It was bound to happen, after all I do own a signed copy of Weird Al Yankovic's "Alapalooza"...on VINYL.

Differences do tend to make a person stop every once in a while and realize that the person they are sitting next to is completely insane, if for no better reason, simply because that person just happens to be thinking the very same thing. And that is just plain crazy talk, now isn't it?

Anyway, there comes a time in every person's life when you just accept the fact that all the proof, evidence, logical arguing, common-sensical reasoning, bribing, etc. is absolutely useless and you just have to accept the fact that things are just the way they are.

Even if things suck, which can be hard to do.

But if we are to grow and develop further, then this sort of event has to transpire or there can be no further progress whatsoever. Which naturally brings me to NICKLEBACK.

Hate them. Hence my custom t-shirts that read "Friends don't let friends listen to Nickleback"

and "Your favourite band sucks". True, you can buy the last one anywhere but MINE has in tiny little letters underneath the bigger letters "get a helmet, ye who likes Nickleback".

Nothing new there but what is a rather interesting development (at least for this writer and those that know him) is the fact that I can say that it's okay if you don't. Yeah, I know. But check this out, I'll go even FURTHER. It's okay to listen to Nickleback and like it.

Yes, I am sober and no, I didn't lose a bet.

Even more bizarre is that I am perfectly smurfy with Alan Jackson changing my sister's life, people PAYING to see Hilary Duff (why god knows but I'm okay with it) and even my mother liking Il Divo and Celine Dion. Okay, that last bit is a stretch...I can't even give her points for being Canadian.

The point is that the band's last album sold 5 point 5 MILLION records, so that means 0.916 percent of the world needs help. That means I wasted time and actually did the math. It also means that it is easier to dismiss them then it is to stand up for them, so I salute the unabashed fan that holds no qualms whatsoever in liking the band and ADMITTING it. With witnesses. Publicly. The less than one percent of the Earth's population that likes the band has my utmost respect.

But the coolest thing is how enlightened I am now. I am proud to say that much joy came my way when I was able to let go and simply say: "Who? Don't like them. You do? That's cool."

And now there is peace in the valley... 

Keep in mind however, this is coming from the guy who sat in the pub with INXS a few weeks ago and argued about architecture with the lead guitarist while making fun of the lead singer..."where did you find that guy, he looks like a runner-up in a rock-star contest or something? Ohhhh RIGHT. I forgot..."

I'm CHANGING...I never said I was COMPLETELY changed. Maybe when I'm all grown up, I'll grow up. Nah...if that happens who will make fun of Good Charlotte and Blink 182 on their reunion/farewell tours? God, can you imagine? Yeeeeesh...

Anyhow, the point is this. A writer here in town suggested taking something you can't stand and try, even if it kills you, to find something good about it...this can be difficult I know (HELLO!?) but it's a good thing to practice. It won't make that crappy band or that useless movie any better but it will make YOU better. And that's what it is all about. I find no redeemable qualities in Nickleback's music but I do find them in my friends that happen to like that music. Good enough for me. Yay me! I'm not a musical snob anymore!

And besides, it's not my fault that none of them know how to dress properly. Yep, I've PROGRESSED alright...feels mighty good. 

I'll see your Australia and raise you Russia...

What is it about board games that bring out the worst sides of human behaviour since Genghis Khan went for a walkabout?

 Take Monopoly for instance. I've seen nuns (no really, an ex-girlfriend of mine has aunts that are full-fledged sisters, habit and all) become completely unglued and lose their holier than thou minds after landing on Park Place with a hotel on it and then rolling doubles for the third time...go to Hell, go directly to Hell, do not pass Heaven, do not collect $200...the Church isn't doomed but YOU ARE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

 It's a completely different game when you're playing with Catholic Nuns who have had too much wine and got a sudden case of DonaldTrumpitis. I recommend it wholeheartedly. Fun stuff, although I assumed their senses of humour would be better since they got the BIG GUY upstairs on their side, helping to screw me over but alas...not so much. Every time one of them would win the moolah from Free Parking or score some bread from Chance, I would remind them that greed is a sin and that they should give it away to the needy. 

I'm not sure exactly where Purgatory is, near Ecuador or El Salvador I think, but I think I might take the sisters up on their suggestion sometime, maybe this winter. They made it sound like I would fit right in...

    Another game that the family with the women in black (I called them that out of respect for Johnny Cash) was fond of is "The Settlers of Cataan" which is and I'm quoting the box, "A game of discovery, settlement and trade".  Righhhhhhhhhhhhht. More like an onslaught of disappointment, the discovery of you're royally fucked and what you need, no one will trade with you unless you thrown in your new linen sheets, keys to your car and your testes or ovaries, depending on whether you sit or stand. The basis of the game is to build roads, towns and then cities by earning or trading commodities such as rock, sheep, wheat, wood and mud. 

