Is it wrong that I wanted to laugh hysterically when Harry Potter said “When Voldermort and I touched wands in the graveyard…”?

There are some pretty boring people out there. My fave commercial played before Harry Potter and the Advancement of Story: the Virgin Xmas cell phone ad (the one with the stuffed reighndeer). While the girl hissed like an angry cat, the people behind us tsk-ed and poo poo-ed it, not “getting it”. They later revealed (in conversation during the trailers) they all worked as lawyer underlings, so no big surprise that their humour is stunted.

My other fave commercial is the Future Shop hommage to a Kraftwerk video with two shop clerks repeating “get it for less…guaranteed!” over and over. Funny!

I bought short cropped cop’s leather gloves yesterday, like the ones Ponch wears on C.H.i.P.S. Sexy.

MLT was a good time last night. The music was fun from song one and the comedienne was funny. She was no Elvria, but funny. No surprise that the body and not the brain was voted Mr Leatherman Toronto. Two people on stage made a point of scolding the gay community for letting drugs take over. Finally. Backbone! And what was up with closing one of the washrooms right when the place started to fill up and putting a washroom attendant in the only open one? Sharkboy was shooed out of the women’s despite the fact that there were about one woman to 100 men at this event. Methinks its time to move that venue or to suggest some changes in policy. I gave the evening 8.5 out of ten.

And speaking of music: remember when I was all drooly over Dayglo radio? Its back under a different name: Nigelradio.com! (that’s iTunes>Radio>70s & 80s> Nigel Radio (80s With Attitude). They’ve even salvaged the same station ID movie samples from Dayglo!

I am not work-burdened right now. The company has turned it’s crazy must-get-it-done-now gaze away from me and settled upon the poor two hapless print slaves and has demanded that a couple brochures and newsletters get done before the world cracks in half or something. I’m left to my own devices and I am rewriting meta tags on this, the last slave day before Xmas.

The previous web staff thought it was ok to just reuse the exact same words for the meta description and keyword tags for all 3500 pages of our company site. That’s right, our company’s site is ranked somewhere right beside “The Last Page On The Internet”. It’s a slow process as that I have to actually read the travel drivel describing toasty Tunisian landscapes and far-off exotic souks that syrupy drip over the HTML that is our site.

Needless to say I want to get out of here.

Tonight, Sharkboy and I are dining with Da, the WriterBrother and the Punk Neice and then driving to Montreal at 5am tomorrow morning where I will sit nursing a spiked egg nog as the French relatives talk around me. Then we get into the car and drive to Brockvegas to see my Mum for lunch, grab my WriterBrother and hit the Thousand Island Casino. We’ll be back in the city on Sunday night. Thankfully I have Mon/Tues off to decompress.

I hope you get every single present you ever wished for and greedily eat everything on your plate. Happy Christmas-Xmas-Kwanza-Festivus-Haunuka-PaganSolstice-bla-bla-bla!

Update Sharkboy just sent me this list of things he and his co-workers are saying loudly to get out of the office early:

Me: Elana, thank you for a great year, you can go home now
Me: Well, looks like Marketing is leaving, maybe we can leave too.
Me: The phones have been so quiet since lunch, that’s a sign.
Me: Did you notice how empty the parking lots are? Everybody’s gone home early!
Me: Did you finish all your shopping? Would be good to go now before everybody leaves work at 5 and fill out the mall…
Me: They were saying on the radio that the traffic is heavier at 3pm today than it’s been all week, I guess a lot of people are leaving early.
Me: I can’t believe the coffee place closed early today.
Me: I have so many things to do at home before dinner tonight.
Me: I guess I’ll clean the desk, not in the mood for anything else right now…

I sent back:

Try this one:

Did you see that movie last night? A Christmas Carol? Boy that boss turned really nice, eh?

And just now I got from him:

I guess my talking to everyone and not really being at my desk got me in trouble… Anyway, long story short, I was just told that if it’s that quiet, I could go home.. hehe

Mike brought me a t-shirt from Vancouver…my second favorite Sushi restaraunt in the world.

