Dropping Happy Bombs

General

I’ve decided that since all I ever do on this blog is complain like a American in Europe, I am going to make an effort to email companies when someone working for them does something good for me. And, to do it at least once a month. A “pay it forward email” as it were. Here’s my first:

Info@henrys.ca

Hello there!

I have an old Sony DSC-P1 digital camera that had a couple small screws gone missing over the years. Last week, the poor thing was one screw away from losing its back casing. I went to your service desk last Saturday and was looked after by a very helpful, black haired young woman (I didn’t see her name tag) with a saftey pin through her ear. She made my day. I just wanted to let you know that she’s exceptional!

Thanks again!

I don’t expect anything back. I just want to drop happy bombs.

It’s not a Boat…

Hobbies, Personal Bits
The explorer

Take a look, bitches! It’s The Explorer, the ship that Sharkboy, The Busdriver, CharoletteMan, Wolfy and I are going on the first weekend of December! It’s bigger than the last ship we went on! I. Can’t. Friggin. Wait.

You’re all welcome to come too. Just msg me and we’ll talk about cheap staterooms.

And it’s the First. You know what that means… NEW SLOPPYJOE VIDEOS!!!

When you’re done there, Acidreflex posted this video which is just bloody weird and hee lar ee yous!

Shedding my Uteran Lining

General

Woman's yogurtWhile discussing our brought-in lunches with a couple of coworkers today, I notice the logo on the side of my small yogurt cup. That’s… odd. It’s a torso with…boobies? I know that 90% of yogurt eaters are women but I thought it was kind of sexist, sort of. I think. At least the presence of the underside of breasts was saphoric. Maybe.

I point this out to the woman of our group and she says, “Oh you know, yogurt is good for maintaining … you know… hormones … during…”

“Good lord! I’m eating girl yogurt!!”

Day of the Robots

Hobbies, Robots

My American cousin sends hope of robot parking garages.

Boing Boing posts an amazing showreel of robots policing work for South Africans (yeah the same guy who did the Thriller dancing car, but go past that. Wicked cool). And a new addition from the same guy – TempBot (Keep an eye peeled for Wonder Woman!).

Sony makes Qiro and Aibo fall upon their swords (better article on the whole “death of the robot age” from the Beeb), but promises to continue research. Meanwhile, Beck hires Qiro to work in the entertainment industry (Flash site. Ugh. Choose “Video” and “Hell Yes”). There’s always that lummox, Asimo.


Andrew will love this. Having to interact with one would smack of a jarring scene from a William Gibson book.

Patlabor is one step closer to becoming reality.

And I noticed that Robosapien 2.0 has better hands and more farting options than his predecessor.

Time Out

Toronto

Alan gardens

Dead Robot: I friggin hate people!

Sharkboy: Uh oh. Sounds like you need a time out. Come with me. Okay what’s wrong?

DR: I’m on the streetcar, right? I’m making my way to the back of the car and when I pass the rear doors, headed for a seat, this child… this larve, no older than 4yrs, drops her ice cream cone on my foot. On my dress shoes!

cactii in the sunset SB: An accident…

DR: Sure. Whatever. I’m not pissed at that. (Good lord! That catcus is tall!)  So I look at the mom and she’s got a bag of McDonalds food in her hand and she won’t make eye contact with me. She insteads hands the kid some fries so she wont start bawling. I ask her if she has any extra napkins in her bag for my shoe.

SB: And?

DR: She says no! Their hers!

SB: Really?

DR: She won’t give me any! I hear someone tell her that she really should give me a napkin and she ignores them. Meanwhile other people are walking past us getting on and off and they’re stepping in the melting ice cream. She’s offering no reaction.

SB: You should have said something.

DR: I didnt want to wind up on someone’s blog making me look like some battling road rage wrestler.

SB: Curious. When life imitates blogs imitating life from blogs…

DR: How astute. I was too upset to really say anything after that. And typically middle class to get verbally angry. I did want to get up and wipe my shoe on the kid as they left but that would ensure the escalation of the situation, just like the bike courier.

owchie!

SB: Get a picture of me doing *this*!

DR: But it doesn’t end there. I get off and go to this crummy battery store on Dundas and Church to see if they have any motherboard batteries for my Mac at work. While the guy was sorting through his stock looking for my battery, some dude comes in and impatiently yells over my shoulder “CAN I ASK YOU A QUESTION WHILE YOU WORK?” The clerk stops what he’s doing and says “Sure.” They start talking about replacing cell phone batteries while I stand there waiting. After the fourth stupid question from this guy (“You mean YOU will replace the battery? Not me?”) I extend my hand without a word and eye my dead battery. The clerk hands me the battery and says “Sorry!” while the other guy is still asking questions. This city is becoming so self centred its scary.
pointy!

SB: What is wrong with people?

DR: I don’t know. This city is becoming a free for all in manners. (deep breath) Hey. It’s nice in here. Good lord. Look at this cactus!

