Today lent itself very nicely to a series of lessons. I thought I should share.
1. Girls. If a small group of girls ever starts bickering amongst themselves over which one is the most sexual, don't chime in. They'll say things like "Oh, all the guys want to plow you in the ass" and whichever girl happens to be the target of said ass-plowing will squeal and look disgusted. It will be hot. The argument will rage onwards and you'll get to hear all kinds of claims, back and forth, about past experiences which prove that one girl happens to be the group slut. No definitive group slut will be chosen, however.
Lesson learned: if girls are talking about getting plowed in the ass in front of you, it means that none of them are thinking that you might be the one to plow them in the future. Which is alright, as coyness and feigned virginal attitudes get old really fast. Girl-talk about ass plowing, on the other hand, is extremely entertaining.
2. Laundry. When I throw clothes in the washing machine, I sometimes revisit the days/nights that I spent wearing them. I see stains and briefly, ever so momentarily, recall precisely how they marred the fabric. Spilled drinks, impromptu rolls down a grassy hill... I get splashes of the past when I clean my clothes.
Lesson learned: Do laundry more often.
3. The writer and I. Here's my latest column - Jackass Parables For Newer WLUers - for those of you without on-campus stickyfingers and no access to the Frosh Cord Mailer.
The column is meh. However, it got me thinking about the writer's voice and the way the writer can hide themselves behind their sentences or push directly through into the reader's mind. Writing passively ("The donkey was found dead, its stomach chock-full of squirrel corpses and chalky Valentine's Day heart candies.") is far less invasive - you can tell a story without too much connection between writer and reader. Writing actively ("I saw the donkey and all I could think was holy shit, that's a sexy donkey!... but it's dead. Is that a problem? Hmmm...") showcases the author's mindstate and opinions much more vividly. It pushes the writer's personality off the page and into the reader's consciousness. It becomes less of a read and more of a dialogue, a direct link to narrative.
Lesson learned: I think I need to start detaching myself from my writing again - I think that perhaps I try to force too much of myself into columns and such, and it impedes any ability to make a point or tell a story. It almost comes across as selfish, now that I think about it - I, I, I, I, I think, I want, I know. I, I, I. This is all subjective, and perhaps other people interpret different writing styles in a way that completely opposes my viewpoint, but it's something to think about anyways - for those who like to write. Which is most of you.
Third person would be kind of fun: "This author humbly wishes the reader to consider the fact that the blog post they are currently reading is now concluded, and they can direct their attentions elsewhere. This author also recommends the buffalo fingers. He finds them to be delicious and saucy."
Posted by Chris at 05:27 PM >> Commentations (9) | Permalink
June 28, 2005 >> sXe
She laced her perfume up with death
I feel it in my lungs
So I'll pull in my deepest breath and
Drop my head
Lately I've become somewhat fascinated with the Straightedge - or sXe - subculture, not because I want to join (God no!) but because it's a revolution built on deprivation, not excess. To me this seems odd: counterculture youth are rebuilding the conservative moral compass that the hippies raged against in the 60s and 70s. Abstinence. It's what's for dinner and breakfast and midnight snack.
The foundations of straightedge philosophy were built by subsects of the 80s hardcore movement. Minor Threat is widely percieved as sXe's grandpappy, and one day the band kindly offered some advice to the demented kids thrashing around in their mosh pit: "Don't Drink, Don't Smoke, Don't Fuck."
The kids were all like "aight", and eventually the X's that adorn underagers' hands at the bar became a symbol for personal restraint. One X for not drinking. One X for not smoking. One X for not banging. A fourth, invisible, X for not eating animals and sometimes you aren't allowed to eat eggs or yogurt either, depending on how hardcore you feel that day. If you get sXe or XXX or straightedge tattooed on your body, it is commonly believed that you will stop being Straightedge not long after and your tattoo will remind you of your asinine hypocrisy and hollow dedication forever and ever. So don't get an sXe tattoo, basically, or you'll be addicted to crack before you know it.