My sister took us to the Dragon Pearl in Calgary where they served the best Salt and Pepper Lemon Seafood I have ever tasted. She went on to Freudian Slip-Up the soup appetizer into “Hot and Sewer Soup”. Laughs all around. I got my dad to eat Ethiopian food. He was cool with eating with his fingers but he was more interested in picking up the waiter. “Should I go? I could leave you two alone…”

I had 4 – 5 cups of tea in the morning with the paper. It was heaven. Ive not done that in a long time. Rhino (bro-in-law) insisted on making bacon in the microwave, which was ok, but nothing beats the gooeychooey of fat on a nice piece of smokey.

The last meal we had was at the Chicago Chophouse. $50 T-bone steaks ($5 extra for the garlic mashed potatoes) and (I kid you not) $20,000 bottles of wine. No lie. I had to rub my eyes to make sure the comma was in the right place. The restaruant was total “Beef and Oil” old-boy kinda place with the largest fully stocked bar I have ever seen (to impress the American investors-including the career bartender who knew every single drink on either side of the border, ever) and golf on the bigscreen tv in the pre-dinner lounge. The waitresses were nice in a classy Hooters kinda way. Dinner was about $100/person after dessert.

I’m back from camping with only 3 bugbites on my right arm (for some odd reason). I have pictures and will try to get them up tonight. We had a great time with the usual crowd and it was great to see the Point guys putting up that great big tent blimp hangar structure for wedding/parties/anything as well as upgrades to the pool. Now to make more showers…

I do have one story to relate: Last year, there was a guy so far gone drunk at the social tent gatherings he was dubbed “Stumbalina” due to his mode of stumbling transport through the crowd. The first party of the weekend in the new Blimp Hangar, Stumbalina was there, doing his thing through the crowd, mumbling drunk disjointed come-on lines.

Sharkboy and I leave to fall asleep in our tent in the quiet wooded section we love to rent (its away from the seasonal party people hence it’s 99% quiet). At about 3am, I’m nudged awake by Sharkboy with “There’s someone outside the tent!”

Outside, about 2 feet away from our tent door, eerily standing right in front of the nearly full moon creating a silloette with a misty halo, is Stumbalina. Swaying slightly.

Immediately the entire Blair Witch movie replays in my mind and I’m awake. I am freaked out. Sharkboy yells “Can you go away, please?”

“Muh lookn fr my tent,” I think he says.

“This ain’t it,” Sharkboy shoots back.

Stumbalina stumbles (duh) away loudly into the night. I’m still sitting bold upright. I’m certainly not going to be able to sleep.

Ten minutes later I can hear him kicking up underbrush near our car/cooler/food area, with no real direction in his movements. I am up out of the warm arms of Sharkboy and with a large, heavy flashlight in hand I am out of the tent and advancing on Stumbalina, who hasn’t drunkenly registered that someone is coming at him. I hit him with the powerful beam from the flashlight.

His reaction to the light was exactly like that scene from the 50’s War of the Worlds when Dr. Clayton Forrester shines his flashlight on the Martian: eEEEeeeeeEEE!!! His hands come up over his face, which is contorted like I sprayed him with ice cold water. “Buddy… where is your tent?” I ask calmly (Sharkboy says I was calm. I wanted to sink the flashlight into his face – years of being a bouncer at the Black Eagle kicks in when dealing with drunks).

“mulglgalgg …Eight!” Meaning he was in lot #8.

“Over there,” I point with the flashlight. He slowly turns and follows the beam.

Stumbalina stumbles into the night.

About 5 minutes later we hear a zipper and a thump.

The next day we see Stumbalina drinking gallons of water. He won’t make eye contact with us.

What an odd Saturday I’ve had. I attended my step-father’s wake in Brockvegas, populated with people whose average age was 70+, mostly rich white folks living in 750K codos overlooking the St Lawrence Seaway (Step-dad was a busy realtor in Brockvegas). Pepper in the odd via-marriage cousin, “son of so and so”, “brother of his uncle” and you had a room full of Italian/Irish/Brits all being nice and simmering emotionally over a free bar.

As I am generally a nervous wreck these kinds of social situations (and I don’t drink), I put my foot into my mouth so many times that Dr Scholls is considering teaming up with Crest to market directly to me. I had one particular gaffe that was done with such elan and flair I am certain I deserve a prize of some sort: We were clearing the party room after the service and I had just brought in the guest book and various framed photos into Mum’s condo. I look around and wonder where “the urn” is. Earlier, there was some debate as to wether Ian’s ashes were to be divided or placed into the St Lawrence. I turn to Mum and ask deadpan: “Where is Ian?”

