I love this new iPhone theme I found.
Remember kids, hacking should be left to professionals and people with myelo-electric arms.
Funtime Tune Whistle Time
Rollercoaster from Major Maker. They made 1/4 of the song for a candy commercial and found they had a hit.
What I like about this cheesey cheap video is that it really reminds me of Martha and the Muffins: a band on the rise, unabashedly in love with Toronto.
Bet you thought I was going to post Echo Beach, eh?
Pleeaaaaaseee!??
Disrespect
I’m working on an email for a co-worker and they’re standing over me while I was editing in Photoshop and they say “Take that out, it looks gay.”
“What?” I am aghast.
“Oh come on,” they said as if to say We’re cool! You and I can use ‘gay’ like that!
“WHAT?” I said louder.
“I guess I meant ‘stupid’.”
I got up from my desk and left them there alone in my cubicle, “What? What is it Ted?” hitting me in the back of the head as I stormed off. I got half way down to HR before calming down enough to realize I need to confront this person first before going crying to someone.
So I did.
I took them outside and said “If I ever hear you say that again in a derogatory manner, I will have you in HR’s office so fast your head will spin.”
Their reply?
“But my uncle is gay!”
The flood gates burst open. I went into a rant saying they just disrespected my family as well as their own. Their eyes wide, I went on to explain exactly why using ‘gay’ that way was demeaning to a large part of my life. I said I wasn’t militant, but I would ask that they refrained from using ‘gay’ in reference to ‘stupid’ things. I finished by saying I could not believe they had reduced our office to high school playground proportions. I was shaking mad by the end of it.
We talked more and we’re cool. This co-worker looked like a deer in headlights when I left them.
Butt?
I was on a mission last week of finding Cretons for Sharkboy. For those of you who don’t know, cretons is a rough pate of pork butt boiled in milk and mushed together with delicyushs shcpices. More here at Wikipedia.
Anyhoo, I started out by Googling “Toronto”, “Quebec”, “Deli”, “cretons” etc. One place kept on popping up: Mel’s Montreal Deli on Bloor. I tell Sharkboy a small white lie and pay them a visit after work one night.
I walked into Mel’s all happy that I was going to bring Sharkboy a gift of tasty home memories. Visions of us waking on a sunny Sunday morning and running to the kitchen, madly spreading the delichisoucsh meat product across our warm toast and smothering it with mustard as Coronation Street plays out it’s drama on TV in front of us…
Cue “needle across record” sound effect.
Dirty. Empty. More “sit down restaurant” than “deli”. There is a refrigerated display near the back and I start towards it. It holds cans (Cans? Who refrigerates cans?) and other non-deli like product. I’m interrupted by a loud “You looking for take out?”
The waitress hasn’t even got up out of her seat to greet me, today’s paper spread out in front of her.
I ask if they serve cretons and get a “What?” in response. I explain what they are and she smiles wide and says she’s never heard of them.
“Your site says you do. It’s a Quebecois breakfast delicacy. They even serve it at Tim Hortons in Quebec,” I inform her. I’m tempted to go all John Cleese on her and say “Your sign does say ‘Montreal’ on it. Have you ever been to Montreal? I suspect that this ‘shop’ isn’t a ‘deli’ as you might define it, but more of a ‘doody’.” I could go on, you get the gist.
I leave. I visited 3 other delis (proper) and got pretty much the same reaction (except for one place who insisted that her croûtons were cretons). The closest I came was a butcher on Church Street who use to sell them but nobody was purchasing milk-boiled pig bum.
To end this story on a happy note, we did find cretons at the St Lawrence Market at a stall on the main floor, south east centre (I didn’t catch the name). The heat-print label stated: CRETONS – QUEBEC – UNSPECIFIED.
That Sunday we recreated my breakfast fantasy, tears welling up in Sharkboy’s eyes as we gleefully swallowed lactate-boiled pig pooper.
(Thanks to Lex for putting a shout out on her site and Facelessbook.)
Screw Toast Mary…
I got Floor Freddie!
Yes. I am desperate for a peddi.
Off to the T-Shirt Hut
Hi rez version upon request. Ask in the comments for an FTP.
You Haven’t Lived…
…until you hold a loved one in your arms as they spray their bathroom with poop like a fucking CFL turf sprinkler system.
…until you look up from your William Gibson book (Spook Country), your head immersed in a shiny bright fun future world of 2 years ago, to see some guy starting at you with his finger two knuckles up into his nose. He removes said finger to reveal a wet wad of clotted snot/blood. Yes, you’re in a downtown emergency room at 2am.
…until you sit with same loved one, their IV dripping life back into their body, reviving their fluids they pooped out all over an apartment you know you have to go back to clean, listening to a pig being slaughtered in the emergency cubicle next to you. Or at least it sounded like a pig. There was squealing and grunting.
…until you sit with the same loved one, who regained their personality, their humanity back, and both of you listen to a doctor quiz a woman two cubicles over about her sex life: “Are their pains when you have intercourse? Do you have heavy flow?”
Okay it wasn’t that bad, but that was my late Thursday, early Friday morning activities.
Did I Call It Or What?
Last night on the remixed Bionic Woman, Jamie Sommers enters into an abandoned home to find a TV blaring away with Battlestar Galactica on it. Woot! I’m friggin psychic! (Thanks to Hockeyfan960 for noticing!)
I’m still not sold on it though. Near to the end of the show I found myself not all that interested anymore. Even with crazy eyed Katee Sackhoff actin’ all crazy eyed didn’t make me want to stick around – and I like her a lot. I do like how Jamie is a flawed character: anonymous drunken sex in a washroom! There’s a scene I’d like to see with Lee Majors in it! But the exact moment where they lost me was the cell phone call from her sister during hiding from the army guys. Uh. Don’t.
And how distracting is Isaiah Washington in this show? We were exhausted finishing off all his lines with “…faggot!”
I’m going to give it one more try.
One For Rick Mercer, Again
Interior. Somewhat drab conference room with 7-8 employees sitting around a table. One man, Jack, is standing, leading the meeting.
Jack: As you can see we’ve made significant gains in…
He’s interrupted by a woman with a concerned look on her face.
Woman: Jack. I think you should take a look at this.
Jack: (looking over the sheet just handed to him) Are you sure about these numbers?
Woman: I checked them myself.
Jack: (pause) We won… 649!
The conference room erupts in hooting and happy shouting. They all jump to their feet in celebration. Fade out.
Text Over: “6 MONTHS LATER”
Exterior street scene. Homeless man is sitting up against a wall on a sidewalk. Jack and the Woman walk by in expensive clothes. The Homeless man holds his hand out and then suddenly realizes who is standing in front of him.
Homeless Man: You Bastards!
Woman: Good lord Jack, is that our old boss?
Homeless: The day you bastards won that money you all walked out on me! En-Fucking-masse!
Jack: Keep walking… keep walk–
Homeless: (Following) When you all walked out on me, my business collapsed! I went Bankrupt!!
Woman: Hurry Jack, he smells like pee!
Fade up Lotto649 Logo and “Play Responsibly” Tag