What do I think of these shenannigans? Well, frankly, it seems a bit ridiculous to build a rigidly structured subculture around not doing something (or several things, as the case happens to be). I understand and respect the desire to be "Poison Free" and the need for others' support in this matter, but Straightedge seems to be the converse equivilant of the peer pressure bullshit that we all saw out in the Smoking Pit in high school. Purity is imposed in the same way that impurity is pushed by the "popular kids", and the whole dealie quite honestly reminds me of those medieval religious sects where monks would whip themselves and starve and never get laid in the interests of moral superiority. It didn't seem to be very productive then, and I don't know if things are any different now.
Being Straightedge seems to involve an intense compartmentalization of identity: "You're either with us, eating tofu, or against us with your filthy barbeques." This mentality usually leads to a great deal of discrimination and hipster elitism and snobbiness, which nobody likes. If you ask me, Straightedge sacrifices the personal vestment involved in actively choosing not to engage yourself with certain sassy pastimes. Instead, you get membership in a blatantly un-secret society, complete with magic X logos and group regulation through the power of contempt. You get to mosh at hardcore shows without getting your ass kicked for lighting a smoke. Yay. Nothing like homogenized acceptance to make a better person of yourself!
It's also hilarious that the Straightedge acronym (or whatever) is sXe, which can easily be rearranged to read seX. I do it without even thinking. Most people who are not In The Know probably look at sXe kids and think "Well, that's sweet that this little punk rocker loves sex so much, but tragically retarded that he spelt it incorrectly on his forearm."
Anyways, preach as you will but I think life is for the living and poisons belong in the blood. It's what they do! It's their job! You wouldn't want to put poor Mr. Cold Beer and Mrs. Ganja and Professor One-Night-Stand and Corporal Steakums out of business, would you? WOULD YOU??
Posted by Chris at 02:20 PM >> Commentations (7) | Permalink
June 27, 2005 >> Morality lesson
In a rare bout of impulsive roguism, I shoplifted two candy bars and a bag of chips at Canada's Wonderland. I am not generally a stealer per se - I am not poor or starving and lifting shit is usually more trouble than it's worth. Most convenience store clerks keep a shotgun or a pistol above the counter, behind the bountiful displays of cigarette death. They get bored and like to shoot. Therefore it is often wise to avoid thieving their goods.
That said, I nonetheless thieved as I left the store - I didn't plan to and I'm not sure I even meant to, but sticky fingers and big pockets and adequate distractions were all in place. I felt elated and somewhat ridiculous as I stepped into the boiling sun, illicit snacks in hand. I hadn't shoplifted since high school.
[Tangent: Petty Theft. I don't recommend such activities (you'll see why in a minute) but if you're going to rip something off, it's better to punish yourself than have someone else punish you. This involves not getting caught. Getting caught sucks, and sometimes you get shot. Basically the key aspect of shoplifting victory is impulse. Don't plan, because then you look shifty as you idly flip through magazines or porn or whatever and wait for your opportunity. If you stall, you're being watched - even if you don't think so. Go about your business, look like you have to be somewhere. Don't force it. Don't care about taking something, don't consider it, just do it before your mind has a chance to catch up with your filthy thieving fingers. The mind is a slut and will betray you any chance it gets.]
So anyways, I didn't even really want the stuff I had taken, but there it was: two O Henry bars and some Baked Lays. It appears that I only steal things with bright yellow packaging. My enthusiasm for the catch faded quickly.
And as the sun glared down at me, I could only think "Oh shit, the divinities are really gonna be pissed about this one." For, you see, even if I don't really know Who or What God is, I still believe that there's a Benevolence out there who disapproves mightily of such crimes as that which I had recently and joyfully committed. I didn't even have a need! No justification. I was royally fucked. Oh yes.
Back in the Park (Wonderland, remember?), things predictably went sour. I was searched vigorously by a policeman and his overenthusiastic metal detector for many minutes. Then I lost all of my cigarettes and our locker key on the Spongebob Squarepants 3D ride. Then I was beset by a debilitating stomachache of the most painful persuasion. All the while, a spiritually judgmental sun beat down on my lily-white shoulders and fried them to a bacon-y crispness, bypassing the laughable resistance of SPF 45 sunblock. I knew, I KNEW that someone up there was dropping me on my head for a reason - a valuable moral lesson always needs to be learnt by the end of the day/episode. Nonetheless, I had had quite enough of the Punishment for my liking.
