Isn’t it weird how something comes to your attention and suddenly you can’t stop seeing it? Once a friend of mine ranted and raved that he wanted an orange VW van and now I see them constantly.
The last couple days I’ve had muevo hits from people searching for Zanta. Its like Torontonians want a hero.
Sorry for the downtime again folks. Not sure what happend that time. MySQL took his SQL and went home I guess.
I’m going to “borrow” an idea from Blamblog and look to my outbound fave Blogs for “content”. I mean… Let’s look to my blogroll and see what they’re doing today:
Bondcliff.net hasn’t updated his site since May. Hmm. I like him as a person but as a blogger, he sucks. Go and slap his ass into gear!
Uncle Al hasn’t written anything since the Zug meeting back in July. Again, a great guy but not really a blogger, is he? Well let’s keep on down the list, shall we?
Daryl’s site ain’t a blog. And he hasn’t done much since the beginning of July. What the foosh? No wonder I am only on the C-list of Bloglebrity! I link to lame-os! (Just kidding, D. I know you’re busy)
Rants abound from Hairy Fish Nuts. You should go back to his site a few times a day and bait Squeamish into incredible anti-leftish rants.
Dawn’s Brain critiques a web development site from Arizona I sent to her. Yeehaw! Rednecks and Flash!
Shawn (2fruition) wants his lurkers to come out of the woodwork and just say Hi. I’d do that but I’m afraid I’d get the people from JulieAndrews.org or the CityTV forums pages. Brave man!
Spyke is concerned with his calluses. His shyness is his power!
From A to B (cut n paste, kids: fromatob.blogspotdotcom – it’s a blogspot) encounters his friendly neighbourhood ghost again via his girlfriend and as a result, has some tough questions.
Day 7 of peeing into a bucket for Not Well Planned. And a camera. Up her butt. Ew.
The Waiter deals with juvinile vulgarity with a deft hand.
And finally, Blamblog is jamming on creepy religious websites that turn homosexuals into productive elements of society.
It looks like Paris Hilton is going to be around for a while. Dang.
Sharkboy startled me this weekend by actually looking into buying a cell phone. The man who exhibits great glee in yelling “PENIS!” really loud when we walk past an obnoxious cell phone user. I would have thought he would see them as a digital leash of sorts but he seems cool with it. Now I will be able to text message him little cute love notes and goofy pictures of my corn chip toenails while he’s at work.
The sum of internet technology, right there folks. Corn chip toenail pics.
Have a martini, look around and make yourself at home.
Don’t poke Sharkboy. He ‘s been eating chilli all week.
Any questions, just ask.
Dead Robot
As some of you know, I produce promotional material for Toronto’s premiere Leather/Denim/Cruising bar, The Black Eagle.
The GM from the bar just sent me a request for a print ad:
I wanted to add “Comes with dedicated web/graphic designer, cheap”
I doubt he’s going to get that price. Although, it’s down from the rumoured $1M everyone was saying he was asking.
And to my Graphic Design readers, yes I moved the price line up into the body of the ad in the final copy. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was on Dayquils.
Lets see… w. w. w. dot monster dot c. a.
Click on Salary Profiler. *click*
Enter some data. Typetty type type. *click*
Well welly well!
We’re home!
I have stories and images coming out the ying yang. Expect muevo entries this week.
We got back 40 min ago and ordered Swiss Chalet because we apparently have forgotten how to cook for ourselves. We dumped “Shelly”, a new character to Deadrobot.com, in her bleach bath and settled down to some “travelling since 7am” TV.
The first image on the screen was the Poseideon Adventure remake. Weird.
More later my pretties!
I’m cleaning the bathroom. What is it?
Sunday, 1:20pm, Jan 08, 2006
No Frills, Carlton and Parliament
Sharkboy and I are in line with our meager purchases and in front of us are two exquisitely rotund women purchasing the largest amount of consumer meat I have ever seen. Enough ground beef to reconstitute a cow, 7 packs of half chickens (three and a half chickens?), 6 packs of thick sliced ham, drumsticks to beat the band to submission and various other sundries.
While one loads stuff onto the conveyor belt to be scanned, the other is packing all this meat into bags. The one packing meat, dressed in white sweats, hoody still up, answers a call on her cell, magically produced from one of her folds, with “Why are you calling me?” Pause. Louder. “WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME?” The uber-rubenesque one unloading their groaning shopping cart stops her meat-haulin’ and looks up at Hoodie.
Hoodie continues: “My own child and you’re harassing me with these calls. I told you not to call.” To the Unloader: “Harassment!” Back into the cell: “You’re harassing me. You. Are. Harassing. Me.” The drama continues in this vein. Meat starts to back up on the conveyor belt, sadly wanting to be packed into embarrassingly yellow NO FRILLS bags.
And in the drama, Unloader lady “forgets” to put a single package of bacon up on the belt (I’m still trying to figure out why all this meat and yet one single package of bacon…). She pushes the cart through (note to self: no alarms went off) and instantly starts to put bags of meat into the cart, covering the poor forgotten bacon.
I bet you can see the finger quotes around “forgets”. It was a bit too fast and a bit too obvious.
The bacon was the last thing in the cart making it pretty difficult to missed putting it on the belt. While Hoodie’s harassing drama was loud and distracting (the poor cashier was wincing at Hoodie’s verbal cell phone lashings to her child), Unloader pushed that cart through to the bagging area pretty darned fast.
Sharkboy was on his tippy toes wanting to say something.
The time comes to pay and Unloader hands over five $20 Loblaws gift cards. My oh-so-judgemental mind says “trailer trash!” as they fuss and haul and grunt their fodder into their cart, Hoodie still sputtering about being harassed by her kid.
“Do you think karma will come back onto us for not telling the cashier about that bacon?” asks Sharkboy, in a moment of boyfriend zen.
“I think karma will rear it’s ugly head when they get anal cancer from all that meat,” I suggest.
As we leave the C’est Ne Frills Pas, Unloader (now switching her name to “Loader”) is bag-by-bag placing their meaty booty to the trunk of their Cadillac sedan because they are unable to get the cart past the iron gates by the door. Hoodie, unhelping of Loader, glares at us as we walk by, exposing the dirtiest interior I have ever seen of such an expensive car.
Im at the lowest point of my day today. You know the moment: where you indulge in taking stock in the crappy things in your life, like making Kraft Dinner when you’re alone. Oh dont sit there and say you dont do it. So Im listing things: Crappy fungal toenail. Im alone in this city. Not even a fuck-buddy. Inversley, dating makes me ill. I have no solid career after Oct 19th. I cant get past one part of the gameboy game Im on… etc etc. And Im on my bike (ten minutes before I had sat down wrong on my seat. Note to self: underwear when bike riding), and Im at a light. As I said, its the lowest part of my day and I look down. On the ground is an old newspaper page all crumpled and nearly all one grey colour, but one word looked back up at me: Passion. It was weird. It was almost neatly folded so that was the only word you could see on the page. I stared at it for a moment and thought “Was that meant for me? Is Kismet kicking my ass?” Or was it the French word for “fish”? I ride on.
A couple random thoughts while riding: Why do people think “farmer’s blows” are ok? Short of unabashedly pooping on the street, I can think of nothing less I would like to see someone do. Especially when coming out of a dirty bar. Why do rich people talk on their cell phones while driving their expensive cars? If they had the money, why dont they enjoy the ride?