, how it shines

Minutia by minutia: Because I can.

Fantasy baseball pick-ups of the day: Preston Wilson and Huston Street. Yes, I have decided that I like strikeout pitchers and home run hitting outfielders.

Weather conditions: Still very good. Kind of muggy. What's with the mug all of a sudden?

Graduation tickets: Picked up. May 28th deadline, my ass.

Online personality tests taken: So far just the Myers-Briggs two weeks ago. I want to take one more today. Details to follow.

Trip to New York: The plane tickets have been booked! The 'hotel' has been reserved, and the Yankees/Cubs ticks are still waiting for us. Conan O'Brien is still up in the air.

Trinity College Library: Open, but only for another couple of minutes.

Mood: Stable. No more yelling into cell phones...anymore.

Favorite Cure Song: I gotta go with the either Lovecats or Lovesong, but Richard has told me that there's this synth pop song I gotta hear.

White Light: White Heat

When it shines...

Where else other than in Canada can anyone possibly complain about the gorgeous weather outside?

For that matter, how can anyone be in any sort of mood other than chipper, (who, ironically, is injured for 4 to 6 weeks).

Why does anybody need to yell at anyone else over the phone and make faces on the night bus?

What can be finer than going to see the Yankees, (shame it wasn't the 49ers, as then the rhyme would have worked)?

Who loves the sun, you ask? I do!

24/7

After my posts have become increasingly random, I decided to write this one in the afternoon. The reason for this is that I used to blog only at school computers or at some ungodly hour of the night, after I have returned home from a long night of drinking. Since I no longer have unfettered access to school computers, (my access is now fettered), I was left with only one option.

Until today. Since I am now an old man of 24, (which I turned yesterday, on the 7th), I realize that the night time is not always the right time.

Thus, the subject of this post, my birthday, could have been written last night, but it would have been an erratic mess. So I am glad for a day's reprieve.

This is what I have to say about my birthday, and is something that I never thought I would say. The night was pretty much how I expected it to be --- and I loved it.

The hardcores that I thought would show up and be hardcore - did just that. The softies, who I imagined would come and be softies, again fit the bill. The no-shows were completely expected to be no-shows, the dynamic was pretty much how I expected the dynamic to be. The letdown came very early, (for a time, it was quiet), and the nexxis coincided with my most drunken.

I cannot express how much it warms me that my friends and acquaints came through.

The collection of peeps actually gelled, (for the most part), the Rail was not unexpectedly Twilight Zoney, Gabby's front patio did what it was supposed to, and Rohab Dales played a convincing Joshua.

And I got suitably trashed, but not disgustingly so, i.e. no shotgunning Jack Daniels or leaving my key in the front door. Plus, I particularly tickled by ZZ Topesque beards, Enrique Iglesias looking man blouses, calls from long lost Erics and non-calls from girlfriends past, (they knew it was yesterday).

Kaspar made a lot of sense of the walk home, and even though he woke me up this morning, (from the GUEST bed, not from mine), he made sure that I didn't pace the entire night. Though I did wake up with my perpindicular to my bed. So that was weird. Also, I can't wait to enjoy a lovely breakfast of Mark McGwire beef flakes.

Mmmmm....beef flakes.

Oh, and an aside to my two agent / managers, you will make your ten percent and then some this year. I'm hitting the circuit, and hitting a circuit.

It's up to me, Chas Traps, Chas Traps

I am finally able to release myself from my shadow, as the Jungians would term it. Oh shit! If by identifying my shadow, does that mean that I am not releasing myself from its firm hold, but rather letting itself create a larger shadow?

Either way, I talked smack allll night, and finally realized that I don't need to keep allll my true feelings inside, and can honestly say what it it is that I need to say.

What do I want to say? Well, for starters, Auberge Du Pommier is a fine restaurant, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly, but so is the Vesta Lunch. See, I can go from the height of haughtiness to the depths of haughtiness and still enjoy myself. I wonder if wherever I am, I can make myself comfortable...if need be.

OOOOOOHHHHH BOOOOYYYYY, the career counseling and the self-medication are coming back around again. At the risk of sounding like a Nas song, I know I can, and what is it that I want to be? Other than rich and famous?

Vocation, all I ever wanted. Vocation, had to get away.

The Karaoke machine in the basement was gold, Jerry, gold. I was complimented on my Karaoke skills by ex-Northernites. In fact, I think I became a Karoke Macheeeeen myself tonight. Plus, Sam was understanding, Sev D looked delicious, Parmida was rockin' the party, and Manny found a picture of the Reggae Rabbi - but then I linked myself to the motorcycle driver's computer.

Two, count em two BBQs in the beaches tomorrow. Luckily, I can stagger them. The first one is a Jung recruitment bash, so at least I don't have to worry about being a trickster, because that's what they'll expect from me. Shame that the guy can't seem to find the meat equivalent of veggie burgers - dude, they're called hamburgers!

The second one is at the Baron's Munchhausen. Hopefully, his promise of a Two Four of something will turn out to be BEER and I can celebrate my 24th in style.

That's right bitches. Chas Traps is 3 short of 24.

21. Black John.

That's Jack.

You're a good man Jack, buy yourself something frilly.

Wick-ed!

Celebrate good times, C'mon!