Chad and Jen agreed and we abandoned Wonderland to the teenaged tarts, of which there are a plethora during the hot summer days: all dressed down and ready to fuck in the wave pool. We also saw a large number of completely shitty and unoriginal tattoos, but perhaps that's a rant for another time.
Back home, I ate the last stolen candy bar in one final act of defiance. It was melty and sticky and a large portion of it fell on my keyboard. The rest mostly went into my beard.
I cursed the skies but secretly knew that I had it coming. I had asked for a beatdown, and the skies delivered in spades. My moral compass might be a little skewed, but it comforts/irks me to know that I'll always have God/Buddha/Doctor Zen/The Great Balance of Things to keep me straight.
Posted by Chris at 02:54 PM >> Commentations (6) | Permalink
June 24, 2005 >> Bathhouse Politics
After a few months of working for WLUSU, I finally think I'm starting to get a clue, some insight into the organization's overwhelming popularity here at Wilfrid Laurier.
The grand attraction? Sluttiness. Drunken, unabashed, extra-drunken sluttiness. Guys and girls. Slut is a term that can be applied equally across the gender barrier, liberally and playfully. Everyone's a slut here. Everyone's a lush. If you aren't a slut or a lush, you've at least thought about it. You're curious. Peer pressure intrigues you. You can't really disapprove too much.
I've heard and seen a lot, but I'm not even close to grasping the enormity of the whole shebang. Coordinators gleefully plan hook-ups between their execs, or with their execs. VPs are criminal masterminds of the highest order. I don't know about general volunteers, but the upper circles of the hierarchy are sexily devious. Make out for O-Week money. Make out for Shinerama! Make out for... yeah. Just do it, okay? The only consequence to pay is having your name grind through the giggly rumour mill for a couple days.
Take all of this with a grain of salt - WLUSU isn't quite the sordid pit of debauchery that I'm painting - but it's close, man. It's fucking close. They've built a shadow order behind the volunteerism bullshit, a Roman bathhouse society of free love. I'm seriously impressed here. I knew there had to be some reason why a person would spend half their week ordering naive kids to walk drunks home from the bar, and why the kids would actually listen.
THEY WANT TO FUCK LIKE INTOXICATED BUNNIES.
Posted by Chris at 01:44 PM >> Commentations (5) | Permalink
June 23, 2005 >> God in 60 Questions
I snagged this quiz from Mandy's blog: it's a little broader in perspective and plus you can be a self-centred devil-worshipper like Mandy!
Speaking of which, I'm apparently more Satanist than Christian. I'm sure my parents would be very proud. Thank you, internet quiz.
 | You scored as agnosticism. You are an agnostic. Though it is generally taken that agnostics neither believe nor disbelieve in God, it is possible to be a theist or atheist in addition to an agnostic. Agnostics don't believe it is possible to prove the existence of God (nor lack thereof).
Agnosticism is a philosophy that God's existence cannot be proven. Some say it is possible to be agnostic and follow a religion; however, one cannot be a devout believer if he or she does not truly believe.
Which religion is the right one for you? (new version) created with QuizFarm.com |
"One cannot be a devout believer if he or she does not truly believe." How marvelously profound!
Posted by Chris at 07:39 PM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
>> hatelove
The percentages drop to zero but I don't care. This bed is made for emptiness and the Light smiles on echoes of restraint.
Just set me on fire, please, before the match drops on its own.
Posted by Chris at 04:46 PM | Permalink
June 21, 2005 >> Free Speech & All That
A few weeks ago, I read about Chinese government censorship of citizen bloggers and was rather filthified - I mean, the great thing about this whole blogging thing is that we get to complain incessantly. If you can't bitch about how retarded your government happens to be, then what's the point? I wanted to read Chinese complaining, dammit, and I wanted it NOW! (THEN!)
I'm no kind of activist, but Slashdot turned me onto this AdoptaBlog project: basically, Chinese blogs get hosted by "free" folk around the world and censorship gets kicked in the ass...or something. I don't really know what kind of crazy Chinese ma would want to be associated with Clemensonline, but here ya go. My house is yours.
And, oh shit, look at this cool little graphic I get!
Reflection: the graphic is not very cool.
Posted by Chris at 07:02 PM >> Commentations (5) | Permalink
June 20, 2005 >> Reflectionatoire
Holy hurtsacks, I'm whiny! Whine whine whine all day long, whine whine whine while I whine this whine. I challenge the best of you to slap me around a little. No metal objects.