That's right, people lose their shit over mud and rocks. I wanted to throw rocks at the opponent I was playing against last night, only I didn't have any but she was willing to trade me one. For everything I had...sighhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Needless to say, I got my ass handed to me which was nice since I had missed it and was happy to get it back although I was less than impressed with all the footprints all over it but beggars can't be choosers right? In the long run, the experience will only help me get better at the game and then I can strike down with great vengeance and furious anger those that dare to oppose me. And it will be an annihiliation of epic proportions, no Divine Intervention needed whatsoever and besides....

those nuns freaked me out.

Use the Force and get the hell out of there!

     Menstruation. Good stuff. No, really I am all for it. Now, being a man I am more than well aware of the fact that I am entering a world in which I should proceed with caution and sensitivity and maintain an admirable position of being objective but as a huge idol of mine, Admiral Farragut once said, "DAMN THE TORPEDOES! FULL SPEED AHEAD!".

     Recently, I had the pleasure of being in the company of a woman that was not only neck deep in the vicious clutch of that barbed-tentacled monster PMS but also halfway through the first week of quitting smoking...weeeeeeeeeeeeee. On the way to the pub for drinks, MANY in my case, I arrived at 7-11 a nanosecond after arriving at the opinion for purely self-defensive reasons that she was only allowed to go through one health affecting situation at a time...

One pack of cigarettes: $11.00

Three gin and tonics for her: $12.75

Nine pints of Guinness for moi: $63.00

Spending $86.00 in one night to preserve one's own sanity: priceless.

      

    Now it goes without saying that I relish any chance I get to sit amongst women while they chat over coffee or preferably a few bottles of wine, simply because I get the opportunity to gain a broader understanding about what goes on in the hearts and minds of the fairer sex...I don't ALWAYS understand mind you, in fact there are times where I just look up at the heavens and silently mouth the word "why?".  And to be fair there are times when I will relate to the topic at hand in a way that makes sense and is kind of funny (to me at least) that leaves the women at hand looking at me like I am growing a horn out of my forehead.

Tubal litgation for example. Getting one's tubes tied was a recent topic that came up over coffee the other day, and as she was explaining how little worry she had ever becoming pregnant, I had a picture of my head that illustrated (rather well, in my own defence) the entire concept in a fashion that left little room for misunderstanding or confusion. 

    As she was making "PING! PING!" noises to describe how duty-bound sperm were deflected and sent off back to where they came from, her vocal descriptions had my brain going off to a place a long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away...

     Yep...I had conjured the image of the final battle scene in Star Wars when Luke and R2D2, Han and Chewie and the rest of the Rebel Alliance were making a last ditch "Death or Glory" attack on the impenetrable Death Star, and their hopes were fading as they watched their laser blasts and photon torpedoes bounce off of the deflector shields...PING! PING!...sighhhh. Which was fine with me and I could actually see myself in the not so distant future using this example to describe how tubal litigation works to some of my male friends when I mentioned it to them, but I made the mistake of sharing this with the ladies...

     Naturally, laughter and dismissive shakes of their heads followed, along with the usual "what is it with you men?", the good old "nice, we're talking about a woman losing her ability to have babies and you come up with some sci-fi movie...typical" and the classic "just goes to show how little you men know about women."  

     Hmmm...

   I was about to go and prove just how much in fact I did know about women but as past experience has shown me, I thought I had better just let it go and take my licking and be done with it. The knowledge I had of the situation at had allowed me to take my lumps and regroup for the next conversation.

   And besides, there is always the chance that she could have switched on her tractor beam and kept me there for hours. Oh yes, I am quite schooled in the ways of the Dark side, I will never underestimate the power of the Force, nor will I ever turn over to the Dark side. EVER!

    Unless of course she was wearing the outfit Leia was wearing when she was a slave to Jabba the Hut and was chained to his day-bed...that might make me reconsider.

Know nothing about women?! Harumph! Indeed! I know plenty alright. I'm just waiting for the box set to come out and then I will be able to know it all...

 

      

"Once you're done cleaning, I'll show you how to turn those old shoeboxes into low-cost housing..."

I'm not exactly sure what the hell is going on around this ol' globular structure consisting of numerous gases, minerals, elements, carbon, various types of rock and McDonalds quality H2O of ours but methinks the world could use a makeover. 

First thing?

Climate. ALL of them to be exact.

The social, the political, the popular culture, psychological, emotional...I'm pretty sure if we clean up those eyesores first, then we'll see more sunny days and fewer storms ahead.