Now that Reza is finally able to say "Not guilty, y'all got to feel me", after a long uncertainty period, (been there, done that!), we decided to celebrate at an undisclosed location. Of course, this is just a rehearsal for my BIRTHDAY BASH on June 7th, but regardless, Reza always inspires a good post, or at least some bitterness to rise up within me.

So after entertaining the staff of the GAP with my witty banter, and picking up a pretty kickin' pastel shirt in the process, (Rich told me that I now look like one of the Growing up Gotti kids, I just need to put some shit in my hair), I took a brief break at home and then headed out to one of my favorite corners: Yonge and St. Clair. It is sort of like a southern Yonge and Eligible.

All that I can say about tonight is that it was super random. After trying to charm our way up into Scalliwag's patio, (and failing miserably), we entertained the idea of going to The Fox and Fiddle, (the site of Saturday's madness), and then of walking down to the Rosedale Firkin. Firk it, I thought to myself, I've got a much better idea: The Sports Cafe.

For those who have never been, oh boy, you've missed out on some madness. Nowadays, Sports Bars, underline, capital, are pretty incongruous, save for perhaps, Wayne's Gretzky's. They are pretty friendly, family oriented places, where you can get a salad or a quesadilla, and basically ignore the game if you see fit. But the Sports Cafe, from the moment you walk in, you know it's a Sports Bar. Why? Because the door handles are actually gold-plated baseball bats. wait, it gets better. The menu is a basketball. Want more? Okay. We sat on the patio, which was separate from the rest of the bar, and we were still able to catch the action of the basketball game, and unlike, say the Firkins, the sound of the game was also pumped outside, (although immediately after the game ended, Shaq's grunting became oppresively bad music, which makes sense if you think about it).

Oh yeah, the food here also posseses charming sports nicknames, though the '98 World Cup French Bread sandwich looked kind of ominous. Still, we pressed on, and seeing as I had noshed earlier, I hoped the Pro Bowl poutine would live up to my lowered expectations. Reza ordered the Two Minutes for Elbo wings, and I realized that there are some puns that even I wouldn't resort to. Our waiter was clean cut and very friendly, but there was another waiter who was the absolute contrast - he kept either trying to take my 'footstool' chair away, or grab our unfinished beers - most of the time he just kept watch and scowled at us - prick. we called them 'good cop' and 'bad cop' and marveled at how two waiters could be so different from each other.

Reza and I dug into our pitcher of Keats and began to take in the strangeness of the scene. Besides the basketball game, there were five other TVs playing everything The Yankees-Royals game, Wrestling, and old school Jack Morris highlights. Also, the tables immediately surrounding us featured such odd patron combinations that it didn't make sense. A wheezing old dude was surrounded by young looking almostbabes, a few young douchebag guys, and skateboarding kid. Wha? On the other side was a pre-Tonic crowd, who every time either Reza or I would go to the bathroom, would steal our chairs, and then give us really mean looks when we tried to take them back. Sigh!

The wheezy old man kept saying fantastic things that got everyone around him laughing, the Tonic table kept trying to draw attention to their skirt-clad asses, or bare chested-clad Celtics jerseys, (and neat tattoos!), while another table arrived consisting of cute little thug guys sharing an Ipod, trying to pick up the not-so-cute waitress with really cheesy lines, (where are you from?), and then talking too loud about how they beat someone up in a club bathroom. Meanwhile, our food was taking forever, and good cop waiter kept apologizing by saying that there were two ginat tables inside...okay.

I started getting drunker and drunker, as I was somehow trying to understand why Nick Flanagan made the cover of Eye magazine. Finally, our food arrived, and in the surprise of the evening - it was good. Actually, it was really good. My Pro Bowl poutine was one of the best I've tried out of Quebec, and I did my best to finish the whole thing - and succeeded. For those who have ever eaten with me know that I take about an hour to finish a meal, and today was no exception, as the fries had long since gone cold when I had finished them, but they were still A-OK. Reza was suitably impressed by his meaty wings, and then Good Cop told us that there were three buck drink specials - three bucks for a beer! No wonder everybody was drinking out of a beer keg cup except for us. Sadly, we could only finish one drink a piece, as I am sure that Bad Cop must have drugged us. It is now two hours after I got home - and we were deeerunk.

To top it all, I saw my brother's formerly good friend Paul, who has turned into a bit of a yo guy himself. Oh, and he's eighteen. I had a strange encounter with the door sized bouncer after I stumbled to the bank to get cash. He saw me approached the bar, and I gave him a nervous smile as I didn't want to go through the formalities of getting I.D.'d. He gave me one of the scariest 'can I see your license' growls I've ever heard, stopped, squinted, realized he recognized me and waved me back through - all in the span of ten seconds. Weird.

I'll let Reza over on his site tell the story of his 'tribunal', but in the meantime, I invite all of my seven readers, if I haven't already, to my BIRTHDAY BASH next Tuesday, June 7th, at Gabby's on Avenue and Bloor at 8. I kind of want to go back to the Sports Cafe, but I'll more than likely se some of the patrons or reasonable facsimiles at birthday stop number two. I just hope I don't run into the woman at the next table, who, upon interuppting my conversation with Good Cop, said, and I quote, "I'm sorry, I thought you weren't saying anything important". Ahhh, I'm glad I decided to move away from the U of T scene.