Of course I mean Ian’s remains. Or Ian’s ashes. I didnt want to reduce him to that… level… so I stopped short of adding those two words to the end of my sentence. Plus I firmly believe that we never actually “leave” and that through memory and voodoo hocus pocus, we remain with our loved ones forever.

Anyhoo, back to the moment.

Mum’s face looks like I had just slapped her. My oldest brother, standing behind her, eyes the size of Grandma Perini’s largest stock pot lids, has a face that looks like I just uttered the most heinous swear word. Mum bursts into tears. She had been holding up well all day and only had a few blubbery moments during her comments at the service. Now, she’s full on crying. I hug her and try to explain myself. Over Mum’s head, I can see daggers shooting towards me from my brother’s eyes. After a time, she pulls back composed, cups my face in the way I love so much and says “Thank you.” It was the release she needed for the day and as if no error in my choice of words had happened, she explains to me that he’s in the same box, given to her from the funeral home, not an urn, over there on the piano.

I am of course, mortified.

The debate over what is to be done with the ashes still continues. I don’t want to ask and will wait ’til someone tells me.

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.

Great series of articles just starting up on Salon.com about a straight man enrolling in Ex-Gay therapy sessions (requires you sit through some ads before/while reading it, but the article is worth it). Funny and at the same time horrific.

The whole thought of being “cured” sickens me (participants aren’t allowed to wear Calvin Klien) and I am saddened that people actually think they can change themselves through these outmoded belief systems. Unfortunately the Church won’t take a lesson from history (yeah a cheap plug for my brother’s book) or listen to current psychological proofs . After reading that article I am reminded of when I first started to cruise the internet and came across a cache of anti-Scientoligst sites, my favorite (and most popular) being Operation Clambake and I dove into these sites. Slowly I had my bemused curiosity towards this destructive cult changed into anger. I would hope that some closeted person would read the Salon article and have their mind changed. The right way, that is, by deciding for themselves after informed research.

Mind control comes in many shapes and sizes, kids. Now if you excuse me, I have to go unlock my Hot Coffee.

Nothing like trying to learn htaccess for your personal blog while at your day job.

“It’s Punjab day here today. I’d rather be here this weekend than next. It’s Eye-tal-ea-yan weekend next weekend and they just cover the park”

We’re waiting in line for the rides to open at Canada’s Wonderland and the red-bearded daddy ahead of us is orating to his friends and various kids hanging off his Orange County Chopper t-shirt about how the park is going to fill up with… undesireables? Before I can force my eyebrows down (I hate it when people say “eye-tal-eans”) the guards opened the chain and the crowd surges forward and we take off towards “The Eyetalian Job” ride, like Honest Ed shoppers at a 2 for 1 sale.

After running in the wrong direction (like morons we went towards where the ride wasn’t, but in our defence, the crude “map”, drawn by crayon-weilding monkeys used for LSD experiments back in the 70s, shows the ride somewhere near the south west corner), we arrive to find the ride broken so we kept on running to The Mine Buster, Canada’s largest wooden roller coaster.

I still have the bruises.

This ride really needs to be retired. Staff at CW calls it “The Great Canadian Back Buster” for good reason. It has no rubber wheels like the newer rides. Steel on rail. I think I rattled out a molar. Sharkboy lost his favorite Bear hat, even after schooling me in hat retention saftey. First corner: Voop! Gone over the side.

I am sure we did 80% of all the “adult” rides. I refused a couple due to crazy heights or if the rider executes a tight forward revolution, a sure way to make me heave up a $14 chicken burger. Here are some highlights:

• The best waterslide is The Barracuda. If you are over 90kg/190lbs, then you bomb down the tube into the basin and then just swirl there 4 revolutions or so like a cheese-packed poo rotating down the lav. Plork! Into the drain and out into the Lazy River. A+ ride!

• The worst water slide is the…well I dont remember the name. You’re in a raft and you basically just go straight down a bumpy slide. Fast and wet, like all good water rides should be, sure, but within seconds its over. And if you’re big, you are going to go down backward. Too short for the wait.

• Spongebob in 3D is best watched acting more hyper than any child within the theatre.

• The Italian Job was my first linear induction ride. Halfway through the ride you’re treated to a cheesy flame and plastic helecopter effect but you’re still reeling after the first kicking accelleration. Zero to 96.56064 kph in a few yards. Since the cars are about as big as The Fly, they took extremely sharp turns at high speeds. It was worth the 30 min wait.