Let's see now...we have a debate chock-full of presidential candidates debating topics on live t.v. that are being posed to them via YouTube from a talking snowman concerned about global warming and some whack-job holding an automatic rifle that he calls "his baby" wondering  which candidate is going to protect "his baby"?! ZOIKS SCOOB!

good as place as any to start...

Where next, hmmm? OOOOOHH! I KNOW! Survivor. No silly, not the BAND...they thankfully hit the top of the charts and then went away quietly with dignity into the Fight Of Your Life Song Hall of Fame to await being called back into action whenever someone needed inspiration to overcome some huge personal obstacle ala Rocky Balboa or last week's guest on Oprah..YOU GO GIRL! Grrrrrrrrr. Ahem....sure, that's the ticket. 

No, I mean the t.v. show. No sense having that hanging around anymore. It's out of style having lost its fashionable savvy edge a while ago, so out it goes with the white leather belt with lots of rivets, Ugg boots, muffin-top causing jeans and that bohemian chic look that I personally hold the Olsen twins responsible for bringing back. Don't get me wrong, it's a good look...ON A WOMAN WITH HIPS, BREASTS AND OF LEGAL AGE. Sighhhh...

Next up? Chihuahuas. 8 ZILLION breeds of dogs in the world and we only see Mexico's answer to the guinea pig? Time for an update. Something fresh and new and sexy and suitable for a day at the beach and then by throwing on some pearls or a rather fetching scarf, a night out on the town. My pick? Great Dane. Sure, they're big but they sum up elegance and dignity with a certain je ne sais quois...a sexy way of telling annoying people to FUCK OFF without having to yell or throw a drink or cause a scene...just a simple glance and a look away and c'est la vie. Let's see Tinkerbell pull that off from within the confines of this summer's latest clutch from Louis Vuitton; the best that rat with the Tiffany diamond collar could do to scare you is have all the clean towels removed from your hotel room...oooooooohhhhhh.

 

Old records cluttering up? Yep, time for a garage sale. 50 cents a piece and you have your pick of ALL American Idol contestants, pseudo-punk black eye-liner wearing sad 20-somethings OH SO full of angst and despair caused by their fluffy pop-music princess girlfriends (HELLO? Hillary? Watch your ass toots...I gots my eye on you..), rapping country rock idols with manicured goatees and dolphin leather cowboy hats...in fact, let's make it a steal. Buy one and get 30 free...

Bunch of old movies kicking around? Oh boy...that is going to need some SERIOUS cleaning product. Mr. Clean on steroids I'm thinking. All the fresh coats of paint, dazzling glitter and pretty ribbons and bows just are not enough to spruce up that tired old story that keeps getting told over and over again. Sooooo? Chuck it. Bring in something new. Think economically. You don't have to spend a gazillon clams to have something look like you spent a gazillion clams...think Trading Spaces with screenplay writers and directors and actors and I'm positive something fantastic can be created. I'm sure there are a few stories out there that can be salvaged...a little TLC and some polish and POOF! Something familar but completely changed. Oh and here's a little tip. Leave the comics alone Hollywood. You screw them up everytime. A good thing to remember is that Keanu Reaves is NOT a comic book superhero, he is a Saturday Morning CARTOON character like Newton the centaur from "Hercules" or Pinky from "Pinky and the Brain"...excelllllent...whoa...sighhhhhhh.

I swear to the big guy upstairs that if I ever get my hands on the cats responsible for suggesting Keanu for "Constantine", I will personally see to it that they will only need coloring books as Christmas gifts to keep them amused and entertained for the rest of their lives.

So let's start there and see how we fare. I am all for the environment but in this case, I don't think Reuse and Recycle is the way to go. Something more like Remove and Replace...that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? 

Remove and Replace...I like that. It sounds clean already.

Sesame Street was never this educational or entertaining...

      The greatest thing I have ever witnessed was the mind of a four year old being unleashed in all of its creative glory upon unsuspecting adults who never saw it coming and never stood a chance. The child was being gently reprimanded for his whining about not getting his way and in the process a rare event occurred...a moment of contemplative silence. And as the hamster wheel was slowing its rotation, the child pondered aloud about what he had just been told.

    Seizing the opportunity, the child's mother began to turn the moment into a valuable lesson which would greatly benefit the child later on in his life by explaining how this would be a good time to think about what he could do in the future the next time a situation arises...

"YELLLLLLLOOOOOW CAAAAAAR!!"

Ahhhh yes... 

The game is still on...

Undeterred, the mother continued on with her little lesson of Life, having verbally wrestled her child's attention away from passing motor vehicles and back to her ever-wise wisdom regarding the way one should always regard others with respect and...

"YOU PEEEEEEEEEEEE OUT OF YOUR LARRR-GINAAAAAA..."