Posted by Chris at 06:17 PM >> Commentations (6) | Permalink
June 19, 2005 >> I'm a judgmental dick, I know.
So maybe I'm feeling a wee bit cynical (spending the weekend alone with a parade of movies can do that), but my MSN list begs the question: "Do people with no personality ever wish that they had one?"
Rows upon rows of names giggling about inside jokes, cell phone numbers, inane pop-music references ("Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?") and OmG lAsT nIgHt wUz iNsAne!!! (JAMIE MESSAGE ME AS SOON AS YOU LOG ON!!!). Names packed with icons and ROFL acronyms and fodder of the lowest degree. I mean, it's fine and all, we don't all have to be On all the time - lord knows I'm not - but can we please mix it up occasionally?
I'm definitely pretentious to the highest degree when I start demanding some degree of introspection from people's MSN handles, but it suddenly struck me that maybe they don't know that they look stupid and boring. Poetics and subtlety are a rare find on my list: I admire tactile innovation, something ANYTHING original. Talk about your life, by all means, but do it in a way that's unique to your personality (please God don't let this be your personality already). Find yourself a voice. English is a fucking immense&diverse language, and there's really no reason why everyone has to ply it with alternating capital letters and the same TV references and nerdy-turned-trendy web slang. Show us something new! Something you. I know you can do better than this.
And if something you is indeed this mishmash of embarassing pseudo-language and recycled extroversion, then I need to know: do you ever wish that you had a personality of your very own? Do you lie awake at night hoping beyond all hope that You will shine through the shopping-mall masses of Everybody? Do you even care?
Because you should.
Posted by Chris at 02:24 PM >> Commentations (3) | Permalink
June 18, 2005 >> Cop-out Notext
I found it very amusing that I took a quiz on theology while stoned.
 | You scored as Emergent/Postmodern. You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this.
What's your theological worldview? created with QuizFarm.com |
Posted by Chris at 02:43 AM >> Commentations (5) | Permalink
June 16, 2005 >> Breath of Sunshine
It's nice to know that other people are battling at the bottom too (thanks Shinerama Nicole - you and me both know that you didn't steal $300 from the register). Victory through solidarity!
In plus news, the Leftovers image gallery is up, featuring an unprecedented 173 pictures. Holy shit! Hope you guys have high speed connections...
Posted by Chris at 06:17 PM >> Commentations (4) | Permalink
>> Hurrying the wheel
It's been a sketchy couple of days, loaded to the brim with Bad Luck Bears that have me convinced that I am once again at the bottom.
You see, luck - like most everything - is cyclical. It's a wheel.
When I was a kid, I used to have this dream about an immense spoked wheel floating, slowly turning, against the backdrop of an infinite space. The highest point of the wheel was a veritable paradise: drenched in light and the overwhelming joys of life, the bounties of nature and love and all that good stuff flowing endlessly over the rim and down into the spokes below. Tiny figures dotted the apex, rejoicing in their good fortune. But the wheel was constantly turning and, before long, perfection rotated clockwise, downwards, and slowly lost its lustre as a new section of the wheel rose to glorious summit. Greens turned grey as inevitable decline twisted former flawlessness. At the nadir of the cycle, where everything was black and broken - an antithesis hell to the zenith's heaven - tiny people clung desperately to the spokes and dangled into the abyss below. The weak ones slipped or let go and fell, screaming, into nothingness. The strong held on until eventually, painstakingly, they were drawn by the wheel's perpetual motion back up into good fortunes. The cyclical motion never ended: this is luck.
The whole perspective is a little bittersweet. When you're at the bottom of the wheel, you gain strength in knowing that the next step is ascension. But when you're at the top, the forthcoming decline back into bad luck is inevitable and clouds your victories. It's a pessimist-optimist paradox; a rollercoaster ride that never ends. But it works.
And so, when I tell you that I spent all last night throwing up (I NEVER throw up) and spilling grape juice all over my desk, and then this morning finding some kind of crazy bumpy rash all over my beautiful soft feminine hands, you'll know why I'm thinking about the wheel. When I'm suddenly preoccupied with the shortcomings of this webpage (I really wish people could link to individual posts, for example - why the fuck doesn't it work??), and contemplation turns into actual worry, I know I'm not in a very good place. When I have actual deadlines here at work... well, you get the picture. If you know me at all, you can tell by my tone that I'm frustrated. This might not seem like much to you, but my heart has bottomed out.
