I want Cory Doctorow. Not because he’s like, smart and stuff. No. Other than being geek-sexy, I love his glasses. Soon I will have a vintage pair as well.
If you have an iPod you can read his latest Sci Fi “Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town“. Its available off his site and can be read through the “notes” feature. He’s so cutting edge I want to save his stem cells.
Sharkboy and I arrived back from camping just in time to put on CP24 just as the parade was starting.
I would just like to comment here that the woman they got to interview David Miller and Bill Blair right as the parade started, should never be given a microphone ever again until she learns exactly the why/who/where/when of journalism. What a stupid cow. I missed her name but she usually does sports and such for City/CP24. Her two main questions to both men were if they were “nervous” about marching in the gay parade, especially to Blair, who was in uniform and that “some guys go for a guy in uniform”. Blair handled her insensitive and dumb, homosexist question excellently: an odd glance to her with the comment “I have a wife at home who also loves a man in uniform.” Later she was replaced with someone who looked like she wasn’t afraid of homos/dykes/queers.
We hit the streets after washing off the lotions from camping and did a couple circuts up and down the street, caught the tail end of the parade (no one cheered the Conservatives for Queers group, dispite the pleading signs saying they were “for” gay marriages – snort!) and bought copywright infringement tees in the marketplace. Eventually we parked ourselves right in front of Timothy’s and just stood and watched. People eventually came up to us and like social hummingbirds: hovered and then wandered off into the throng. Had a few instances where persons who had indulged a bit too much decided that we had to comment on how much fun *they* were having but nothing assaultive (my new word). I was glad to have missed the build up to Sunday’s Parade as that crowds these days seem to give me the heebeejeebees, however Sharkboy and I love people watching and last night was the Olympics of people watching. I felt guilty not taking pictures but I made a promise to myself that this year I was going to experience Pride as non-evasively as possible as that I’ve marched/worked/volunteered for the last 10yrs. I was proud and offer kudos to the Pride committee for another great event.
Prior to the parade, we camped and enjoyed the fruits of perfect blue skies and hot diet root beer on the deck of the campground’s pool. As ususal, expect pics/vids soon.
Do people sitting in a NYC theater go “yup!” or “hoo!” everytime Mall of Americas is splashed across the screen? Its hard for a movie shown in Canada to garnish respect when you know that the unnamed “American” city the heroes are cavorting around in is obviously the downtown core of Toronto. LotD had a “too many tight shots” feel, like Johnny Mnemonic, denying the viewer a satisfying base to reference from. You can usually sense a Canadian Tax Write-off movie when you see the characters exit the PATH underground out by the Toronto Stock Exchange.
And why do movies produced in Canada have these unnecessary story layers that do nothing to advance the action? Why the extra goons sent from Hopper, other than Star Trek Red Shirt fodder? Why the akward gun totin’ “love interest” if the damn thing ain’t going to go anywhere? Why the Picard-esque “Make it so!” line at the end ordering the ragged troop to Canada?
There were odd editing moments too. Ever see The Muppet Show when they are trying to create a sense of panic and have a chicken run in front of the action? That’s right, they used it. During a scene with Dennis Hopper and his butler (?) trying to get into a basement (??), zombies breech his stronghold (as they usually do) and are wreaking havok in his totalitarian utopia. Standing in the stairwell doorway a singular silver haired old lady zips in front of Dennis, just before he delivers his high hubris line: “You had no right!” It was pretty weird.
There were good moments (Best head-nearly-off zombie bite, ever! Best sprinkling of uniform-specific zombies! Best zombie reveal shot by having them come out of the water!) and there were small hommages to past Romero movies, but he’s a bit too little too late. Dawn of the Dead, 28 Days Later and even Shawn of the Dead leap-frogged over Georgeo and updated the whole genre.
Nothing new here folks, keep shuffling by.
I am amazed at this app. Go get it. Warning! I was a bit nauseated when I jumped from one location to the next.