SB: Did you see that guy at the door? He had the largest holes in his ears I have ever seen. They had large metal hoops on the inside of the holes and he put two 6G rings inside those hoops!

DR: I bet he sets off alarms at the airport. I thought the whole body modification thing was over?

spikeySB: Apparently not. I want to get a tattoo of a bear on my back.

DR: Just an outline like your others, or a tonal drawing?

SB: Outline, I think, pretty much like the rest of them.

DR: You’re hooked on that show Miami Ink, aren’t you?

SB: A bit. I like trying to see where they are located and compare it to places where we were when we went on the cruise.

DR: Out of the whole cast, which one is the hottest?

wha?SB: I’ve moved from the lead bald guy to the little bearish guy with glasses who barely says anything.

DR: I like the sneaker obsessed guy. The only one with real facial hair. And I like how they show a flash of bap every so often.

SB: Bap?

DR: English slang for “boob”. But in this show’s case, man boobs or butt cheeks.

SB: Yeah its hot.

DR: (Paris Hilton-like) Thats hot. Hey. What’s “nasturtium”?

SB: Its from the watercress family.

DR:… how… how did you know that?

roofSB: I just Googled it.

DR: (Pause. Stare. Headshake. Moves on.) Ah. It’s lovely in here. Well I feel better. I can’t wait until we live together and we can afford a car. One that kills the enviroment and gets keyed by bike couriers.

SB: I don’t care what we get, really. I only have one demand and that is the new car can hold all our camping equipment.

DR: I agree. We should get a jeep or something butch. Something we can take the doors off and drive around like morons with music blaring.

SB: How about something practical and efficient and less harsh on the enviroment?

smilesDR: Screw the enviroment! What has the enviroment ever done for me?

SB: It’s 6C outside at the end of January. Isn’t that enough?

DR: Good point. As a Canadian, I don’t mind this global warming stuff too much. I should thank you for driving your SUV for all those years.

SB: Do you feel better?

DR: I’m calmer. Is $2 enough for a donation to the Gardens?

SB: Sure. Lets go home and eat chips.

Dishing it Out

General

Two managers are in my cube, loudly discussing images for a brochure (or brox as we type it in the biz) while the poor print designer cringes underneath their complaints.

“I am utterly sick of looking at over-water cabins in Tahiti,” one belts out to no one in particular, “And look at this one,” she says pulling a print out from the pile. “Look at that. That is so gay.”

Pause.

My glazed over eyes look up from my monitor. I’m a bit shocked and angered that she said this because we’ve been working side by side for nearly two years. She sees my face. Visions of calling HR dance in my head.
“Not that there’s anything wro-” she tries to get out that old old old Seinfeld joke.

“That’s ok, you ugly breeder,” I respond loudly.

We lock eyes. We start to laugh.

I think she’s laughing because ‘we understood each other’. I’m laughing because I got away with calling her ugly.

Improv-ing My Outlook on Life

Personal Bits

So far, I’ve taken two improv classes out of 8 at the Bad Dog Theatre and in our class I can see the future comedy stars, shining through the nerves and the flumbled scenes… and I can also feel the black holes sucking all the comedy out of the room.

There are a couple people there who get up on stage, have the instructor fires off a scene or a set up at them and freeze. And I have the hardest time keeping my mouth shut, stiffling suggestions like “HE SAID YOU’RE IN A MALL. PRETEND TO SHOP!” or “HE JUST HANDED YOU AN AXE. NOT A SOCCER BALL!” It’s maddening for me to see people with absolutely no imagination. Our instructor says “There is only one wrong answer in improv – to stand there and do nothing or say ‘I don’t know’ when offered a scene.”

Bless the black holes for making an effort though. At least they’re there trying to overcome shyness or be more assertive or think faster on their feet.

Why am I there? Fucked if I know.

Maybe I want to be on stage. The other day the BDT newsletter fell into my inbox looking for volunteers to be on stage to flesh out an upcoming show and I bolted upright in my chair. Reading further they were looking for second series students. I was dissapointed but I was more surprised at my reaction.

I wanted to be on stage…

Weirdly enough right after thinking that I thought “Would anyone think I was riding on my brother’s coat tails, trying to be like him?” and it dawned on me that I have been saying that since high school. That I hadn’t gone into theatre (which I thought I was pretty good at back in the day) because Mike was there first and I probably would not be able to live up to the competition. Now I think I’m a bit past it to pick up acting but I do know that I’m having a blast in this class and I have good comedic timing as well as an active imagination.

I get up on that stage intent on killing and I will milk that class of 18 people for laughs at every opportunity given to me.

Who knows where this will take me? Maybe I might get serious about it but for now, I will gladly act like a goof for this room of strangers.

UPDATE: My bro has been voted best playwright for 2005 by eye weekly readers. Congratz!

The Fog…

Hobbies

“Will I be beautiful when the bandages come off?”