I'm ready to move back up now, please. And yes, realizing that I'm at the bottom is usually enough to start the upwards journey once again. If you're currently enjoying good fortunes at the top, I'm sorry about this but I'm going to have to speed things along. It's a little perk of the ideology, you know: hurrying the wheel.
Posted by Chris at 12:04 PM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
June 14, 2005 >> Abandon Hope, Ye Who Enter
The well is deep and enterprise scrabbles down its slimy stone walls.
It's been a while since I played with the site outside of this bloggity page, so I'm working on some new stuff - galleries and the like. Right now my mind is a blank slate and the only thing I'm good for is menial labour (like running repetitious Actions in Photoshop). I am an automaton enslaved by the clicking of wireless mice. I am the poster child for paint-chip buffets.
I know that you don't care and this isn't what you came to read, but I'm caught between the twin peaks of indifference and routine. When you get right down to it, I'd rather post about nothing than not post at all. Sometimes it's vice versa, and the blank spaces in the calendar form the gaping jaws of words not written, idle thoughts unexpressed and left to wither. Just be glad that I didn't give you a 30-point itinerary of my day. Rejoice in my lethargy.
You'll be lucky if you make it out alive.
Posted by Chris at 05:14 PM >> Commentations (4) | Permalink
June 13, 2005 >> Randomizer
So Admiral Dan over at the Whinerack has tagged me with some music jumbly, which is the blog equivilent of Peekaboo, I See J00! It's several steps above such 'riveting' online quizzes as omg whhich napoleen dinomite quote r u i am the liger one lol!, so I'll play along. Sorta.
See, you're supposed to choose your six (6) favorite songs of the moment and explain why you like them, which is pretty straightforward, but I am going to let the iPod randomizer choose 6 songs out of around 650 and deliver scintillating commentary on each. They might rock or they might suck, I dunno. And you won't know either, unless you keep reading! So let's go.
1) Portishead - Mysterons >> Okay, this isn't a bad start. Dummy is a solid album, but I have the unfortunate tendency to always think "Gee, I wish I was listening to Roads (the song) instead of Mysterons," every time I'm actually listening to Mysterons. But woe, I am listening to Mysterons and not Roads. The randomizer has spoken! My knees are shaking a little bit from the bass and I have Pavlov-conditioned myself to pass out whenever I hear Portishead - it's good sleeping music. It's good sexxxing music too. The instrumental outro to this song is way too long.
2) Funeral For A Friend - Bend Your Arms To Look Like Wings >> Straightforward, catchy post-hardcore. The only problem I have with bands like this are that they are fucking abysmal live, and all the intricate guitar riffs that make the album so good mysteriously turns into the sound of cats being beaten with a sack of doorknobs on stage. Ooooh, a big breakdown and a slow part at the end of the song! Wait for it... wait for it... ooooh yeah, the chorus again, only slower. And a delightful fade-out. Conclusions? Meh.
3) Coheed and Cambria - 33 >> Holy shit, good job randomizer! The first Coheed song I ever heard, and the one that convinced me that high-pitched singing isn't necessarily The Devil. Coheed and Cambria features some very weirdo lyrics in the vein of "so convoluted, only Claudio the singer and his psychiatrist know what the hell is going on here." Here is a sample from 33:
hold on to the things you favor most
shift right and let it run down
if my peace could find a way up
let go of the youthful honesty
Yes. Go Claudio go!
4) Pink Floyd - Speak To Me/Breathe In The Air >> I really hate how this song takes so long to get going. If you're a stonebag hippie you will probably argue that "the discordant screams of fury juxtaposed with the cool, mellow jams that eventually ensue from the madness merely provide a sense of categorical relief and acceptance of the gorgeous rock that follows," but to them I say "Shut the fuck up and stop wasting half the track with your bullshit."