"YOU PEEEEEEEEEEE OUT OF YOUR LARRR-GINAAAA..."

note: this was actually SUNG, in KEY, to the chorus of "Mellow Yellow"

You see, the little bugger possessed some wisdom of his own. And not only was he more than happy to share this indefatigable knowledge, he delivered it in a first-rate, top-notch Broadway musical fashion, complete with outstretched arms and waving hands. In fact, I am positive I caught a glimpse of Fosse's choreography mixed in with some old vaudeville soft-shoe.

And being the pro that he was, he made sure that the people in the back rows could hear his Celine Dion-like stretched out final note before taking a bow.

yep...the kid BELLOWED it out.

Being unsure of whether I should applaud and yell "Bravo" or "Encore" as if I was at La Scala, cheer ecstatically with my arms in the air like Ozzy just finished "War Pigs" or throw flowers and stuffed animals as if Elvis Stojko nailed a triple lutz backflip mudslide blizzardy whatchmacallit, I did what any reasonably sane, mature, educated intellectual such as myself would do in such a situation when the child learning the difference between appropriate and unappropriate hung in the balance of the disapproving reaction of nearby adults.

I lost my shit.

Completely.

Unglued, in fact. For ten minutes straight.

Knowing I had just crucified any chance Mom may have had from dispelling the lad from future impromptu performances with my laughter, I took great satisfaction in the fact that I had just encouraged the boy to continue with his melodic celebration of female urination.

And it hit me...sometimes we get so caught up in teaching Life's little lessons that we forget how much fun it can be to review what we have already learned. And the best thing about it is this; the lad wasn't entirely wrong. He was almost 100% correct. Sure he flubbed the pronounciation but at least he had his facts almost straight. 

All I could get out was a weak "close enough..." The funniest thing about the whole ordeal is I can't stop singing it now, it's quite the catchy little tune. And the irony of the song he was singing just hit me...Mellow Yellow indeed. So THAT'S what the song is about.

Hmmm...smart kid.

I bet the headline "Paris' new bitch and it sure ain't Tinkerbell!" would sell more copies..

Let's see now...if I were to sum up things all neat and tidy-like, I would have to say that I've been busy working on my golf swing all this time and like Cousin Eddie from the "Vacation" movies would say..."she's a beauty, Clark. Tchk tchk...REAL nice..."

Anyhooooo...having gotten rid of cable television quite some time ago, I am quite unaware of...well, I honestly don't know of what I am unaware of but I've got a killer golf swing, so I've got that going for me. I have, however, been secretly reading trashy magazines in the grocery store and London Drugs now and then...

Ok, it's like this...I go out for a coffee, only I get my coffee from places that are near places with vast magazine selections...yep, even Chapters...shhhhhhhhhh...don't tell, I'm still vehemently opposed to Chapters for refusing to stock Proust, Harper's, Hitler's "Mein Kampf" as well as screwing over publishers and authors hand over fist...but in keeping with the theme of this rant, they do carry a plethora of trashy magazines and such.  Mind you, since they WON'T carry titles that might make people think differently, it only makes sense that they have a GINORMOUS stock of titles that do not make people think at all...hello?? In Style? Sheeesh!

by the way, here's a little tidbit for you all...not sure which one it was but a "Where's Waldo" book got pulled off of shelves because there was a scene at the beach and a woman laying on the sand had on a bikini bottom but no top. My only question is did they at least find Waldo? Holy hole in a doughnut Batman! They've hired the fucking Gestapo and gave them magnifying glasses...sighhhh.

Anyway, having purchased a coffee, I then go to whichever store is nearby and load up on absolute crap. I mean gosssssssip, trash, boo-hoo stories, celebs in jail, celebs in detox, celebs new hair-do's, Britney and Lindsay wearing panties, BIGGEST PRE-NUPS EVER, EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO SEE, et cetera. 

I'm so naughty...tee hee! 

Anyway, my little secret vice is going to make me a BAJILLION dollars! In searching for a safe place to find my next fix, I noticed that an awful lot of walking is involved. Motor activity. Moving. No couch potatoeing, sofa slothing, carpal tunnel remote thumb syndrome, bestiality (people get WAAAAAAAAAY TOO affectionate with their pets when they are on the couch in front of the t.v. while watching some crap show. Now you know...) or other form of lethargy.

 So I started thinking that the BRAND NEW REVOLUTIONARY NEW DIET/EXERCISE ROUTINE is this: Go out and load up on as many crap magazines as possible. You can have as much as you want. You are going to have to get out there though because some stores have better crap than others and those stores are big and in malls, so you'll be walking for a bit to get to the truly great crap. And in no time, you'll have burned off 666 calories in a low-impact aerobic routine that can be done anytime you like.

You'll become an idiot over time but at least you'll look good and feel like you've accomplished something...just like the people you'll be reading about.