• Speaking of The Fly, that coaster rocks. The guy in front of us was riding with his 9yr old and turned to us when it was over and said “Looking up at it, it don’t look like nuttin’!” And I agree.

• A 13 yr old girl high on endorphines is the true definition of “comedy”. She introduced her entire posse so rapid fire I wasn’t even sure she was talking to me as I’m fudging with the straps. Moments later the ride flips us into the air. She’d been riding The Sledgehammer 9 times in a row. The last I see of her, she’s running like Steve Austin back towards the ride’s entrance.

• Best cruising spot: Kidzville. Don’t tsk or phoo phoo me. There were millions of DDKs there (That’s code for “Daddy Don’t Know (he’s hot)”) all of them sitting back watching their wives watching over their spawn in kiddie rides while checking out other hot moms. Incredible.

The next day, we wandered down to The Canadian National Exhibition. I wrote about it last year and I can add these things about it:

1) The men are hotter there than at Wonderland. I suspect it’s because the men there are rougher due to their income and therefore, sexier. At Wonderland, there were hoards of stupid white guy faux-rappers from Scarberia, as opposed to the real rappers of all sorts at The CNE. However, there were more “Bla Bla Chopper” t-shirts at Wonderland than at the CNE.

2) The CNE has tons more interesting things to photograph. I didn’t see one costumed character at Wonderland and tons at The CNE. Plus there were cows you could pose with. Real ones. Due to a glitch in my camera (it got a bit wet) I couldn’t take any pictures with it.

3) Human cannonballs rock. Much more interesting than a high wire act. Less time wanting to see the guy fail made for more relaxed bowels.

4) $2.50 for 500ml of Diet Coke is criminal. I thought the Ex was suppose to be about “deals”? I did pick up an unused DVD of Vincent Price’s The Last Man On Earth.

5) Still would not get on one of those rides if they were the last on earth. Everything on every ride was shaking. We witnessed a guy flip head first onto the ground when he lost control on one of those fun house exits. Sharkboy laughed and laughed.

One Adam 12. One Adam 12. Possible gang fight. With chains and knives

Sharkboy picked up the first season DVD and we’ve been tucking into this groovy show. If you’ve never seen this 1968 cop drama then this post will probably not make sense so you should just move along now, nothing to see here. But if you have, then you know that the scripts are lifted from actual police reports. Half the stories are open-ended and without resolution which makes viewing a lot like watching an ADD writer who’s forgotten his meds months ago, try to hack out a Law and Order episode. Its fun to try to pick out the dialoge seams as the charcaters jump from gritty, true “She hit me with a pot of hot grease!” exclamations to the humanized, cop to cop banter: “Gee Pete, do you think you can take one of my puppies?”

I also love how they portray the hippie culture in harsh contrast to the incredibly boring, straight laced cops. Always, the criminal element has a vest (the more velour, the greater the probability of “smack” and “pot” use) and some sort of pendant that could make the dresser for Jesus Christ Superstar weep openly. There are subversive moments every so often that makes you go hmmmm, like the teen who tries to sell stolen credit cards with his “pal” from “San Francisco”, who is dressed rather foppishly. Or the two guys picked up for “driving around looking for a friend’s house” who eye each other nervously when asked why they have a bike sticking out of their trunk. And you have to love an episode that’s called “Log 131: Reed, the Dicks Have Their Jobs, and We Have Ours”

The above “chains and knives” quote is from the show’s beginning. We always giggle a bit when the dispatch says that part because she sounds so nasal and bored. As gay men are wont to do, Sharkboy and I have started to quote this when we are being catty while people watching:

“One Adam 12, one Adam 12. See the man. Far exer-cycle, north east corner of weight room. Possible neck injury. Suspect boogying too hard with walkman while cycling.”

“One Adam 12, one Adam 12. See the woman. Walking by us now. Black socks and birkenstocks. Code Ew.”

“One Adam 12, one Adam 12. See the man. Possible hubba hubba, aroooogah.”

And, as a beautiful memory marker that both Sharkboy and I are convinced was an influence to our homosexuality, is the ending: A sweaty, dirty, meaty hand bangs down twice on a brand, pulling away to reveal “A MARK VII PRODUCTION”