5) Death Cab For Cutie - Tiny Vessels >> I like this song because it's about shallowness and fucking somebody even though you know it won't amount to anything in the end, mixed with a little bit of regret. Nice lite tune with surprisingly heavy words: "So one last touch and then we'll go, and we'll pretend that it meant something so much more. But it was vile and it was cheap, and you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me." This reminds me of an x-girlfriend and I'll just leave it there. Nobody call me emo!
6) Affinity - My Name Is Jonas >> This is the poorest cover in the history of modern rock. Rivers Cuomo must be crying like a little bitch right now.
Okay done. What? There's more? I have to choose six more people to curse with this task, you say? No. I won't do it!
Posted by Chris at 10:53 AM >> Commentations (9) | Permalink
June 11, 2005 >> Turning the Leaf
Today you'll wake up and decide to turn over a new leaf. You don't quite know where that expression came from - probably Robin Hood, that guy was totally ghey - but you know that turning over a new leaf means that things are supposed to be different. Like the front side of the leaf is green, and the back is mottled yellow and infested with meat-eating spiders who speak Hebrew. Different, y'know? And different is what you feel like.
Roll out of bed backwards to celebrate the occasion and awkwardly smash your skull on the orange traffic pylon that's been your bedside table since you-don't-know-when. You'll probably have a black eye, but you smile brightly nonetheless. You don't usually ravage your face in the mornings as far as you can remember, so Operation New Leaf is already a smashing success!
Build your day on this triumph. If your boss asks if you want to go for lunch, and you would usually say "Sure!" because you're a bootlicker who has eyes on middle management, say "Fuck no!" instead. If you usually drive home from work, today you should hitchhike and make sure that any generous benefactors who pick you up off the highway end up rotting in a ditch before sunset. Duck-walk back to your apartment, shaking gore out of your hair. Instead of hang-gliding with your illigitimate daughter after supper like you had planned, watch some TV instead. Alone. I hear reruns of Becker are today's hot topic.
As the hours wind down and police sirens scream in the distance, put some ice on that black eye and wash the blood off your clothes. Surprise! New Leaf You is obsessive-compulsive, and you can't stop washing no matter how hard you try. Flesh-eating spiders swarm up out of the water ducts, fully conversational in a dead language. This might be all in your head. After all, you weren't insane before you turned over a new leaf. You might be now. It's time to crawl back into bed and weep.
Tomorrow, you'll turn the leaf back over and buy Quizno's subs for the entire office as a tactful apology to your boss. You'll tell her: "Quizno's is expensive, but I think you guys are worth it." She'll sneer at you and mock your black eye. Nobody said anything about your eye today because you just seemed so much more badass than usual, but tomorrow will be different. Oh, tomorrow will be different. Don't watch the news, okay? What's done is done, and the leaf is turned.
Posted by Chris at 12:40 PM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
June 10, 2005 >> Presenting present presence
The heat is merciless, but two yellow balloons painted with demonic grins will save me. Three sinks full of ice have failed miserably: the temperature rises through the stratosphere and still I sweat buckets. Desperate measures (like pagan balloon worship) are my last chance for survival.
Or I could just get a desk fan or something.
PS: I really hope you guys appreciate how lame my writing is these days. I'm sitting here typing about being hot. Fuckin' stellar material!
Posted by Chris at 02:27 PM >> Commentations (4) | Permalink
June 09, 2005 >> lazyhipstercloned
I'm really reaching the point where I can only blog at work. After spending hours in front of a computer in the sweltering oven of Little House (AKA Alcatraz - our prison uniforms are orange work vests), I can't bring myself to touch the internet once I get home. Well, I can brush against the LAN cables, maybe, but logging into Sympatico makes me physically ill with insanityheatstroke. I'd rather nap instead, blissfully wasting the evening prostrate before the whirring glory of the desk fan. Yes, life is difficult. Life is fucking tough!
Moving on.
If you haven't checked out Dave Alexander's post about Hipster Star Wars, you should give'er. I was an idle collaborator, a circumstantial muse, and the idea of Chewbacca making deafeningly bad indie rock still makes me laugh out loud (LOL, if this were a Livejournal). Anyways, Dave's obsession with hipsters has clearly begun to slide into madness. I'm eager to see what hipster-themed commentary he comes up with next.
Moving on.