Evil Panda! You can find the campground with it! Plug in Turkey Point!
Here are the Pride at the Point pics, here on the day that Canada becomes the gayest country in the western hemisphere.
“Please! Let go of my foot! I have kids waiting at home!!”
“I have no clue what that is.”
That’s not something you want your doctor to say. Especially when he’s digging around your buttkus. It’s my annual check up 2 years too late. A couple months back, I got a lump down there which I thought was a second “man pooter grape” growing slowly in the soil that is my constant sitting job.
He’s got me over the paper bench and asks me to hold my cheeks apart. I refrain from the old Jim Carrey talking ass joke. He pokes. He prods. He hits it like a punching bag and gauges my reaction. He calls in the receptionist and the janitor and asks their opinion. Negative.
He sends me to the Rudd Clinic of colon probing fun. I kid you not. Rudd. I have a 40 day wait to see a doctor.
In that time every so often the words “cancer!” or “wart!” or even “herpes!” flash across my thoughts like some black and white, 40’s war movie montage. I didn’t sleep well these last few days.
Into the clinic I go. To my astonishment, there’s about 25-30 people in the waiting room and about 7 receptionists. Are bum-clinics always this busy? I’m given a clipboard with about 10000 questions on it regarding where the “problem” is located, complete with small simple anal illustrations where you were to mark an X as to where the Specialists should be looking. I wanted to draw a smiley face. Or a dotted line to a treasure map “X”. I look over stealthily at my neighbour to see where her ails are. She catches me looking over and covers her sheet like it’s grade 9 French class. I return the sheet and settle in with a Toronto Fashion magazine from 2003. I look around the waiting room and the average age is about 65, evenly male and female. There is one other guy about my age and he looks like he’s going to puke. I assume he’s straight and nervous as hell about what was going to happen to him. Thankfully my years of gay anal sex has steeled me to the fact that in a few moments, a stranger will be rooting around my nether-parts. Sort of like a night at the Black Eagle. Ba-zing!
After an hour wait, I am ushered into a room with a plesant East Indian doctor and Rubenesque assistant. And the dreaded paper bench. Trousers off. Face down. Butt up. With me in a Superman position across the bench, it’s raised up to chest height as the two joke about the Doctor’s ability to correctly operate the raising pedals.
In they go.
“Oh yeah,” says the assistant.
“You see?” The specialist says.
“Yup.”
Suddenly a rubberized finger zips so fast into me it brings back memories of my first date.
“Guh!” I grunt.
“Oh sorry. Just inserting a probe to see if you have any more hemmeroids,” the specialist says. Dig dig dig.
“Want me to get rid of that hemmeroid?”
“Will it hurt?” I ask, childlike.
“No.”
“Go for it!”
“I’m done!” he announces after a few seconds of nothing. “I froze it. It will fall off in a few days.”
“And the other…” I prompt.
“Skin tag. Removing that will hurt. Needle, cutting and no stitches. At this point, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Yay.” I croak as the table is levelled. The scary 40’s film montage fades to my bright smiling face with sunbeams behind my head.
I wander out of the clinic whistling Beyond the Sea by Bobby Darin.
When I was a kid I was obsessed with that grainy film of Bigfoot looking back at the camera as he (she?) trundled off into the woods.
Now you too can keep a sharp eye out for him! (via BoingBoing) The camera cycles through three spots somewhere in Northern California. I want to go hiking up there to stand in front of one of the cameras wearing a X-file Grey alien costume, reading Martha Stewart Living.
…are up for your shits and giggles in City As Blog!
Sharkboy and I are going on a cruise and I’m scoping out hotels at work and decide to go to one of those “discount” hotel sites and plug in my info:
One night, two occupants, mid-November.
I get this result:
A two and a half star hotel near the airport for one night is around $1500?! I guess I better sell that kidney. Oh wait, I can’t. It’s fused together.