“Like a pretty butterfly. Now don’t move your head.”

“Tell me doctor, what do you say to your patients who fall in love with you?”

“Why you little flirt~”

“ACHOO!”

“Good lord! Don’t move your head!”

I’m back, such that it is. If any of you know how to transport b2evolution databases into WP, please get in contact with me and I will give you my first born. Yes, I tried the installatron script…

Blind Testing

Hobbies, Personal Bits

What would you give to hear what people thought of you, candidly, without them knowing you were listening? Your own private blind focus group.

While at a house party a few weeks back, Sharkboy, three other guests and I, were discussing a painting hanging prominently in the living room of our hosts. As I turned to look at the canvas, I noticed that the artist, James Huctwith, was sitting behind us, his eyes darting from his work, to us, to his shoes. The others in our group either didn’t know he was there or just didn’t know who he was. The painting we were all speculating on was a rich, dark red image of a profile of a man lying on his back. Viewed from mid-stomach up, the man is shirtless, hairy chested, goateed face towards the heavens, and had a puff of smoke or breath coming from his mouth.

“I think it’s his last breath,” says one guest, eerily.

“He’s hot.” Pause. “Sexy hot, not warm,” says another.

‘He’s smoking,” suggests Sharkboy, churning up the homoerotic.

“It’s quite well done,” I say, to stoke this barrel of monkeys to provide James with some comment or criticism on it’s execution. Call it a focus group giveaway for his eavesdropping.

“It is,” they conclude. Nothing more. Damn.

I poke again: “I think he’s lying on some velvet in a meat locker waiting for the butcher to come suck his dick,” I say. I look at James. James is smiling at an unseen guest across the room. Sharkboy comments on how smoking is hot but disgusting and the conversation turns. There you go James, I tried.

Flashback to 2003. I am standing in line at Timothy’s Coffee Shop waiting to purchase a tea. In front of me, Dennis O’Connor, head of Church St B.I.A. and owner of O’Connor Gallery is chatting with Kristen, the owner of Timothys.

“What do you think of the art?” Kristen says waving at the canvases of comic book pop art.

Dennis makes a face that resembles someone removing a hangnail from his freshly stubbed toe while sucking on a lemon while listening to Britney Spears give birth to her first sprog.

It was my artwork up at the time. Kristen was trying to illicit a comment candidly the same way I was doing for James. And I appreciated it. I know that you can’t please everyone when you put pixel to monitor, paint to canvas, pen to paper and the negative comment was accepted with a grain of salt. I was thankful for the unfettered input and was actually pleased with Dennis’ reaction.

Flashforward to last night. I am again hanging art at Timothys (I’ll post images later) and I’ve asked an older gentleman to vacate his seat for a few seconds so I could hang my robot-on-top-of-a-car-highway-surfing painting. With my back to this guy I hear him mutter ‘disgusting’ or ‘ridiculous’ not sure which. It certainly wasn’t a mumble of art appreciation.

And like before, I was glad of the honesty. I would rather have someone honestly tell me what they thought of my art or work than to coo coo me into a false sense of security.

I bet that a couple artists who read this blog (Darryl, Evil Panda) have had similar situations where they were privileged to hear comments of their work without the commenter knowing they were listening�

2006 – A Year (so far) In Review

General

Just my fancy way of announcing my monthly updates on the other blogs you should be reading (again, some are on my blacklist, sorry for the non-link):

BrotherDown (brotherdown.blogspot.com) has a difficult time with “YellowStone” Never charade drunk.

“…the experience of nearly a generation of gay men being wiped out from HIV is just as far removed from you as the holocaust.” Lordy AcidReflux’s blog (lifeandtimespoz.blogspot.com/2006/01/got-hard-on-and-no-where-to-go.html) is funny yet not. Yet is. (whispers) Should I be laughing…?

Jim B hasn’t updated his blog since November. It’s understandable. He’s renovating. Maybe some traffic to his site will inspire him to post some pictures of the damage.

Dawn was worried about the floods. Hopefully Arnold will keep her safe.

Salvage made a funny at our American friend’s expense.

Ever realized something from your youth wasn’t what it seemed? Not Well Planned got a wake up call.

Photojunkie links to a sick-making wicked cool picture. Shimmy!

Blamb gives us another self indulgent smarmy cartoon (I am, of course, just kidding). This one made me want to call Airmiles and demand my toaster.

A well hung conversation over at Where the Hell Was I:
Her: What color would you think would work?
Me: Gee, I dunno. Magenta?
Her: Um… well, I think magenta might, ah, clash. With, sort of, everything.
Me: Oh. Okay. How about black, then?
Her: Black? On the walls? All the walls?
Me: Well, black doesn’t clash, right?

That Woman wakes up without a hangover Jan 01. Good for him.

Nothing I type here can prepare you for SloppyJoe’s clip of the month. Just go.
Star Wars Stripper part 1

Star Wars Stripper part 2