If you meet somebody who is exactly yourself, should you embrace them or murder them? Over the last few weeks, my mind has been blown and sewed back together and shattered again by a procession of eerie similarities: extroverts craving solitude, quick to tire of others, Niki Syndrome, bitter hatred of small talk, rare distaste for dogs, weird weird weird. I'm far more of a slut and she's a vigilante bizkid, so it's not flawless, but...
I accused her of researching me and building her story around mine, and she called me lame and suggested that I was ripping her off. If we looked alike, if her eyes weren't ocean green and mine weren't grey sky, I would suspect some kind of cloning tomfoolery.
I think I'm going to kill her tomorrow at lunchtime. Don't tell anybody, okay? Okay.
Posted by Chris at 03:04 PM >> Commentations (3) | Permalink
June 07, 2005 >> Variety pack
Yesterday I called my mom. She tried to teach me how to boil corn ("Is that the salt? Are you putting the salt in? I can hear all that salt! Nooooooooooo!") and I jabbered on about how there are Two Gods and neither of them appreciate materialists. It was nice to talk about something that isn't The News - usually I mumble about how everything's ok, yes the roommates are ok, everyone's fine, no I'm not broke, etc, etc; and she tells me stories about how our cat escaped and couldn't be found for three whole hours (it was under the trambopoline, or maybe it's dead - I'm not a good listener).
The whole routine gets a little predictable, so I'm always pleasantly surprised when me and my mom accidentally fall into discussion of ideas and some depth and all that fancy jazz. I have decent conversations with my dad too, from time to time, but usually they're about some finnicky aspect of the Bible - tattoos are not linked with satanic witchcraft, Deuteronomy! Interaction with my sisters is limited to composing and singing songs about green apple Jolly Ranchers and taking it to them in Mario Kart. Sometimes I try to make them listen to black metal... unsuccessfully (they're very-berry Christian and Jesus says no to metal). They'll diversify. My brother is named The Boy, as am I whenever I go home, and he likes expensive things like stocks and cologne and name brand and and and. Bright kid but we don't have much in common. So there you go: an imprompteu introduction to my family, borne on corn.
I think maybe I'll make a better effort to get to know them. As cheesy as this sounds, my mom has inspired me to try harder.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Today I was on CKCO news at noon, inadvertantly promoting Parking Services' Commuter Challenge. Hoodie wheelbarrowed me (you remember this from childhood: someone grabs your legs and you giv'er forward with your hands) across the grass for the amusement of the camera and I realized "Holy wow, it's been a fuck of a long time since I wheelbarrowed." Because it has. And I'm solar powered now, so I think I could whoop my childhood self's ass in a wheelbarrow race if I could find a time machine... but I digress. The long and short of it is that Team Hoodie/Clemens prevailed in a grueling race through the Underpass and I broke the finish line tape with my face. Later, Parking Services Mary bought us lunch at Wilf's, and we shouted and yelled and hullabalooed so much when we saw ourselves on TV that we couldn't hear what was being said about our wheelbarrow prowess. I would imagine it might go something like this:
"Hahahaha, those bears and their bloodthirsty mauling... Anyways, on to a lighter note, Dan has been 'wheeling' around Waterloo, isn't that right Dan!?"
*awkward moment between anchors who have their teleprompters crossed; large shit-eating grins reappear quickly*
"Sure have Susan, and what I found outside Wilfrid Laurier University will SHOCK and ASTOUND you! Local students have been wheelbarrowing their way to work every single fucking day, all summer, every summer! Look at these kids go!"
"Dan, I don't think you can say 'fuck' on the air."
"Fuck off, Susan!"
*10 second montage of me and Hoodie wheelbarrowing, falling down, looking generally retarded. Chad rides his scooter with a look of intense concentration on his face, as if he were perhaps late for open-heart surgery and yet still managing to be enviro-friendly*
"And there you have it. Commuter Challenge, saving the ecosystem, preserving our world, yadda yadda yadda. But seriously, if you ever want to get smoked, absolutely smoked, in a wheelbarrow race, come on down to WLU and face these little rapscallions. They're fast, they're devious, they're Green Machines. If you've got 'em, smoke 'em!"
*fake laugh from Susan*
"Ahahaha. And now, the NASDAQ takes a long dive off a short pier..."
Posted by Chris at 03:54 PM >> Commentations (5) | Permalink
June 04, 2005 >> Me and mine
My body: Yo, so what's the deal with this constant cocktail of recreational substances? You feelin' lucky or something, punk?
Me: No! Well... yeah, I guess. See, I just graduated and there are birthdays to be celebrated and -
My body: No, no. Shut up. You listen to me. I'm not some handy-dandy prancing teenager anymore. You can't be doing this whole mixing thing now that I'm old. Do you want beer or vodka or rum or weed or what? Choose ONE! I'm breaking down, motherfucker! I'm dying! I'm feelin' no love!
Me: Oh baby, I still love you. I just want you to be all wobbly and disoriented. Why, you ask? Well... well, I'll tell you. One sec.
My body: Okay then.
Me: Look over there!
My body: Huh?
*sound of pattering feet vanishing into the distance*
My body: That's it. I'm inviting colon cancer over for coffee tomorrow.
Posted by Chris at 02:01 PM >> Commentations (1) | Permalink
June 03, 2005 >> Grad Does Not Lend Itself Well To Catchphrases
Convocation was better than expected. The robes were silly and our bare legs glowed in the hot, hot sun as we walked to the Rec Centre, but full frontal nudity was conspicuously absent once the ceremony got down to business. Smiles. Happiness. Walking across the stage at breakneck speeds, shaking hands with old people I've never personally met. Esteemed Chancellor Bob Rae fell asleep on his throne at least five (5) seperate times. Puffy hats abounded. Convocation was a sweatbox and boring, but my peers were rad and sunshiney-faced in the best possible way. It was grad, but without all that stuff you see on TV. Life is (apparently) not in a box.
Red Lobster Red Lobster. Everyone was at Red Lobster. Chad's brother vehemently argued that cold makes you urinate and heat makes you defecate. Soldiers throw down their weapons for the cool, refreshing dinner mints of freedom. I ate a catfish and Chad devoured the Admiral's Feast, fresh off a humiliating defeat at the hands of Mongolian Grill's spicy chili powder. The Admiral stood little chance and went down the hatch quickly, followed by an EXTRA FREE SIDE ORDER OF RICE. I was disappointed that there was no Three-Cornered Hat of Victory for Distinguished Face-Stuffing for Chad, but we got plastic lobsters on chains, which was some consolation I guess. Chad's dad apparently does not support our mission to turn Canada into a progressive socialist dictatorship, but his mom thinks it's funny. I think we lost them when the part about psychic children piloting giant robots against resurrected dinosaurs came into play. No worry. They will not be shot when the revolution comes.
Drinking was drinking, and I have pictures which will magically become a gallery one day when I am not quite so hung-over. I will also attempt to re-create the magic of DBo's donkey story, which left me and Hoodie weeping in hysterical laughter on the grass. I'm glad he's back from Europe; you should see the snazzy ashtray he brought me from Amsterdam! God I wish I had gone too. Anyways, my friends (and their respective families, when applicable) are the finest of people and this is me bragging about their awesomeness just because I can, and perhaps because my brain is operating at minimal capacity (35% power, tops). You know, if I met your parents yesterday, I probably liked them. They will not be first up against the wall when the revolution comes. I was in a liking kind of mood, and the smile is still perched on my face.
Posted by Chris at 03:25 PM >> Commentations (3) | Permalink
June 01, 2005 >> Buy Canada, Sell America
Hahaha, check out this tool. It's a tongue-in-cheek (I hope anyways) essay by some Americano kid about how the U.S. should straight-up purchase Canada for $100 000 per head. My favorite part is in the letters section:
(regarding 1812)
"Listen LT, Stop living in the past. According to our history books we kicked your asses. All of you Canadians have the boot marks to prove it! h.m."
-and-
"I am not sure which history books your are reading but without U.S. involvement most people would have been speaking either German or Japanese. Oh, I get it.....Our history books must be wrong..."
You got it, buddy. American cultural production doesn't stop in Hollywood - nationalist propaganda chills out in the education system too! Rewriting history is fun, especially when it makes your war record beefier-than-life (in the heartland of the globe's most militaristic empire, no less; how convenient for drumming up support in malleable children for future aggressive endeavors on the world stage! It's us versus them, kids, and the United Nations is unpatriotic. Check your history books for 'proof'!)
Ugh. I don't like the future.
Posted by Chris at 01:11 PM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink