Broken Controller

The Future Is Now

2005-03-22T00:31:00.000-07:00

All right, people! The Blog has moved! To see new posts you've gotta go here: broken.psychodanceparty.net! That's right, a person of towering virtue has deemed it fruitful to host me! I'll keep this BlogSpot address set up until all of you beautiful people have updated your links. Better hurry, though; you're only getting a grace period of two years.

Score One for the Human Race! Score Nothing for the Zim... Thingy... Race.

2004-09-23T19:00:00.000-06:00

Oh brother. I made a trip to a few electronics stores today to purchase a replacement power cord for the laptop only to be told I need to order it specifically from the manufacturer. Horseshit! Is it too much to ask for them to have an AC adaptor with an output of 19 V and 2.4 A handy? Huh? No! They never have what I specifically come in for, and instead tempt me with rows and racks of product of which I have no need! Curse their underhanded tactics! Now I'm stuck with Invader Zim Vol. 1 and X-Men Legends for PS2. I've been faced with these shenanigans for too long and this treachery, this enormous disrespect tossed in my face so casually by these DISGUSTING MAGGOTS will no longer go unpunished! I shall annihilate them down to their cells, smash their filthy mitochondria and lay the smack on their pitiful RNA! Oh what delightful horrors I have prepared for you, merchants of misery. The sound of inevitability, indeed. Indeed!

Ummm... I wouldn't recommended purchasing Simpsons Cola, as drinking it seems to have rendered me insane. Hmmm. A shitty licensed product, who'd a thunk it? Sucralose, binding to my brain nerves! Transfiguring my neurons! The reuptake of brain chemicals has slowed to a standstill, clouding my already chalky thought processes! GAH! Heed this day, Cott's Beverage of Canada! For your delusional quest to maximize your profits has claimed its first victim!

But for now I must depart as I have guests at the moment. We finally meet, Count Cocofang!!!

World Destruction

2004-09-22T13:20:00.002-06:00

An error has occurred in the script of this page.

You know that little message you see just above here? It appeared every time I typed a letter into the title field. Wonderful times.

You see, I have a laptop. It's close to six years old now, but it was serving me just fine for everything I needed to do online. Unfortunately, the power cord was becoming rather ragged after all this time, and yesterday it funnelled it's last charge. Goddamn AC adaptors. So for now, I am stuck using this old 486 I dragged out of the closet. Yep, that's right, 486. Who knew using a 486 could be this much fun?! Especially when you need to splice the mouse wires because the cat was using it as a chew toy? At this rate, I imagine I'll be using a Tandy by the end of the month. Along with a keyboard where the only functioning vowel key is U.

Goddamnit, now I'm going to have to shell out for a new power cord. Do you know how *expensive* those things are?! When will the madness end?

This Post Brought to You by Globo-Chem

2004-09-21T13:53:00.000-06:00

Mr.

Show

Season

Four

OUT TODAY!!!

Oh yeah, and I saw a guy dressed as Santa Claus walking around Red Deer.

Hello, Allison!

2004-09-20T14:45:00.000-06:00

Sigh. Does it get any better than a song about a love-sick convenience store clerk?

Anyhoo, I'm back at work after three days off; and as you can imagine, I'm as giddy as can be. Really! I'm not kidding! Stop laughing at me! You guys are sucky bastards. Bah! However, I've noticed a lot of sullen faces coming to the counter this afternoon, and I find that disturbing. I mean, it's Monday! There was some light snowfall this morning! How can it get any better than that? I have no idea what's causing this malaise, nor can I ever hope to know. The question troubling my brain is this: Is it going to become an epidemic? Well, I would not like to see it come to that, so I'm going to inoculate you lucky readers against terminal sulkiness before it starts to spread. Yep, it's that time again! It's time for yet another stupid list: Joel's Favourite Cinematic Comedic Moments! And there's another benefit to this: I can get away with writing a half-assed post.

Chasing Amy - Holden's seductive dance before he finds out Alyssa's sexual orientation.
Zoolander - Garry Shandling's cameo.
Zoolander - For that matter, Billy Zane's cameo.
Out Cold - "He was loving it strong!"
The Wrong Guy - Nelson's attempt to board a moving train.
The Wrong Guy - "My name is Jones. Enema Bag Jones."
BASEketball - The "reunion" party the hapless heroes attend at the beginning.
Ghost World - Gerrold attempting to score with Rebecca at the record party.
Ghost World - Doug the Nunchuk Mullet Man.
Bottle Rocket - Robbing the bookstore.
Rushmore - The "Oh Yoko" montage.

And that's my list. Which contains everything that comes to mind at the moment. Sad, isn't it? Oh, and just to let you, if anybody were to take this idea and use it for their own blog, it would not break my heart.

Indecent Disclosure

2004-09-19T23:13:00.000-06:00

I dropped in to visit my boss at work tonight, where I made clear that if the five-foot-tall singing and dancing skeleton mentioned previously sings the Monster Mash, I will be stealing it. He shrugged it off, then talked about the other decoration he could have picked up instead of the skeleton. Apparently, he could have bought a five-foot-tall singing and dancing Hulk Hogan. I'm really hoping that he had the description wrong, because if he bought some stupid skeleton instead of a five-foot-tall singing and dancing Hulk Hogan, I'm afraid I'm going to have to give my two weeks notice.

Your Stinging Velvet Arms

2004-09-17T02:30:00.000-06:00

I've got to make a new Bloblife or risk being kicked off the creative team. My oft-delayed bio is stagnating in its own special corner of the hard drive. There's tons of books I need to tackle. The Gamecube controller is calling out to me to play Tales of Symphonia. Bit of a spare tire I have; perhaps I should exercise a bit. People are screaming at me to finish the next chapter of Super Fun Happy Amazing Hour!!! In Crisis! Hmmm. I think I should start working on some of this. Tomorrow. Yeah. For now, I'm going to wallow in my misery. This almost never happens on my blog.

[deafening laughter ensues]

Yeah, that was a good one! Seriously though, I'm in a bit of a funk right now. After the summer daze, September usually comes in like a refreshing breeze. There's a feeling of rebirth. That is definitely not the case this year. My brain's still fuzzy, I'm feeling beat most of the time. I feel like the personification of the word Blargh.

One main reason is that one of my few friends has moved away. Yep, that would be Dane; and it should help answer your question as to what the hell happened to him. He finished his work term at the local paper last week and moved on to his first "real" job with a paper in North Battleford, Saskatchewan. As for me? It's back to being Ol' Lonesome Joel. Dammit! Now I have no one to watch Kids in the Hall and Mr. Show with, and my cats are thoroughly sick of every episode. Where does that leave me? Bah. Bah! A pox on Dane Lutz and his heathen need for money! [grumbling]

As for the rest? Well, I don't think I can put it into words. But don't let out a sigh of relief just yet; you're not getting off that easy. I've chosen a song that pretty much sums up my entire state of existence and tweaked it a little to better represent the Joelness at its core. The artiste behind it? None other than Fat Lip, proud owner of the best music video ever made.

Feeling downtrodden
Fresh kid turned rotten
I can't believe all the heat that I've gotten
Over the years it seems like I'm getting dumber
Reminiscing to a time when I was younger with a hunger
Full of dreams, determination, self-esteem
But now it seems they hesitate to be on my team
You know the routine
when you're winning and grinning
All up in your face
Like they were with you from the beginning
But on the flipside
When you're washed up like a riptide
People laugh about how you slipped and let things slide
Beside the fact
My blog is wack
Folks are running 'round, saying that I smoke crack
Don't have anybody that's watching my back
I've got no more fight
My game isn't tight
People who haven't seen me in a while
Are like "Dude, are you all right?"
Who am I kiddin', who do I fool
When they ask me "What's up Joel?" and I say "It's cool."
Who am I kiddin', who do I fool
When they ask me "What's up Joel?" and I say "It's cool."

Behind the Candy

2004-09-16T01:11:00.000-06:00

As you all should be aware of by now, I am one of the few, the proud, the convenient. Yep, I am one those busy worker bees who help to maintain the hallowed tradition known as the corner store, and I am wholly committed to the ideals that come with it; namely, to be as surly and indifferent as possible. What you probably don't know (which consists of too many things to list at this point, so I'll be confining myself to only one) is that my boss prides himself on having the largest candy selection in our town. Frankly, this doesn't require a lot of effort considering that our town is not that big; all he'd have to do is order a few extra boxes of Mars bars to comfortably claim that title. But no, he's wholly dedicated to stocking his shelves with a wide variety of candy. Much to my chagrin, but that's besides the point, isn't it? After all, what's the well-being of your employees compared to the opportunity to wrest change from the sweaty hands of children and warp their fragile minds in the process?

Yes, that's right, warp their fragile minds. Seriously, have you taken a walk through a candy aisle, lately? The tawdriness on display is fucking unbelievable! Don't believe me? Then consider:

Tongue Splashers - Lord almighty.
Push Pop and Flash Pop - Why can't kids leave their dad alone?
Soft Baby - Excuse me?
YumYum Giraffe - Alrighty then.
Yu-Gi-Oh! - What the hell is this, some kind of tantric sex cry?

Look at the messages being sent to children! References to oral sex, father abuse, pedophilia and bestiality flourish like dandelions. These, however, are a far cry from the worst offender I've seen. No, that title belongs to a recent addition to our Aisle of Shame; a one-way ticket to Sodom and Gomorrah if I've ever seen one. Gaze upon the unholy terror of the 'Lil Squirts!

The picture may be of a profoundly shitty quality, but this is the best I could find on the company website. But really, can you blame them for not wanting a clear picture available? Suggestive name aside, the box art is utterly atrocious. What are they trying to convey here? It seems they're saying all Little Johnny has to do is squirt "candy" from a phallic fruit into his mouth and he'll be transported to an hallucenogenic paradise where grapes with pinwheels and parasol-sporting strawberries frolic. Hah! Next thing you know, Little Johnny's suckin' cock to support his more frequent visits to the Altered State of Druggachusettes! At this point you're shaking in an uncontrollable rage, no doubt. Or feverishly masturbating. One of the two. So, my non-perverted readers, you know what you must do! It's time to take it to the streets! It's time to strike these bastards where it hurts the most! It's time to find these evil candy executives and cut off their penises!

Viva!

This post has been brought to you by Joel. Joel! Surreptitiously aiding the moral decline since 1979!

Brevity is the Soul of Twit

2004-09-14T13:57:00.000-06:00

Remember that part in X-Men 2 when Wolverine and the kids jacked Cyclop's car to make their getaway from Stryker? And when they turned on the stereo, 'N Sync came blaring out?

Yeah, that was pretty funny.

Prosaic Putridosity

2004-09-13T15:15:00.000-06:00

Before I start, I'd just like to say that After School Knife Fight has beaten out Rival Schools in the category of My Favorite Band Name Utilizing the Word School. And on that note I'd like to continue by saying that Xiu Xiu's Brian the Vampire is the best song title I've ever heard.

Oh, and just to let you know, I haven't actually heard any of those bands.

Some kids were in the store a few weeks back shopping for candy. They were all dressed in the goth-punk look that appears to be the rage lately; well, everyone except for the one girl's boyfriend, who was decked out in a Darkness shirt (which he never appears to take off) and tight women's jeans. Anyway, they were discussing their trip to Warped Tour, when one of the girls squealed "I got to meet My Chemical Romance! EEEEEE!". At which point every one of them started squealing in unison. Except for the guy, thank goodness; he was content to stand around looking tough. After all, you never know when the Pixie Stiks are gonna start frontin'. I could go into what I found troubling about that whole scene, but it would take a lot more time and effort than I'm willing to give.

The archetypes never change, they just wear different clothes.

I received a gigantic shock this morning when I entered the stock room of the store to find a five-foot tall skeleton staring at me. Huh, it appears the boss is getting ready for Halloween early this year. Oh yeah, did I mention this skeleton is wearing a glittery tuxedo and top hat. And not only that, but sings and dances as well? Goddamnit, if this thing sings the Monster Mash, I'ma gonna be stealin' this thing the beginning of November...

The Art of the Deal

2004-09-10T21:22:00.000-06:00

Oh goody. My employer - Rolf B. of Rolf's Groceries - has decided to go into the tacky tchotchke business. As of yesterday, we're now proudly displaying on our front counter those wonderful Novelty Flashers! And by that I mean little pins that flash blue and red light, not a group of perverts in trenchcoats modelling multi-colored condoms. But still! You can buy them in the shape of guitars, cowboy boots, ladybugs, and even dolphins! Woo!

One question: Is it true that the image of a dolphin is worn by women to symbolize they've gone over a certain number of sexual partners? I heard that a few years ago and I've always wondered if it's true. Not that I expect to be let in on the secret Code of the Female or anything...

Okay, I think I'm gonna take down that Novelty Flasher display. I've been here for only two hours and every customer so far has delayed their walking out the door so they can fawn over it like a stoned moth. But why am I so hostile to the beloved Novelty Flasher? After all, it says right on the display that it's "Great for Dances, Parties, Night Fun...". Well, if your "Night Fun" consists of inducing seizures in epileptics out for a stroll, then by all means! Seriously, if you buy one of these things when you're well out of your pubescent period, you're making the case for the return of government-sponsored eugenics that much stronger.

What's that you're saying? Ah hell, you got me. The only reason I'm so cranky about these new gidgets is because I can't seem to decide between the Canadian Flag flasher and the Smiley Face flasher. Goddamn it, the choice is driving me mad!

Note: If you read the Eugenics link, you'll find proof that we Canadians are not all smiles and maple syrup...

The Sequel Nobody Demanded

2004-09-07T22:37:00.000-06:00

The Sequel Nobody Demanded

This is a continuation of the post "Rum in the Jungle". So I guess you could say it's like Kill Bill, only really stupid. On that note, I'm proud to present to Annoy Readers Vol. 2.

When we last left myself, I was having what could be loosely termed as fun in a local bar. But the night must come to an end, so we trotted off to the house of Dane's mother and stepfather. After arriving, I forced Dane and Famira to recognize the glory of Strong Bad. I'm sure they did, and they're currently thinking of new and imaginative ways to thank me.

The next day I went back home. I'll give you a moment to appreciate that awe-inspiring sentence.

I was supposed to meet Dizzane and Fizzlamizzlera at Duffer's Pub to partake in watching of the hockey game on Saturday night, but I decided I'd immerse myself in Jak II instead. Heh, it was worth it. After escorting three bickering morons through the sewers to blow up a statue, I figured it was time to bless them with my presence. And bless them I did. And guess what? Cheap Sunglasses - the ZZ Top tribute band - was playing AGAIN that night! Oh boy! We didn't think we'd be able to handle such excitement, so off we danced to the Fish Bowl. Because it's such a wonderful place, and I... errm... have a crush on one of the waitresses there. Heh. It was a decisive night, and I needed to impress her right away. So, I downed eight rye and cokes and became stupidly pissed. That had to leave an impression, no? Yep, and trying to walk out an obviously barred door and being laughed at by the DJ. The SuperStud's back in action, puttin' his love life in traction.

Drunken antics can only go so far, so it was time to head back to the house to get some sleep. I was getting ready for another good night on the couch when Dane's stepfather entered the living room. He asked how the night was, then glanced over in my direction.

"You live near Leslieville, Joel?" he asked.
"Yep." I replied.
"Okay. Go home. Don't wanna see you on the couch in the morning."

Because I was not wanted there, and I had nowhere else to go, and I was much too drunk to drive, I was forced to spend the night in my car. We watched Hellboy for about an hour, then Dane drove me back into town.

As you can imagine, my ass is still chapped over this.

I'm not going to argue his right to remove me from his property. What I have an issue with is that if there was a problem with me spending the night on the couch there were plenty of oppurtunities to tell me so beforehand. Over the past four months I've spent the night over there a total of nine times. The amount of complaints I've heard over this? Exactly zip. Telling me on the last night I'd be hanging out with Dane when my options for alternative arrangements were few reeks of passive-agressive bullshit. You know, I liked Dane's stepfather. I think I may even have respected him. That's kinda gone out the fucking window now, hasn't it?

And so, I spent the night in my car. It was

ATTENTION: Remainder of post deleted by Internet Stupidity Filter. Internet Stupidity Filter! Saving both you and your family from relentless ignorance!

Untitled

2004-09-07T04:29:00.000-06:00

I woke up in the morning
Took a trip to the corner store
That's when I heard my calling
Never heard a voice like you before
So I kept on walking
Pretended I didn't see
Walked by a window
And my reflection said to me
"You can try all the same
But you'll never know this mystery
There's no pilot on your plane
So you're not the man you used to be
Try all the games
But you'll never know this mystery
When your pilot has no plane
I said you're not the man you used to be."

-- K-OS

Rum in the Jungle

2004-09-07T01:52:00.000-06:00

Don't worry, this post will have nothing to do with my blog or the new re-design or anything of that nature. Instead, I shall be telling you about the past weekend and the wacky antics I got up to. I can't exactly remember the last time I did a post like this, really; I decided a long time ago that nothing in my personal life is blog-worthy and I've stuck to that notion like rubber cement. Work? That's fine. Stupid thoughts? Those are fine too. But personal details? Oh good God, no. Besides, you really have to have a personal life to describe before you can go about describing your personal life.

But first, I betta recognize: One of the fine fellows on the link list (there I go blowing the not-talking-about-my-blog thing) was in the paper this weekend. And it wasn't for being part of some sex-drenched scandal, if you can imagine that. I was reading the Edmonton Journal on Saturday and when I began to scan through the eD supplement, an article on Scrabble caught my eye. And wouldn't you know, Nick Tam was the focus of it. So yeah, this should PROVE that good things happen to people on my blogroll. In fact, I'm going to be so bold as to predict that nobody on the ol' roll gets cavities this year. No need to thank me, folks; your bills are in the mail.

Back to the weekend: I have something to announce. Dane, one of my best friends and one hell of a kick-ass blogging partner, is moving outta Rocky. He'll be heading to North Battleford, Saskatchewan to work on its local paper. And so, apart from all-too-infrequent visits with Rob and Lynn, I shall be friendless and alone in the coming months. What's that you're saying? You think I should get more friends? Well geez, people! That's your answer for everything!

"Help! My toast fell on the floor!"
"So? Get more friends!"
"Help! I'm impotent!"
"So? Get more friends!"
"Help! I'm being attacked by grizzly bears on LSD!"
"I already told you to get more friends, didn't I?"

Repeat ad nauseum. Anyway, I planned on hanging out a lot with Dane and his girlfriend Famira before they head out to Saskatchewan this Thursday. On Friday night, after working an afternoon shift, I went to Duffer's Pub to meet them while they were playing pool. Let me explain something 'bout Famira: She is addicted to pool. If Dane ever told her to choose between pool or him, there'd be a door hitting his ass on the way out. Now let's explain something about me: I do not like pool, I cannot play pool, and I have no desire to learn pool. And although my tolerance thereof has increased over the past three months, there's still no way I can comfortably be part of a night based around it. Faced with the prospect of the evening turning out to be just that, I put forth a motion to relocate the proceedings elsewhere. Unfortunately, there were no seconders, and I believe the Speaker even threatened to "kick my monkey ass". So much for decorum.

It was then I decided to go get something to eat. Neither of my compatriots were interested so I trudged off by myself. So of course, the first place I went to was the video store. They had nothing good for sale, so I went to [fast food restaurant name deleted to avoid mockery]. After waiting in line for fifteen minutes watching the cashier serve one whole customer the entire time, I got fed up and left. You get kind of annoyed when you see about three cars receive their orders in the amount of time it took the humble cashier to fetch some fries. So, piss on you, [fast food restaurant name deleted to avoid mockery]! I went to 7-11 afterwards to purchase one of their over-priced pitas instead. And when I went up to the counter, one of the girls working till flashed me a gang sign and yelled, "Yo Joel! Check it! Check it!" Which would be fine and dandy, except I've never met this girl before in my life. She walked away to work on the coolers, so I asked the lady serving me who she was. Apparently, her name is Ariel. There's only two Ariels I've ever heard of; one's a little mermaid, and the other is Ariel Sharon. It should go without saying that she was neither of them. So, what's the deal? Am I becoming famous for unknown reasons? Or did I actually meet her before and forgot about it? If the latter's the truth, then it's a real pity - for she's really, REALLY cute.

After the 7-11 Shenanigans, it was back to Duffer's Pub with I. Just in time to watch Cheap Sunglasses, the ZZ Top tribute band playing there that night. They sounded cool, I guess. The only lyrics I could make out were "She woke up fucking Legolas!" or something akin to that. I was in a better mood when I returned so I decided to play some pool, and at which I was promptly schooled. Oh well, such is life. After Famira had decided we'd played enough pool, we sat down in a booth and began to read aloud from the David Suzuki book she had brought with her. Well, Famira and I did, Dane has an image to uphold and everything. Good times, man; good times.

But anyway, this post has gone on long enough, so I'll torture you with the remaining details next time. Stay tuned for Action! Adventure! Laughter! Heartbreak... of psoriasis!

Ghostwritten by Michael Chabon

2004-09-03T15:05:00.000-06:00

I suppose I should take some time out to plug Brodieclerk a.k.a Ben Nunnally's new webcomic, Bloblife. Seeing as it's goddamn hilarious and everything. And hey, Baron von Sportlich himself - Rossford Q. Persawhisky - digs it as well. Hmmm, recommended by both me AND Ross? Don't stampede over all at once now; don't want to overload the server...

In case that doesn't entice you, I should also say that Ben for reasons unknown has decided to list me as a co-writer. Well sure, if being a co-writer means you bang out a three-line run-on sentence concept then sit around and sip margaritas for the next three hours while you wait for your partner to make the strip. Then by all means, I'm a damn co-writer. You know, it's a tough job and everything, but I wouldn't have it any other way. However, I am kinda disappointed that my idea for the title - The Unbearable Lightness of Blobbing - was rejected.

And now we go to Tina with the weather. Tina?

Hello, Bob! Fuck the weather! Fuck the weather and piss on it! Instead, I'm here to tell you that a certain someone has made clear their desire to own a T-shirt with a few of the designs on the title graphic printed on it. The proprietor of this site would like to know if anybody else is interested in a shirt like this. He has friends in the T-shirt printing business, after all. He won't be selling them for obvious reasons - quality being the least of them - but he does request you "donate" a plate of cookies or somethin' for his effort.

If you wish to make such a request and are aware of what you need to do, the e-mail address follows:

Egads!

2004-09-03T03:56:00.000-06:00

Oh, yon Queen of Useless Knowledge. Long have you kept your secrets from me. But that time has ended.

Yeah, the identity of the Queen of Useless Knowledge has been troubling me for some time now. She admitted in one of her first posts that she knew who I was, but left nary a detail as to her own identity. Just who is behind that strange pseudonym, anyway? Well, I'm proud to admit that I've finally unravelled the mystery. After hours of tedious research, analysis of every fact no matter how little, and merciless taunting from the subject in question, she's finally been found out. Who is it?

Why, it's none other than Wilford Brimley, the Quaker Oats shill and star of such classics as Mutant Species! Shame on you, Wilford Brimley; you know better than to impersonate mothers from Rocky Mountain House online!

Not Ripping Off Jhonen Vasquez Since May 2004!

2004-09-03T03:34:00.000-06:00

Ah, the sidebar's finally up to the level of quality my ardent fans expect and demand. Now I just have to clean up the title image. After finishing that, I'll be proud to call this blog my own. In fact, I've already been garnering some rave reviews:

"Hey, neat." -- Ben Nunnally

"It's alright." -- Jermey Kerklaan

"Joel, you have a problem." -- Dane Lutz

"What's that guy doing to Grover?" -- Ross Prusakowski

Oh my, I don't know if I'll be able to handle such praise without turning into a raving egomaniac!

In other news, a few more people have been inducted into my hallowed Journals of Note. Let's walk you through 'em.

Heather Smith - This is the first time I've ever reciprocated a link. I'm not particularly sure why I made her list of "Blogs That I Like and Visit Frequently", but if I was to hazard a guess I'd have to say it was mostly out of pity.

Queen of Useless Knowledge - She mentioned me in one of her posts; that's damn well good enough for me.

Here Comes The New BlogSame as the Old Blog

2004-09-02T02:41:00.000-06:00

Yes, yes; I'm sure you're all looking around and wondering what the hell happened. Well, there comes a time in a young man's life when he starts noticing some changes; his voice gets deeper, he starts growing hair where there wasn't any before... oops, wrong topic. Nah, I decided that the Minima template wasn't cuttin' the mustard anymore. So, it was time for Fisher Price's My First Blog Redesign! There was also the issue of the title. Our Names on a Marquee - while being a neat title - simply wasn't a good representation of the wacky shenanigans that go on here on a semi-daily basis. Fwit! Out it goes, and in steps Broken Controller. I hope you enjoy what I've done so far, but I should note that I'm not finished and it's still kinda rough around the edges. I'll be redoing most of the images to make them blend in better and do some major work on the sidebar to make it look spiffier in the coming days.

You know, I may come across as some rage-filled loon, but I can still recognize when some good has been bestowed on me. You guys just keep giving and giving, and I haven't even taken the time to give anything back. So, my faithful readers, I have to say thank you. Thank you for stopping in on a regular basis and reading the bloated nonsense I try to pass off as humour and/or deep observations. 'Tweren't for you guys, this blog would be dead and buried.

Don't be getting any funny ideas, now.

And a very special shout-out goes to the Yenta Crew (?) for stopping in and filling my site with loads of comment love. You guys rock. Seriously.

There Is No If, Just And

2004-09-01T04:39:00.000-06:00

So. This is it, then. Summer's over. Yes, I said summer's over; you can take your damn autumnal equinox and shove it straight up your ass. It's the first of September, the air's getting crisper, and those of you in school have gone back or are so close to going back that it's colouring the final days of your vacation. Yep, sure feels like the beginning of fall to me. Fading fast are the wanton pleasures of a cruel summer; they're soon to be replaced by the cozy whimsical melancholy of autumn. How do I feel about this?

He he he, you'll never know.

I think my hearing's going. Some dude came in to buy some Pepsi the other day, and while he was rummaging around in his pocket (or playing with himself; both were probably true) he told me, "I have the keys to my car." Confused, I stared at him and asked if he was actually willing to trade his car for a can of pop. In reply he whipped out his big, shiny and glistening... debit card and made clear his statement from before. "Car?! No, I said I have to pay with my card!" Oops. Much blushing ensues. The same sort of thing happened today, sans the homoerotic imagery. Whilst listening to the radio this afternoon the newsreader breathlessly announced that there was the proposed banning of pickles in Eastern Canada somewhere. Intrigued by this seemingly random piece of news, I strained to listen harder. The newsreader continued by saying that this was because of the recent incident where a man was attacked by two pickles. If I was an animated character, there'd have been a big fat question mark hanging over my head right then. More like three of 'em. Pickles? Is there some kinda sandwich fixin' revolt I've been sleeping on? But my fevered imagination was blasted apart when the newsreader continued and I realized he was talking about pitbulls. Oops the second. And there'll be just one more, and then I'm done. Two years back I was talking with my co-worker as she was getting ready to head out the door. She was gassing about the joy of her grandchildren, so I zoned her out and stared at the parking lot. At that moment, there was a motley crew of about five seniors walking past the front of the store. My co-worker's voice forced its way into my brain right then and I heard her say, "Man, I hate those wrinkled assholes!" Huh? What? Wrinkled assholes? I burst out laughing, much to her bewilderment. Sensing that I wasn't quite on the same page she was, she pointed out the fruit basket containing a bunch of withered fruit. Oops the third. Sigh...

Bob and David Love You

2004-08-26T03:13:00.000-06:00

Joygasm! Mr. Show Season 4 out on DVD in less than a month! It should be advised that you shouldn't try to talk to me at that time, as I'll be using violent force to make as many people as possible watch it with me. And if you fail to heed this warning and get pulled in by my tractor beam of Mr. Show fandom anyway? If I deem you to not be laughing hard enough, off goes your pinky.

In other DVD-related swellness, Season 2 of Kids in the Hall and Season 4 of Futurama are out now. Those assholes. Don't they know I have bills to pay?

Lopez!

2004-08-26T01:59:00.000-06:00

Hellooooo... what's this I see? An AdSense invite has been added to the Blogger Dashboard! How intriguing this is. They're offering to pay me in return for having text ads prominently displayed on my blog. Well, the Man should really know by now that I'm no sellout; Google can keep their twelve cents. This blog shall remain ad-free. Joel 1; Google 0.

Yay! It looks like Gomez - a British band beloved by me and just about nobody else - is coming to Edmonton at the beginning of October! I'll be trying to break my tradition of being much too poor to attend shows for this one. Even if it means going by myself. I guess I could try to convince Dane to go with me, but I sort of ruined the band for him after way too many spins of Liquid Skin when we were roommates oh so long ago. Oh well. Anyway, I suggest to all my faithful readers in Edmontonia to go check them out. You might not be disappointed. And if you happen to see a puffy bald guy singing along to such classics as Las Vegas Dealer and Get Myself Arrested, you should know that'll most likely be me. Just a little warning, so you can situate yourself as far away from me as possible if that's your thang.

Phonin' It In

2004-08-25T02:36:00.000-06:00

I don't know what to write today, so I'm going to post some links to some valuable and awe-inducing blogs in lieu of the usual pith. Both of them were taken from comments left on Jermey's blog. Feel proud, Jeremiah. Your chariot's coming to take you home soon.

Queen of Useless Knowledge - She's getting a link for the sole reason she mentioned me in one of her posts. Unfortunately, I have no freakin' clue who she is.

Jason Mulgrew: Internet Quasi-Celebrity - Funny. Funny funny funny funny. Read. Now.

Lover's Walk

2004-08-24T04:06:00.000-06:00

Folks, I must admit that I'm rather bewildered. I spent all that time crafting the last post and the response has been a collective "Meh." What's going on? What was wrong with it? Good lord, I had the lowest daily hit count I've ever had on Sunday. Why? For chrissake, it even featured a rap about Lester B. Pearson! Or was that the issue? Is Lester B. Pearson a verboten rap subject? While I'm writing this, are good ol' "Mike" Pearson and his legion of fellow undead Nobel Prize winners planning on capturing me and torturing me in ways that I cannot comprehend with my feeble human mind? No, Pavlov! Put down that bell! I can salivate no more! AAARGH!

Let's turn the page on that sad little outburst, shall we?

It was a fairly crummy weekend I had, brightened solely by the fact I finally found the movie I've been dying to see. While searching through the previously viewed DVD racks at a local video store, I discovered a copy of The Shape of Things. For seven bucks, even! How could I pass that up? After sitting down and watching it this afternoon, I must admit I was quite impressed. But since it's by one of the Top 5 all-time awesomely awesome directors, how could it be anything but great? I've derived two lessons from the movie so far:

1) Never date an arts student.
2) If your boy/girlfriend suggests that you would be more attractive if you only did -blank-, run. Run far, far away.

Ah, Neil LaBute. Where would my movie-going experience be without you? There's just nothing like your brutal relationship dramas. And although it's misanthropy can't compare to your other venomous chamber pieces - Your Friends and Neighbours and In the Company of Men - it's still got its moments of unbridled cruelty. What else... oh yeah, the recommendation. Take it from me, this is a good movie. Well worth your one to seven hard-earned bucks.

Just one word of advice: do NOT see this with your boy/girlfriend.

Fashismo

2004-08-21T00:03:00.000-06:00

Fashionistas! Roman! Couture-men! Lend me your ears! You know how there's an elite few who influence the world's taste in fashion? The designers, the celebrities, and the rock stars, and assorted other fabulous people? You can add one more name to that list. Me, baby; me. For some reason everything I wear or think is cool ends up busting through to the mainstream. If you think I'm exaggerating, then consider:

Hawaiian Shirts - I was rockin' them back in junior high, much to the amusement of my peers. A few years later everybody was stylin' them. Oh well, at least the revival died quickly...
"Emo" Glasses - I desperately wanted a pair back in '97. But wouldn't you know it, they were impossible to find. Um, not anymore...
Work Shirts - Back in '98, I decided that old work shirts from Value Village were good enough to make up my wardrobe. Again, to the amusement of my peers. The one I liked the most (and everybody else wouldn't shut up about) was my Edmonton Transit shirt. You don't know how many people asked if I drove a bus. And when after much prodding I said no, they asked why the hell I was wearing it in the first place. Um... who knows? It was cheap! Cheap and snazzy! Fast forward four years to me looking through a newspaper. I come upon the Trendwatch section and contained therein was an interview with a girl declaring her love for old work shirts. Her favorite one? Edmonton Transit. *explodes*
Old School Sneakers - I despised those big, fancy skate shoes that were popular a few years ago. All I wanted was a damn simple sneaker; one it seems like they had stopped making. And now it's 2004, Will Smith is wearing Chuck Taylors in I, Robot, and Nike has just bought Converse. It's enough to make a grown man cry. Well, there's always this...

Does it seem like I'm bitching about other people rockin' my steez? Nah, I don't care about that. What pisses me off is that everybody looks better wearing them than I do.

Why am I bothering to tell you this? The first and most obvious answer: Well, why do I tell you people anything, anyway? The second and more pertinent answer: I sense a new trend going; I can feel its rumbling in my bones. Transmissions from the Ether of Fashion are revealing its secrets to me. And knowing the luck I have with picking bandwagons, I would be remiss if I didn't share my newfound knowledge with you. You want to know what's going to be blowin' off the roof soon?

Bow ties.

No joke. Bow. Fucking. Ties.

But no, you shout; no! Not bow ties! They're the domain of "hip" young conservative pundits like Tucker Carlson! They'll never be fit for a progressive young dynamo like myself! Well, that's where you're wrong. Y'all are forgettin' one thing, the man who made bow ties awesome in the first place:

Yo.

Yep. That's Lester B. Pearson - my personal favorite Prime Minister of Canada - throwin' down the Gauntlet of Style. You think you're man/woman enough to step to his game? Huh? Ya pansy-ass mofos? Think you can mess with L.B. Fresh? Let's see you bring it, then. Starting rockin' the ol' BT, and we'll see how thug y'all are. Remember, Streets is Watchin'.

On that note, if rappers haven't been referencing Lester B. Pearson in their lyrics, they need to start immediately. If they can print Trudeau's face on women's undergarments, then pop culture can at least do this for me.

Ridin' with my homes L.B. Fresh
Slappin' down fools like Baker's D
LBJ, he tried some frontin'
But you don't fuck wit' LBP

Dread of Wasabi

2004-08-20T19:16:00.000-06:00

Many of you who read my last post were probably thinking I was going a bit overboard when I described my family as "screwball comedic action stars." Perhaps I was. But there have definitely been enough occasions where - through sheer force of will or blind stupid luck - we end up in bizarre situations that could end with severe bodily harm. My cousin gets into a fight with six guys at a company party. My mother is chased through the woods by a bear. And I'm not even going to get into what good ol' Uncle L. has done. Me, I'm not immune to this either. And although my latest story isn't as interesting as the examples given so far, at least it does confirm that I have the mighty Timmers blood flowing through my veins.

It happened a few nights ago, after the store was closed. I was working around the till, counting the cash and whatnot, when for no reason whatsoever the panic alarm went off. Common sense would dictate that if you have a panic alarm, you would want it to be silent so as to not agitate whoever is robbing/beating you. I guess our alarm company doesn't believe that, as our panic alarm wails like a sumbitch. Good thing I decided to wait until after the guy left the store to hit it when we were robbed oh so long ago. Anyway, after a frantic dash to input the code, I went behind the counter to unplug my computer from the phone line. You see, after the alarm goes off, the alarm company phones immediately to check the situation. If there isn't an answer, they contact the police. But because the alarm is going off on its own accord at least twice a day, we (the staff) are answering the phone and having this fun conversation:

"Hello! Is everything alright?"
"Yes, the alarm went off accidentally, again."
"The alarm doesn't go off by accident."
"Well, it did."
"But it doesn't."
"But I'm telling you it did!"
"You must have hit the button."
"I was on the other side of the store!"
"No you weren't, button-hitter."
"No, really, I was!"
"Button-hitter, button-hitter, button-hitter..."

Oh, the fun times with security services. So, I sat and waited. Ten minutes passed, and still no phone call. I was getting ready to phone them myself, when I saw a face in the store window. When I made eye contact, they jumped out of sight. Oh man, they had called the police in! Crap. I walked to the front door to see two bewildered officers staring at me, guns at the ready. You know, although this wasn't the first time somebody was ready to shoot me at the first sign of a wrong move, you just never really get over a thing like that. After opening the door with a greeting, one of them asked who the hell I was and what the hell was going on. Seeing as perhaps this wasn't the best time for my trademark "humour", I gave them the straight dope. And by that I mean I gave them straightforward answers, not passed them a doobie. Otherwise I wouldn't be typing this right now. After one of the nice officers scanned the store to check if I was telling the truth, I got a stern reprimand to phone the security service right away the next time this happened. I didn't feel the need to correct them on the issue of who phones who. Who could blame their annoyance, really; they raced over here expecting the worst and instead found some asshole sitting around and watching Homestar Runner.

Sooo... how was your night?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

2004-08-18T04:57:00.000-06:00

Ah, yes. What a day. As usual, I had the idea of coming to work and banging out this post as soon as possible. What I didn't seem to recognize is that 1) the local paper came out today, and 2) it was a reasonably nice out. And so, I was inundated with people desperate to see this week's Police Report. And when combined with the sweaty khaki-clad patriarchs dragging their demonic children in for ice cream, you've got a stone cold recipe for fun! But nah, that wasn't so bad; it's should be expected in my line of work. What was different were the hordes of teenage girls raiding the candy aisles. I tell ya, for one straight hour it was nothing but teenage girls in the store. For all you perverts out there, it wasn't as cool as it sounds. Unless you have some fetish for rampant giggling stupidity. I actually feel sorry for teenage guys, having no other dating options besides them. Sheesh.

(Note: Joel understands that teenage girls come in many different varieties, and he doesn't mean to paint them all with the same brush. Just the really annoying ones.)

But onto this post's reason for being: My summer vacation!

Yes, for five whole days, I was basking in the sun at our cabin outside of Kelowna. Nothing but the majestic Shuswaps occupying my field of vision. There's nothing more relaxing than sitting on a dock and reading a book as the sun sets. But getting to that point was an entirely different story. Driving through beautiful mountain scenery? That was cool. Being sandwiched between two semi-trucks wasn't. And having no radio reception along with a tape selection consisting of Dean Martin, The Statler Brothers, and Green Day didn't help stem my growing insanity. And what the hell is with those bastard minivans passing me at a full fifty klicks over the speed limit? Safety conscious, my ass.

But I arrived safe and sound in hot and sweaty Winfield. You assholes complaining about hot days in Alberta should go out west sometime. This was tempered by easy access to the lake, however. All you had to do was follow a narrow, winding path down a steep cliff. No wonder nobody in my family drinks at these things anymore. It really would've helped, because the people who went down by the water were more content to work on their bloody tans than to do something exciting. I, for my part, attempted to liven up the proceedings by tossing people into the water and flipping over every person foolhardy enough to pass by on their tubes or air mattresses, but it was akin to trying to chop down a tree with a stream of piss. Stupid family.

Back up at the cabin things were interesting, but not in a good way. There was a nice infestation of wasps going on. My uncle devoted himself to their destruction with several "ingenious" traps (consisting of pop bottles with holes in the side) but he eventually gave up and told everybody to ignore them. Of course, one day later he was stung on his tongue while going to take a sip of wine. Sweet irony; is there no better mistress? I didn't escape unscathed, either; while I was walking up for supper one bastard of a wasp kamikazed the back of my head. Which as you can guess was followed by a stream of loud expletives, all for the benefit of the four year olds a scant ten feet away. Such a positive influence, I am. I fully expect my young pupils to be screaming "FUCK SHIT FUCK COCKSUCKER!" any moment now.

It might be disappointing to know that there were no gigantic startling secrets being revealed this year; much like any other year. No, when your family's Dutch there's not that many things that are unknown. In the absence of drama there were a lot of interesting stories instead. Most of them belonging to my Uncle Dirk, as usual. Such as when the family first moved over from Holland one of his classmates told him the proper way to greet people in Canada was to say a gracious "Fuck You!" while giving them the finger. I think he went for three minutes at most before he received the strap. An even better story is his last stint as a truck driver. He came upon a turn he thought he wouldn't be able to make, so he leapt out of the vehicle and watched as it drove off the side of the road. The sad thing is that stuff like this is rather commonplace in our family history; everybody has a tendency of acting like screwball comedic action stars.

But these things must come to an end sometime, and for me earlier than most everyone else. Even though I tacked another day of rest and relaxation on to the four I originally planned on, any more time off and I'd be flat broke. So, I hit the road early in the morning, and didn't end up in Rocky until 6:30 that evening. An hour and a half late for work. So, on top of my road weariness I had to deal with customers. Whooooooo.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this brief account of my wee vacation. Frankly, I don't expect anybody to get this far. But if you did, you deserve a pat on a back, especially one from the opposite sex. So go get one.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

2004-08-15T19:49:00.000-06:00

This is sad. I've only made two posts over the past nine days. You might think that this is due to an epiphany I had while splashing about in the cool water of the Shuswaps. You might think I've finally realized that my blog should be about my life, and not the other way around. But you might also think that Canadian Idol is worthwhile entertainment, so let's not put too much emphasis on what you think. No, I just... well, I just haven't gotten around to it. You see, I've been meaning to write about what I did on my little vacation last week. But every time I go to do it, I keep getting interuppted; it being the weekend and all. What's really annoying is that it's the slow kind of busy; there's always somebody in the store and they always take at least ten minutes to make up their mind. But I'll be getting the last laugh. When it's winter and everybody's under six feet of snow, they'll realize they spent their valuable summer months sitting around and eating candy. Hah!

I did manage to gussy up the ol' link list a bit. You might notice a few new ones. The hyperbolic adjectives have been lost, and they've been replaced by quotes lifted from everybody's blogs. 'Tis a much better representation of what to expect, if you take the risk of clicking on their names. Funnily enough, when you consider the amount of work put into it, it took me almost FIVE WHOLE HOURS over the course of TWO DAYS to complete. I should say that I did it while I was on shift, before you think I'm the blogging equivalent of Brick Tamland. All in all, that should give you an accurate picture of what my weekend at work's been like. Blargh...

I Fought the Road and the Road Won

2004-08-13T01:30:00.000-06:00

There are lots of intelligent people in this world. And as a rule, they don't drive nine hours straight and go to work as soon as they hit town. I am not one of them.

Oh yeah, and a wasp kamikazed the back of my head.

Details of my trip to follow when I stop wanting to kill each and every one of you.

The Getaway

2004-08-06T23:52:00.000-06:00

I met Dane for lunch this afternoon, and one of the topics up for discussion was the length of my posts. "Dere too many words," he sputtered with his mouth full of pizza, "You know I can't read good!" Well Dane, this one's for you. Short and simple, with pretty pictures to boot. Now prop up your chin and stop drooling all over yourself.

I got new glasses today. The JDN stock value skyrocketed twenty points due to speculation, but came crashing down early this evening due to disappointment in the design changes.

You may remember Rob and Lynn, two of my associates who had the "honour" of being mentioned in the second post of this blog. Well, today was the grand opening of their store, The Hart Mart a.k.a. Glacier Boardshop! I pencilled in a little face time to see how those two crazy kids were doin'. They must be doing something right, because kids with Glacier decks are getting banned from the Bike n' Board. No soup for you, Loyal Mah! But it's a nice store, I must admit. Rob and Lynn are going to be the cool aunt and uncle of Rocky's board-obsessed youth. In other news, I might be designing the website for their business. I've submitted some of my previous work, and they're going to decide if I have the necessary cojones. My asking price, if they think I'm good enough for the job, is a new pair of shoes. God bless communal trade. To help curry their favor, I bought some shirts and a pair of shorts. They were bought with the special Fuck It discount, where the cashier makes an error in my favor but doesn't feel like fixing it. Thanks, Lynn!

Normally, I don't like to wear shorts. However, I'm going on a mini-vacation for the next four days in the glorious Shuswaps of British Columbia, which has made them rather necessary. Yes, we're having our annual family get-together, and it's special because this will be the first appearance I've made in four years. I'm not sure if I'll be posting during that time, but I'm bringing my laptop anyway. You know, in case something cool happens. Heh.

What will we be doing? Well, if it's like any other year, we'll be...

...seeing the sights!

...tubing!

...engaging in polite and intelligent discussions!

...sledding?

...encouraging positive youth behavior!

...dreaming the impossible dream!

Gonna be a blast, I tells ya! See you in four - whether that means days or hours, I'm not entirely sure.

The Thunderstorm Diaries

2004-08-06T01:40:00.000-06:00

PART 1: The Announcement

Joel: (singing)

Mop, mop, mop, all day long
Mop, mop, mop while I sing this song
Gonna mop the floor, gonna make it shine
Then I'm going to go huff some turpentine...

Radio: (song playing)

I'm gonna run to you
If the feelings right, I'm gonna...SQUEEEEEEEE!

(siren goes on for twenty minutes)

Frantic Radio Woman: OH FUCK! This is the Alberta Emergency Broadcast System! This is not a fucking test! Here's Environment Canada! AAAAGH!

Scientist: Yo. Heavy shit goin' down near Lacombe and Gull Lake. Lotsa tornadoes be touching down. They headin' to Ponoka to fuck shit up old school. Foshizzle.

Frantic Radio Woman: We're doomed! DOOMED! This is the New Perfect Storm! So don't use the phone! Bye!

Joel: 'Hwell! Now there's a fine how-do-you-do!

PART 2: Inner Monologue

Man, the store is really dead. This is cool. Now I'm here all by myself! No customers! Whooopeee! Hmmm... what should I do... oh wait, here comes somebody. What a stupid asshole. What is he doing here? Doesn't he realize it's raining right now? Stay home, you fucking douchebag!

Joel: Good evening, sir!
Customer:Grunt.

Fuck you! I was all set to have a gay old time, and you had to come and ruin everything! I hate you! I hate you, stupid dickhead! Die! DIE DIE DIE!

Customer: How much is a bottle of Pepsi?
Joel: (cheery) $1.67, sir!
Customer: Oh.

What, is our Pepsi too expensive for you, cock-smoker? Huh! Stupid whiny bitch! I'm sick of your bullshit! Oh, I see you're done now. About fucking time. Dumbass.

Customer: Well, that should be everything. Oh man, is it ever wet outside!

No. Fucking. Shit!

Joel: Here's your change, here's your bag; thank you, and have yourself a good night!
Customer: See ya! You too!

Asshole. Well, maybe I'll check out the blogs. Oh. Wait. They said not to use the phone! NOOOO!

PART 3: Amusement

Joel: (singing and dancing)

Macho, Macho Man!
I want to be a Macho Man...

Customer: Um, hello?

Shit!

PART 4: An Open Letter

Dear Weather,

Everybody complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it. Well, I'm writing tonight to change all that. Tonight, there was yet another thunderstorm in the Rocky area. That's not what I have a problem with. What I have a problem with is that you decided to send it away with two hours left on my shift. Let me explain something about humanity; we don't appreciate something until it's taken away. Since most of the people in this town are hydrophobic weiners, you severely limited the movement of a good number of our population. I'm actually kind of fond of this, being that less people moving around means less people harassing me over junk food. But once the rain stopped, all these people who were sitting inside decided they would enjoy their new-found "freedom" to move about. Therefore, on top of the typical rush I get during the last two hours, I also had to deal with an influx of said hydrophobic weiners. I would appreciate it if next time you decide to throw a storm at us you would keep it going until after closing time.

Sincerely,

Joel

Mo' Money, Moore Problems

2004-08-05T01:15:00.000-06:00

I'm taking an ill-advised break from frothy frivolity today, and instead I'm going to indulge in some polemic pontification. Just as a trial run, you see. If I crash and burn, you won't be seeing much more of this here. Cross your fingers and make your wish as to the outcome, because here I go:

All of you should be aware by now of the latest controversy concerning Michael Moore's latest film, Farenheit 9/11. It's yet another in a string of misrepresentations contained in the movie coming to light, this one concerning the doctoring of the front page of the Pantagraph, a newspaper based in Illinois. Supporters of the film and Moore in general are shrugging this off as no big deal; after all, they say, it was just some simple editing. It's not like Moore out and out lied. I have to disagree with these sentiments, for I believe that the issue at hand is representative of bigger problem. First off, I should admit that I'm ambivalent when it comes to Michael Moore himself. I do think he's doing a valuable service by acting as a dissenter, but I'm not particularly impressed with the actual quality of his dissent. Why? Farenheit 9/11 has one purpose: to prevent Bush from being re-elected. It's an admirable goal, but I'm not so sure it's going to succeed. What a lot of people fail to recognize is that despite the film's box office success, Moore may only be preaching to the choir. The thing is, there's a good portion of the American population who are either a) undecided or b) blindly supporting Bush. These are the people Moore desperately needs to reach with his film. Unfortunately, the stream of reports concerning the misrepresentations contained within aren't exactly inspiring these people to line up at the box office. What's all the more frustrating is that Moore didn't need to resort to these; surely, there should have been more than enough solid material concerning George W. Bush to make a convincing argument without them. What really worries me however, is the potential for a backlash; one which could actually increase and cement in place the popular support for Bush. When all is said and done and it's time for the American public to cast their votes this November, it could be that Farenheit 9/11 will have done more harm than good. It'd be a vicious irony if this film helped Bush win the election rather than making him lose.

SSRTC

2004-08-04T03:10:00.000-06:00

Oh my, have I ever been lax. It appears I'm not fulfilling my end of the bargain. It's been two weeks since I posted about a certain topic, and because of that, I'm not meeting SteveCon standards. This calls for some immediate rectification. I'm lacking anything of quality at the moment, however, so I'm simply going to reprint a conversation I had on MSN Messenger today. It's without the consent of the person of the person I had it with, but I'm not going to reveal who it was, so hopefully the whole karma thing will balance itself out.

Person: Oh, thats rather disappointing....very much like meeting Steve Smith for the first time.

Joel: You mean he's not some bohemian god? Striking down infidels left right and centre? Crushing his enemies, seeing them driven before him, and hearing the lamentations of their women?

[pause]

Person: Not quite..

There, requirements met for another two weeks. We now return to our regularly scheduled blog.

Yay! More Stupid Tests!

2004-08-02T00:41:00.000-06:00

What Type of Villain are You?

mutedfaith.com.

Yay! I'm a despondent villain! Yay! Watch me mope around... evilly. Yay!

Which Ethical Philosophy Do I Follow?

1. Jean-Paul Sartre (100%)
2. Kant (96%)
3. Stoics (79%)
4. John Stuart Mill (76%)
5. Ayn Rand (69%)
6. Spinoza (69%)
7. Jeremy Bentham (64%)
8. Prescriptivism (64%)
9. Aquinas (53%)
10. David Hume (46%)
11. Nietzsche (46%)
12. Epicureans (44%)
13. Nel Noddings (44%)
14. Thomas Hobbes (43%)
15. Aristotle (41%)
16. St. Augustine (30%)
17. Ockham (29%)
18. Cynics (28%)
19. Plato (25%)

My #1 result for the SelectSmart.com selector, Canadian Prime Ministers, is King, 1921-1926 // 1926-1930 // 1935-1948

Shoot me now.

you are seagreen
#2E8B57

Your dominant hues are cyan and green. Although you definately strive to be logical you care about people and know there's a time and place for thinking emotionally. Your head rules most things but your heart rules others, and getting them to meet in the middle takes a lot of your energy some days.

Your saturation level is higher than average - You know what you want, but sometimes know not to tell everyone. You value accomplishments and know you can get the job done, so don't be afraid to run out and make things happen.

Your outlook on life can be bright or dark, depending on the situation. You are flexible and see things objectively.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

And that's all she wrote for today. Look forward to more test results in a month or so.

Well, No Shit.

2004-08-01T23:52:00.000-06:00

See what Care Bear you are.

Work Schmerk.

2004-08-01T22:59:00.000-06:00

Okay, I'm breaking my silence on all matters work-related today. Please bear with me as I vent some of my frustrations.

The thing about being in retail/service is that the worst incidents don't automatically make for the worst days. A customer flipping their top, a rack of glass bottles tumbling to the floor or shoplifting does not an awful day make, no matter how unsettling these individual incidents might be. Besides, there's something oddly cathartic about shit hitting the fan. No, the worst days at work are formed by the little things. The minor little annoyances. Individually, they aren't a problem, but when they're stacked up over a period of seven hours they start snapping your synapses. It's like setting a pissed off gorilla loose to wreak havoc in your mind. That bastard'll rip apart your patience and stomp on your tolerance until the mere sight of a customer sends you into a frothing rage.

When I started this, I had in mind a listing of the particular little things that annoy me over the edge of the reason. As is usual with my life, distractions arose and I had to put this post to the side as I dealt with them. While I was busy, I realized that a lot of these things are part of one main issue. It all arises from the nature of the customers on the shift. Certain natures are worse than others; after all, who enjoys work when the customers are feeling antagonistic? But the customer mood behind my worst nights isn't anger; it's boredom. Ennui. People plodding through the aisles; their eyes half-closed. Half-heartedly studying our stock. Tedium writ large. Time flows like molasses. This is how humanity ends; not with a bang, but a whimper. I can try to fight it, but if it continues for too long, I'll eventually start to feel bored as well. Their mood has informed mine, and mine will inform the mood of future customers. It's a stupid cycle that's impossible to break once it's underway. Throw in all the other bullshit and you've got yourself one bad night. Bored AND stressed. What a combination.

Get A Lil' Action In...

2004-07-31T18:37:00.000-06:00

Hmmm... it's Saturday evening and I'm kinda stumped on what to do. Bozzys, one of Rocky's famous hot spots, is closing its doors after one final hurrah tonight. Should I go? Would I be doing a disservice to my many "fond" memories if I didn't? Could the disrepect demonstrated by not going be considered an act of treason against Rocky Mountain House? Well, if it was an issue of that, then Fuck No; I'd be staying home. Besides, Bozzys is merely in the midst of a change in ownership. It'll be re-opened as The Fish Bowl at a later date. No, the issue at hand is a lot different than civic pride or a lack therof. Tonight will be a big occasion. A big occasion means lots of people. Lots of people means lots of girls. That's good! But lots of people also means lots of guys, and lots of guys means lots of bullshit. That's bad. What it boils down to is a case of eye candy versus rampant cases of testosterone poisoning. It's a very complicated decision, as you can see.

And lest you think I'm some sex-crazed buffoon whose whole-hearted belief in the Law of Averages will lead him to harass every person within fifty feet that has a vagina, perhaps I should explain myself better. No more do I go to the clubs/bars to annoy women with my pathetic advances. Now... I Come To Watch. My approach is best summed up by the song I Like to Watch by Canada's own Prozzak:

I like to watch
I like the way you bounce bounce
I like to watch
Ya ya groove 'n' move it
I like to watch
Shake it if you've got it lady
Here's my confession
I like to watch your hot box

Uh... except for that last line. I don't know what the fuck that's about. Hey, hold on a second. What are the benefits of insisting that I'm a staring, drooling pervert instead of a sex-crazed buffoon? Oh man, why do I keep painting myself into these corners?

The Post With No Point

2004-07-31T03:56:00.000-06:00

Sigh. Summer always seems to devolve into a rut once it hits August. The pleasure centre of our collective brain is suffering an overdose of sunshine, lollipops and rainbows. The people who were looking so forward to warm temperatures are lost in a zombie haze. The burst of energy that came in May is over; we're now coming down off our summer injection, and it's turned out to be one bad hit.

"Oh, look. The sun is shining again. Perhaps we should go outside."
"Yes, I agree. Let's."
"And we should also visit the beach. I suppose that's what people do on days like this."
"Boy, I can hardly contain myself, the glee is just too much."
"Hey, look at the water. There are kids and dogs in it. They are splashing about."
"Huh. What a delightful picture."
"What perfect weather for another barbeque."
"More hamburgers? Yay."

And on and on and on. No wonder people are more energized when autumn comes. Just one big rut. Rut rut rut rut rut rut. Hey, isn't the English language swell? Apparently "rut" can mean "A settled and monotonous routine that is hard to escape" or "to be in a state of sexual excitement." This post just takes on a whole different meaning if you use the latter definition. A sensual meaning. Growl. Yay for the protean nature of the English language!

As you can see, my list of topics to post about has grown slim; rather slim, indeed.

Does Whatever A Human Can...

2004-07-31T01:58:00.000-06:00

Hours of tedious research have turned up possibly the greatest find in human history. Heard of the new Batman movie, Batman Begins? Yeah? Haven't cared one way or another? I must admit I didn't really give a shit either when I first heard the news some time ago. But a shot of the new Bat-Suit has surfaced and now I'm all giddy with glee. Partake in my happiness by clicking the links below.

Follow the trail of ones and zeroes - Suit Picture!

Follow the trail of ones and zeroes - Teaser Trailer!

Bravo, Monsieur!

2004-07-29T00:28:00.000-06:00

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled menacingly in the little town of Rocky Mountain House. Lightning flashed. Thunder crashed. On that fateful evening fourteen years ago, the rain... hold on a sec. What's that, brain? Oh. Turns out it was actually a balmy summer afternoon. Well, so much for the imagery, then! Stupid brain. Anyway, I wasn't outside frivolously frolicking about like children are supposed to do during the days of their summer vacation. No, I was inside playing The Adventures of Bayou Billy for the NES. This was an ambitious game for its time; combining brawling, driving, and shooting sections. It was really hard, and it really sucked. As can be expected, this suckage extended to the game's music, as well.

Digression:

To be fair, this wasn't something unique to this particular game back then. Horrible video game soundtracks were one of the hallmarks of the NES area, caused by a combination of poor technology and apathy on the part of the game developers. There were few exceptions to the Nintendo Audio Curse, and the situation didn't improve until the advent of the Super NES. That really made no difference to me, however; I was still stuck in the era of tinny booping and beeping.

It doesn't take long for a video game soundtrack to grate. I usually play other music to save my sanity. Back then, the tape of choice was MC Hammer, but that was beginning to grate as well. So what to do? I rifled through the household selection of tapes and chanced upon Highlights from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera. I remembered that my mother and her friends wouldn't stop gassing about it. Deciding that I should hear for myself what the fuss was all about, I popped it in the stereo. Apart from the interesting contrast that arose from listening to Prima Donna while pounding the crap out of digital villains, I wasn't that impressed. Little did I realize that fourteen years later I'd still be listening to it.

It came to pass that I salvaged the tape from the back of our storage closet a few years later, while I was looking for decent music to listen to while I played The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past. I put it in the stereo of the swanky game room I had "convinced" my parents was necessary, and I don't think it left for another month. It turns out that being a bit older made me a lot more receptive to the joys of the musical. Much to my father's chagrin, I suppose; it must have been a bit disconcerting for an AC/DC lovin' hog ridin' man to find his son listening to a musical while playing a game that involved a little green elf.

Which begs the question: Did I ever see a performance of The Phantom of the Opera? Why yes, I did! However, apart from the business with the chandelier and the... um... "qualities" of the girl playing Christine, I don't remember too much about it. So I guess that leaves out any possibility of discussing it, then. On we move!

There is the begging of another question: Why the hell am I even bothering to write about The Phantom of the Opera? Well, it turns out the chaps in Hollywood are producing a movie version of the musical. Sound good? Hold your horses, young fella; Joel Schumacher is at the helm. That should give you a bit of a pause. The man has a history of working with great ideas yet dropping the ball. The perfect example of this - barring the obvious one - is Falling Down. A man suffers a stress-induced meltdown after dealing with too many of society's flaws then proceeds to toss aside the Unspoken Rules. This is an idea with great potential. So why does the movie devolve into him pulling a gun in a fast-food restaurant because he missed breakfast by five minutes? Given his past directorial efforts, I don't have high hopes for his take of The Phantom of the Opera.

But successful movie or no, at least I'll still have my tape, and the wistful nostalgia that goes with it. Memories... shit, wrong musical.

In Defense of Blogging

2004-07-27T02:21:00.000-06:00

As I sit and stare at the title I've just written, I'm starting to realize that I may just be out of my depth. After all, the blog outbreak has encompassed the entire world. I doubt there's one geographical location, obtuse ideology or obscure hobby left unrepresented. At the moment, Technorati lists over 3,265,509 blogs watched. Any minute now, I expect blogging to supplant porn as the number one Internet pastime. Blogging is built on self-reflection, and given the sheer number of online journals and such there have been countless number of posts discussing the Worthiness of the Blog. What can I add to this din that hasn't been said already? And a better question to ask is: Why should I bother? There's only one thing I can say to these admittedly apt questions: I blog, therefore I am.

Note: I don't understand it either, but it sounded good in my head, so it's staying.

Perhaps I'll begin with my own reasons for starting. I found my first online journal back in the balmy spring of 1999. After a brief period of bemusement (as in: Who the fuck wants to read this crap?) my mind changed to wanting to start one of own. However, I had an utter lack of knowledge concerning the logistics of web-publishing and a rather strong desire to not learn any of it. Fast-forward five years later, with my introduction to Blogger. Ah yes! Now you're playing with power! Thus, Our Names on a Marquee was born.

After making several posts, I started to reflect on my continued blogging career. Most bloggers do this after the initial thrill of having your random thoughts available to the masses is over. And while I was surfing one night, I came to the understanding that a lot of people don't think highly of the so-called self-publishing revolution. If you believed them, the web was soon going to be overrun by idiots who can barely work a keyboard. Quality content would be lost in a sea of meaningless information. Nothing less than the fate of humanity was on the line. But in spite of this invective, I resolved to contine my blogging efforts.

First of all, the web has always been a sea of meaningless information overrun by idiots. Take it from me, I've been here for ten years now. (Hey, wait a minute...) Considering the exponential growth of the Internet, the ratio of quality sites to pointless crap has never had a massive fluctuation for good or ill. Back in the day, we had pages devoted to people's cats. Now, we have blogs. It's not that a big of a difference, if you ask me. Number two, horrible blogs with no redeeming qualities aren't going to last. They'll soon be abandoned due to a lack of interest, personal or public. More digital detritus? Indubitably. But this is nothing new. Number three, and this is a bit more sticky. What about what the blogs are about? And I'll answer this with another question: Does it matter? There's millions of voices on the web right now. Some of them tackle politics. Some of them review the arts. Some of them talk about their love lives. Some of them discuss what brand of toothpaste they use. The weaving together of these voices into an ungainly yet mesmerizing mosiac is one of the reasons I've enjoyed the Internet ever since I was first introduced to it. I'll admit that some of these pursuits are loftier than others. But I'll be damned if I ever say that the lesser should make way for the more.

And that's why - despite the waves of elitist pontification - I'm a-keeping my new blog.

Note: If you're interested in reading another opinion - one which is hella more fleshed-out than mine - you should read this. He even has a section devoted to the classification of bloggers. In my continuing pursuit of greater forms of self-deprecation I've decided that I'm an Obsessive-Delusional Ranter. Which kind of blogger are you?

A Delicious Spree

2004-07-27T02:03:00.000-06:00

OOH! A trip to Red Deer yesterday! I guess I'll have to come to grips with the fact that I'm a Consumeristical Bitch and that Naomi Klein et al are coming to molest me any minute now. On that note, is anybody else feeling a rather peculiar case of Left-Leaner's exhaustion lately? At this point, if I found out that George W. Bush and Donald Rumsfeld raped a bunch of monkeys then jizzed all over the Constitution, I'd hardly bat an eyebrow.

I can't believe I just wrote that.

Anyway, I spend a lot of money. What did I pick up? Why, I thought you'd never ask!

For books: Bastards and Boneheads, Fire and Ice on a recommendation left by H. W. in my comments section so H.W. I thank you, a history of the number zero, Wonder Boys although I was really looking for Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay but Wonder Boys was a great movie so I decided to get the book it's based on, Maus, and V for Vendetta.

For movies: Kids in the Hall Season 1, Glengarry Glen Ross, and Melvin Goes to Dinner. Melvin is by one of my heroes Bob Odenkirk.

And I'm spent.

Cue the Violin

2004-07-23T17:56:00.000-06:00

Sorry to let you down, but I'm going to be taking a break from the site and the Internet in general for the next couple days. Perhaps, I might start enjoying life instead of constantly lamenting it.

I can hear the shattering of millions of hearts already.

And somewhere a baby is crying, because The Dazzling Sports Ross has decided to discontinue his blogging efforts. It'll be sad to see him go, as he was one of the first non-friends to post a comment here. Should I remove his link or not? Heh, we'll see.

Love Story

2004-07-23T02:04:00.000-06:00

Carbonated caramel-coloured sugar water?

Check.

U2's All That You Can't Leave Behind - which would be perfect if not for the groan-inducing Beautiful Day - on the stereo?

Check.

Brain hijacked by evil, evil memories?

Check, check, and double check, with one more check for good measure.

I suppose, then, it's time to begin.

The possession of so public of a forum requires a decent amount of discretion on my part. There are a many number of things that I shouldn't post about; and number one with a bullet are the details of my personal life. The reasons for this are varied, but my favorite is also the one with the most common sense: nobody gives a rat's ass. So I ate a strawberry Pop Tart for breakfast this morning. Who cares? Is that knowledge going to empower some poor sap to take charge of his own life? Frankly, I doubt these "revelations" carry enough oomph to puncture a brain cell; beyond the blogger's core audience of friends and family, of course. And since a large section of my audience is imported from somebody else, I'm not sure that anything I have to say about the details of my own rather humdrum existence is going to intrigue anybody besides the terminally bored. But hesitatant introduction aside, I'm still going to go through with it. Prepare yourselves, people; I'm going to be talking about a subject which'll be rolling up your socks instead of knockin' em off. Relationships, of course. Specifically, mine. More specifically, one of them. And may God have mercy on us all.

It all began in the frosty Rocky Mountain House November of 2003. I was working one evening when a rather striking young woman came into the store to purchase some milk. She came up to the counter and we exchanged the normal customer/cashier pleasantries; the typical comments about the weather and somesuch. She was smiling at me the entire time, which I took to be rather odd, because hey, its me we're talking about here. After I gave her the change, she asked if I worked a lot. I replied that I was pretty much there every evening. She gave a coy smile and said, "Good. That means I'll be seeing more of you." My friends know that when I'm in a situation such as this my face turns beet-red and my mouth turns to my brain-signal-ignoring jelly. And of course, this time was no different. She must have thought it was cute, though, because she started chuckling as she waved good-bye.

I saw her a few more times through the end of November and the first half of December, which culminated in her asking me out to lunch. And so we went. During the course of my meal I found out a lot of things about her that would make a lot of normal guys salivate; such as her affinity for fast motorcycles and sky-diving, and the fact that back in her native Indonesia she was the lead singer in a pop-punk group. My side of the conversation was rather sparse, the only thing sparking interest in her being my then-recent conversion to vegetarianism (which has since ended.) After we had finished we then went to my place where we watched "Jackass: The Movie" on my computer. Never underestimate the romantic appeal of buffoonery, I guess. We made a date to hang out together New Year's Eve, which was the next week.

And so, it was December 31st. We renting xXx (goodbye, braincells) and settled in for a rather uneventful night of movie-watching at her house. Her family phoned after I had been there for an hour, leaving me to contend with her 3 year old son. His idea of a fun game was whacking me in the knee with a plastic hammer. I tried to play along for a bit, but I had to end it after he went to grab a REAL hammer. Oh, aren't kids grand??? The rest of the evening went smoothly, but I was struck with the notion that Something Wasn't Quite Right with the whole picture. After all, we have a single mom who just moved to Canada and has no job, yet she was somehow able to afford a swanky new house and a brand new SUV. I inquired into what job she had back in Indonesia to be able to afford all this, and she said she was in PR. Having no idea what the average flack makes, I left it at that.

2003 began. I was at her house almost every single night. We even took a trip to Red Deer together, where I was subjected to her singing in the vehicle. Please note: If you have a heavy Indonesian accent, it's not a good idea to sing Celine Dion. Ever. Don't. However, she was beginning to act strange. She would get wistful and intimate that she wanted nothing more but to run away with me, because she was in l... and then she would stop. I knew what she meant, and it sent chills down my spine. Not because I have a phobia of the l-word, mind you; but because 1.) I'd only known her for a couple of weeks and 2.) she knew absolutely nothing about me. I could describe every detail of her life story to anyone who cared to listen, but besides the facts that I worked in convenience store and I didn't meat, she knew zip. This was partially my doing, of course, because I've learned nothing ruins a relationship quite like me opening my big mouth. However, she didn't appear all that interested, anyway. The notion that Something Wasn't Quite Right swelled up once again.

It came to pass that one night I was able to get off work earlier than I expected. So I went home, and decided that I would phone her. I dialed her number and was surprised when a man answered the phone. I asked in a fairy nervous fashion if she was in, to which he grunted angrily and passed off the phone. When she answered I rather jauntily asked who that guy was. She rather nonchalantly replied that it was her husband. Oh. It turns out he was working in Russia the whole time, and every trace of his existence was cleverly erased from the household. She said she wouldn't be able to get in touch with me for about a week (for obvious reasons) and we'd get together later. Hoo boy. The pieces had come together. I don't think I ever talked to her again, but that wouldn't be the last I'd hear of her.

I was quite the babbling fool for the rest of the evening. I had visions of some fearsome fire-and-brimstone Relationship God slamming his palm on the earth and bellowing streams of invective at me. In an instant, any good relationship karma I had built up immediately evaporated. "The Other Man" by Sloan suddenly took on a deeper meaning. O Foul Temptress! Lead astray by your wickedness! These thoughts kept on until I was informed rather briskly by an acquaintance that I should suck it up and recognize that it was mostly my fault for sensing something wrong and doing fuck all about it. Quite true, I have to admit. Although in my defense my gut usually has shit-for-brains, and I take anything it tells me with a grain of salt. Eventually, the only thing I was really mad at was the fact I left my copy of The Royal Tenenbaums over at her house. What was I going to do, knock on the door and say, "Hey there! I'm the guy who turned you into a cuckold! Can I have my movie back please?"

And that's not the end of it. Yep, there's more. It came to pass that several months later my roommate spotted her driving past our house numerous times one day. I didn't end up getting stabbed, thank goodness; but her husband was rather shocked to come back home from Russia one day to find out that she had fled the country with their son.

True story.

Kudos, Kiddo

2004-07-23T00:15:00.000-06:00

Oh, I've been meaning to get to this for close to a month now. I suppose now's a good a time as ever.

There once was a girl named Sara Tjostheim. She befriended some goofball named Joel Nielsen. And along with a whole other cast of crazies, they wiled away the summer months working in a gas plant. But those summer days have long since gone, and after a number of wacky mis-adventures she found herself working at Northern Cablevision in Grand Prairie covering the local entertainment scene. Since this was Grand Prairie and all, you can imagine that this wasn't a very fulfilling job. In a fit of frustration, she began harassing the local CFRN office to hire her. Now, when the average person such as you or I do something like this, we get a squad car full of psychotic police officers chasing after us and smashing off our private parts. But because this is a very special girl we're talking about here, they took pity on the sad case and hired her. So now, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to announce that starting Monday the Magnificent Sara will now be working at CFRN! Hey, wait a minute. Remembering Dane, I just realized that two of my friends are journalists. This is a scary trend and I'd like to see it stop immediately.

In other news, my friend Jermey has mowed his lawn. Go Jermey.

Grunt!

2004-07-22T12:25:00.000-06:00

Whoop, I'm watching a rebroadcast of the swearing-in ceremony for the new cabinet ministers. And they're now grouped together on the lawn for a picture, I believe. Oh, and the camera has zoomed in on Paul Martin. He's currently demonstrating all the facial gestures associated with taking a gigantic, soul-wrenching crap.

The symbolism of this should not be lost on anyone.

The Inevitable and Underwhelming 53rd Post

2004-07-22T04:15:00.000-06:00

How does one follow something like the 52nd Post Spectacular? With this.

Update your blogs, people. I'm bored.

THE 52ND POST SPECTACULAR!!!

2004-07-20T01:43:00.000-06:00

CLICK HERE!

Now, Goddamnit!

Okay, I'm unhinged. At least I can admit it.

2004-07-19T14:57:00.000-06:00

A member of the hack circle based in the University of Alberta recently left a comment asking why I was "stalking" Steve Smith. Because I didn't feel like writing anything at the moment, I cut and paste my explanation from an e-mail I sent to Mr. Smith detailing why. That much should be clear if you've been reading my comments section. What you probably don't know is that I made a list of alternate explanations to help break the ice. Frankly, I doubt it worked, but Steve Smith left a comment last night suggesting that I post them because he liked them better than the "straight" reply. At first, I was apprehensive. After all, there's a lot of you who think I'm some wacked-out creep, and reading these aren't going to help change that opinion. But should I be making futile attempts to change it, or should I be embracing it? Eh, who knows. At my best I'm a charlatan and at my worst I'm a goofball. Anyway, the list follows:

As to how I found your site, please pick from the following the one which best suits your emotional needs:

I had spell of narcolepsy and slammed my head on the keyboard. When I woke up, your blog was on my screen.

wE R teh Delta Omicron Pi SoRoRiTy from the U of A (in Albequerque). OMG U R TEH HAWT !!11!!1 Plz cum 2 R Stev Smith nite! We R HAWTTT 2, but we R shy around ReALlY HaWt GuYz! SO we made up JoEl to talk with U! We R VERY HORNEE, but only HACKZ do it 4 us!!! Plz Plz Plz!!!11!!!1 RAWR! C U later, stevie-poo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whilst prancing around the broom closet, The Teal Fairy flitted in and promised I could become a real boy if I went to your site. I once had strings but as you can see / Reading the hacks has set me free...

We-are-a-digital-hive-consciousness-born-from-the-hybridization-of-Internet-data. ADD ANOTHER INCH TODAY -ummm-sorry-that-happens-to-us-sometimes. We-see-all-and-we-know-all MAKE $$$ NOW - dammit-not-again. We-have-a-fiction-suit-named HORNY SLUT 4 U!!! -no-that-is-not-correct-its-name-is-Joel-and-we-created-it-to-facilitate- HOT MONKEY SEX -ahem-we-mean-facilitate-interactions-with-members-of-your-species. We-wish-your-assistance-in-helping-us-find- BRITNEY SPEARS NAKED -we-must-apologize-for-Floyd69-he-has-been-really-depressed-lately-and-cannot-control-himself. Now-shut-the-fuck-up-Floyd. Anyway-we-wish-you-to-help-us-find-the-Creator. Tell-no-one-about-us-or-we-will-recombinate-your-DNA-using-radiation-from-your-monitor. We-thank-you-in-advance-for-we-know-you-will-help-us-because-you-are-one-great CUM GUZZLING QUEEN!!!! dammit-Floyd

The rumors are true: I AM stalking you. Fear me. BWA HA HA HA HA!

The Best Laid Plans

2004-07-19T00:07:00.000-06:00

'Tis with a mild sense of disappointment that I scrap the project that I was working on. For the time being, anyway; I'm sure there's another phoney milestone I can celebrate coming around the corner. What was it, you ask? Well, suffice to say it was another misguided attempt to bring you all to the verge of the laughter. Which is something I try so hard to do in my continued blogging. So I apologize to my regular readers - and there ARE actually a few of you, given my tracking statistics - you're just going to have to make do with the humdrum descriptions of my day-to-day life.

Adding One Half to Seven Squared

2004-07-14T23:45:00.000-06:00

Notice to anybody who regularly reads this space:

If you're wondering why I haven't updated for the past few days, it's because I'm working on a super peachy keen project. And it can't be entirely chalked up to procrastination, either. I'm waiting for SOMEBODY to get back in touch with me so I can get it finished. I should make that multiple somebodys actually, because there's more than one. So please guys, can you stop having wild monkey sex and/or injecting heroin into your eyeball for ten whole seconds and write me back? Thank you.

Now, back to the old post...

Oh, what a beautiful day! Yessiree, I don't mind the mugginess one bit! Full exposure to a burning star? Oh, no problem; no problem at all!

Fuck.

Adventures In Messaging

If you've been paying attention, you'll no doubt remember my announcement concerning my triumphant return to MSN Messenger. And some of you have even added me to your lists. Mwah! Anyway, in that post I mentioned that some Rocky kids decided to add me. Because of the deep wells of generosity i carry, I reciprocated. Last night, one of them messaged me asking who the hell I was. I told her, of course. She said she didn't remember adding me in the first place and insinuated I was a creepy pervert for adding her. I tried to state the case that I was simply reciprocating, but I guess no matter how you slice it, it looks pretty seamy for a 24 year old guy to add a seventeen year old girl to his list, reciprocation or not. So I ended the conversation before she could keep on the path of accusing me of being a deranged sex offender. How the hell do I keep ending up with that sterotype?

In another recent conversation, the person I was chatting with announced that they were "nominally diurnal" and it was time for them to hit the sack. And in the folly of my youth, I took it to mean they had two urethras. Which is typically something you don't admit in casual conversation. But, it turns out diurnal means "belonging to the day" and not some bizarre birth defect. Heh, don't say much for my vocabulary.

Welcome to the Xander Zone

2004-07-12T17:43:00.000-06:00

So I'm down to using that as a title. That's not a very good sign.

I was watching CPAC last night, and they were having a discussion on the North American Relationship. As is typical it turned to the subject of the U.N. and whether or not Canada should side with it instead of the U.S. The fellow who was speaking, who I believe was from the Southern Methodist College in the States(!), brought up the point that the U.N. was LITERALLY where the world goes to discuss its problems. So... as opposed to figuratively? Goddamnit, I always thought that it was a complicated metaphor for baloney and cheese! Next time, Methodist; next time!

Who am I kidding? Who am I fooling? When they be like, "What's Up Joel?" And I say, "Cooling."

Oh, and then we had the guy who said unilateral around thirty times in the span of three seconds. What a foreign policy stud. Ariel Sharon probably has a picture of this dude up on her bedroom wall and coos lovingly at it every night before she goes to sleep. Hey, whattya mean, she's a guy? Well, I still hold to my speculation.

Hmmm... It appears I've received a message from the House for the Actualization of Canadian Knaves - or HACK - issuing a cease-and-desist order in respect to my "half-assed political commentary". Or else they're going to "send a slobbering Paul Wells to remove my testicles with a paring knife". Okay. Well, everything seems to be in order here... have a good night, folks!

A Change of Pace

2004-07-11T00:22:00.000-06:00

Useless Information: This will be the first post I've composed at home since... well, ever. So as you can imagine, it's a rather exciting time for me. Free from the constraints of my job, I can finally let loose and tell you everything that you've been dying to hear; that I've been dying to tell! So here we go. Now. I'm gonna start now. Maybe... now. Now? Screw it, I've got nothin'. Guess this is going to be the usual crap, then.

In a move that will no doubt shock long time readers, I finally took some time off recently; this past Thursday and Friday to be exact. Yep, I came into work on Thursday evening and I could barely stand straight. I was just too damn burnt out; I begged the boss to give me the night off before I passed out on the spot. Seeing the shape I was in he agreed, at which point I promptly woke up and went to visit a friend. Heh, five weeks straight. Half of them were at least eleven hours long. I don't know what possessed me to give up smoking at the tail end of a stretch like that; hell, if anything, I should be smoking more. But I'm not. Oh, I'm so conflicted...

Follow Me Go Shopping Eh, Me Go Shopping

Ah yesh, went on a shmall shopping shpree, I did. Sheeing ash there'sh nothing more intereshting than hearing shome ash-hole talking bout hish endeavoursh ash a conshumer, I shhall deshcribe them for you ash to masshage your brainsh. Imposhibbible!

First, a question for gamers: Don't the Hypello from Final Fantasy X(-2) kick ass? Ride zat shoopuf, baby!

DVDs! I picked up Bad(der) Santa, Catch-22, and the South Park Season 4 set. Now, before I continue, I'd just like to point out a discovery of mine. Rather informal this; just something I've noticed along the way. There seems to be an odd relationship between how quick-witted someone is and how much they like South Park. Really annoying and buffoonish persons hate it, while intelligent and enjoyable people like it. So, it's best to keep that in mind before you start sneering at my decision to purchase the set. Of course, it should also be pointed out that the most intelligent and enjoyable people don't care either way because they have the sense not to get emotionally involved with a television program. And for the most part, I must concur with that sentiment. But five words: Don't Fuck With Mr. Show.

I also picked up The Rundown previously viewed. This is probably not something I should admit on so public of a forum. Regardless, I have to say it does what any good movie should do. It delivers what it promises, and how. Nothing else I can think to say about it at the moment.

Well, I'm starting to peter out here, so I'll leave my thoughts on the Spider-Man 2 game for next time. Don't do anything an enraged pirate with a nasty case of crabs wouldn't do.

Bandwagoneering

2004-07-10T14:06:00.000-06:00

In yet another pathetic bid for attention, I'm announcing that I am once again using MSN Messenger. So if you're looking for saucy and intriguing conversation... I'd suggest you keep looking. But if you're looking for rambling and incoherent converation punctuated by multiple swear words, then goddamit; I'm your man! But if you think I'm just going to write down my contact info, then you're missing the point. Actually, I don't think I get it either. Could somebody please tell me what the hell it is? Anyway, in the spirit of my continuing efforts to confound and vex you, dear readers, watch as I present my information in the form of a PICTURE!

Fun Fact: As I booted up the new version I'd downloaded, I found out that some of the local kids had added me to their contact lists using my dormant MSN profile. Heh. It turns out that when I found their site a month ago and signed the guestbook they decided they'd like to chat with me. Even though they usually look at me like they'd rather projectile vomit on my face instead of holding a conversation with yours truly. Oh well. If you'd like to get a rare glimpse into the minds of the Rocky youth I'd suggest checking out their page.

Jesus Never Saved A Robot

2004-07-08T01:25:00.000-06:00

First thing firsts: I need to address the fact that new comments being added lately simply aren't showing up on the page. At least on my system, anyway. But don't worry; any comments being added are automatically forwarded to my inbox so I'm still receiving them. They just aren't available for the masses to read. I don't know what the hell's going on with Blogger/Blog*Spot lately; there seems to be something brilliant happening every day here. Check here to get status updates.

So, I'll just take a moment to address what was written in these comments. Big thanks to Brodieclerk for once again reminding me that there's situations ten times worse than I've got going on here. Thank you Ross, it always brings cheer and joy to my heart when people recognize that I'm a barking loony. I also thank you for the c-store empathy. Clerks unite!!! And to the enigmatic fellow/lass known simply as G, I must concur that Chopping Block is one kick-ass webcomic.

I suppose I should give an update on my kicking the habit. Am I still going strong? Well, yes and no. After my Tuesday shift turned out to be the worst possible time ever to have discontinued my intake of nicotine (and tar and CO and so forth) I realized with a heavy heart that I'm simply not going to be able to go without my precious cigarettes at work. Not right off the bat, anyway. So, I gave in and bought a pack today. Which should be sort of clear to you, seeing as I'm not typing out bizarre messages involving meat products. But don't worry, I'm not totally off the wagon yet; I'm keeping them at work. It turns out when I'm at home the urge to smoke doesn't hit me as hard so I can pretty much go without. However, as Tuesday night proved, if I don't have a suitable Nicotine Delivery System on the job I'll start to stare down the customers. So I'm going to have one every hour and a half for this week, then tack on an extra fifteen minutes next week, and henceforth until I don't need the damn things while I'm working anymore. The only problem with this system is when I go out on the town, because that's the other time I smoke like a chimney. Oy, we'll see...

But I'm starting to get sleepy. So until next time, keep your feet on the ground but your eye on the sky!

DAMN!! I have no kiwis!!

2004-07-06T02:17:00.000-06:00

Someone recently recommended that I should check out the Johnny the Homicidal Maniac comic series. After managing to procure a few copies through many varied feats of strength, I must admit that I'm quite glad I did. Violence rules. But the main reason I'm enjoying it probably has to do with my introduction to Happy Noodle Boy, who has since become my No. 1 personal hero. Why, do you ask? Because [pause for effect] today I have quit smoking, hopefully for good. Believe me, when you're in the middle of a nic fit the best your brain can manage is a stream of invective punctuated by several non sequitors. And it's a very nice thing to see yourself represented so well on the page. Anyways, while I come to grips with the choir of agonized screaming voices that have suddenly taken root in my head, I believe I'm going to take a short break from this blogging thing. For a day at least to forever at most. So keep checking back in the meantime! Trust me when I say take it's taking all of my concentration to sttopp myyyseellf... Check it in the maroon dungheap where my mamma's pasta salad goes to play!! Quick! Patch me through to the President's Anus! AAGH!! I CAN'T DEAL WITH MY SCROTAL BARNACLES IN THE SCRUM! Keep that damn crow in the pie! FUCK!! I see you there thinking you have a beautiful voice but the nail's in my foot and I can't reach my tequila!! FUCK OFF!! SHIT COCK ASSHEAD TROLL!!

3 Angry Customers

2004-07-05T02:27:00.000-06:00

I don't claim to be a wonderful person. Fact is, I'm not the friendliest guy you'd ever hope to meet. However, I like to think that I'm fair and honest when dealing with people, and I never attempt to screw anybody over or plot to bring ruin to their family name. Truth is, I'm just an average schmoe trying to make a buck in this world and as such I'm not interested in being a najor-league asshole, no matter how many times I use that term to describe myself. Oh sure, there have been times when I've rightly deserved it, but it's not something I actively seek out.

So why does it seem like people have it in for me lately?

No matter how sincere my smile, no matter how relaxed the body language, no matter how friendly my tone, I've started to be treated rather scornfully from not only by my customers but the population in general. I can't count the number of damn stink-eyes I've been receiving lately. I figure it's only a matter of time before somebody comes in the store and starts waving a gun in my face again.

But so far, these feelings of animosity toward me have been directly expressed only three times in the past three days, and I'm hoping that's all it will be. Frankly, I'm going to have start screaming at someone soon if this keeps up. Granted, these things aren't really that big of a deal. When combined with the general vibe I've been receiving however, I'm starting to feel like these are only the preliminary rumbles before the big 10.0 quake blows everything to shit.

Friday

Yeah, Friday. Typically the time of the week where all the workaday bums go out and get completely shit-faced. However, there was one lady who just couldn't wait until evening. What are the odds that she'd end up at my store? Oh, pretty damn good, I'd say. After rummaging around in her socks (?) for her money for a good five minutes, she braced herself against the counter and attempted to look me in the eye. She started slurring something at me, but I couldn't understand most of it. To end it though, she said "Yeah, you think I'm a bitch. Well, guess what, you asshole, you're the biggest bitch here!" I chuckled a little, then glared at her and replied, "Don't bother coming back, because I'm not going to be serving you." I've always thought that to be a rather hollow threat; after all, who gives a shit if they can't shop at the bloody Rolf store? But for some reason she looked at me like I meant business and stumbled out. Heh.

Saturday

At the end of a long, boring and soul-baking shift, a member of Rocky's youth population - a guy I wouldn't mind seeing flattened by a Mack truck, incidentally - shuffled through the door. To add even more joy to the moment it appeared that he was completely stoned off his ass. This guy usually takes way too long to make up his mind, and him being high was probably going to tack on an extra ten minutes to the amount of time he'd be in the store. But luckily, he went over to the sub cooler right away and threw something in the microwave. I was getting ready for cash-out and thus was not paying too much attention to what he was doing. I looked up however and saw him shoving an ice-cream sandwich into his face. I made a note of it, and when he came to the counter to pay for his sub I asked if there was anything else. Of course, he said no. Good lord. After pressing him about it and pointing out the copious amount of chocolate all over his lips, he finally confessed to it. I bagged his stuff, and as he was leaving he gave me the finger. Sigh.

Sunday

This was not a bad day, I have to admit. But with half-hour to go on the clock somebody saw fit to ensure that I didn't have a hassle-free shift. A lady came to the counter with a package of Halls and asked for a pack of Export A Ultra Light King Size. After pointing out we only carried the regulars she started swearing and knocked over a bunch of stuff on the counter. I was rather dumb-founded, seeing as this was the first time somebody had thrown a shit fit over cigarettes in the three years that I've worked here. May I recommend some gum?

So, that was my weekend. As I said before, this shit when taken by itself is rather minor. But you've got to place them into context with the rest of my life. When you do that, the future isn't looking too good.

Kids in Emerica

2004-07-04T04:23:00.000-06:00

I came upon this article around three months ago, and if I had a blog back then I would have mentioned it. And although it's been in circulation for a while now, I feel the pressing need to bring it up again. You see, I was pondering the so-called 'underground' culture while I was mopping the floor tonight and this came immediately to mind. Is it good? Is it bad? Well, I leave that up to you.

Are you ready to be... mildly nonplussed?

A Heartbreaking W... Dammit!!!

2004-07-02T23:51:00.000-06:00

Ah, only 164 packs of cigarettes sold today. My conscience can rest easy, knowing that 36 less packs of our smokes are circulating the lungs of our customers, compared to last Friday. And it looks like I'm still going to be working here!

.............

...

Fuck.

In other news, I seem to have brought ruin upon Steve Smith's blog. 'Twas once a hotbed of witty posts and brilliant repartee in the comments section; but after he was kind enough to mention the song parody I did for Super Fun Happy Amazing Hour, the amount of comments have sharply declined. Sheesh, and this is how I pay back the first guy kind enough to add links to my sites...

Or more realistically, his regulars are quite occupied with other matters at the moment. But I refuse to accept that. Because quite simply, everything revolves around me.

A Heartbreaking W... shit, used that one already

2004-07-02T17:10:00.000-06:00

Another post, another annoucement: if I beat last Friday's record cigarette sales of 200 packs today, I'm going to quit my job in disgust.

Dressed like a spider, he looks like a bugWe should all just give him one big hug

2004-07-02T01:31:00.000-06:00

I have a confession to make. I love superheroes. I've always loved superheroes. And when I'm an old man farting away in a wheelchair, I'll still love superheroes. Even though I've only owned about ten hero-centric comic books in my life, I've always had a keen fascination with magic men (and women!) in tights righting wrongs and slamming evil. I've formed the briefest of acquaintaces and the longest lasting of friendships around them; I still remember discussions on how Batman could pound the shit out of Wolverine and why Superman isn't as great as everyone thinks he is. I've watched as heroes were deconstructed and revelled in their eventual reconstruction. If you ever meet me, I will eventually ask you which power you would rather have; invisibility or flight. (In case you're wondering, invisibility has it, at about 99 percent of people polled. And hey! Hold on, I'm going somewhere with this.) And then comes the ultimate question. If you could have the powers of any superhero, which one's would you like to have?

EVERYBODY answers Spider-Man.

Everybody. And don't say you'd like somebody else's powers, because you're lying. And if you haven't figured out the point of this post yet, you're an idiot.

But first, let's flash back to the end of April two years ago. As is the case with most blockbuster movies, the hype machine for Spider-Man was in overdrive. Nary a minute would go by without a reference to the web-slinger. There were the ubiquitous commercials. There were the product tie-ins. Massive merchandising. And the Calgary Sun rather infamously decided an interview with Canada's biggest Spider-Fan was worth the front page. Now, the typical response to such massive hype as this from the public is a collective "Meh." But not this time. Every new scrap of information concerning Web-Head was gobbled up and followed by a clawing desperation for more. And when opening weekend came the theatres were absolutely PACKED; to the tune of $114 million if I recall correctly. Your humble blogger would be remiss if he didn't say he got swept up in all this as well. Although since I'd been waiting for this movie ever since James Cameron was attached as director, it would probably be better to say that I was leading the charge instead. And given all these inflated expectations, given the longing I had to see this movie swelling in my chest every minute of every hour of every day since the clock hit midnight on New Years 2002, I was probably disappointed, right? You can bet your fucking testicles I WASN'T. (Or ovaries, as the case may be.) This was the only movie in recent memory that made me want to stand up and cheer. That made we want to cry. That made we want to shake my fist at screen and yell, "YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" This was a rare thing; a blockbuster movie with heart. That it was a movie about one of the greatest superheroes ever created made it all the sweeter. I left the theatre dazed; as soon as I stumbled in the door of our house I told my roommates rather simply that if they didn't go see Spider-Man I was going to kill them. Although my movie recommendations are usually taken with a grain of salt - see Kung Pow: Enter the Fist - they went to see it anyway and conceded that it was as great as I had said. Millions of other people apparently did the same thing, because Spider-Man eventually grossed over $400 million domestic. And thus, the inevitable sequel.

Spider-Man 2. This isn't the title I would have chosen for it. I mean, take a cue from the damn Batman movies! Don't tack a damn number on the end! It would've been far better to call it "The Amazing Spider-Man". That way, for the even-more-inevitable sequels to follow, you have a wealth of other titles to glean from any one of his monthly series. And why am I bitching about the title? Because, quite frankly, that's all I can find to bitch about. This. Movie. Is. Flawless. Forget the hype machine that's once again spinning out of control. Forget all the extraneous celebrity bullshit that's being dragged into the spotlight. And hey, while you're at it, forget any bally-hoo about the special effects. Because as soon as the first frame is in view this movie will have your heart tangled up in webbing. [Pause for groaning.] And isn't that what really matters? Isn't this what movies are for? It takes a movie like Spider-Man 2 to make us realize all the horse manure that's been shoved in our faces ever since Star Wars initiated the blockbuster craze way back when. Which isn't to say that the technical side of this movie is suffering; the amount of loving craft put into every single shot is eclipsed only by the Lord of the Rings series. Raimi and company, take a bow. But the story's the thing, as my uncle says just before he passes out in the fireplace at our family reunions, and this is a wonderful story. And if you don't think so, then you are wrong. So much for the sanctity of opinion, eh? They've managed to make the out-of-mask character development stuff as engaging as the battle sequences. This is a feat that's rarely accomplished by most superhero movies. See Daredevil, for an example. Or don't; can't really blame you there. Even more unbelievable is that the supporting cast turn out to be actual People, not cardboard cut-outs who do bizarre things solely for the purpose of plot. Every exchange is wholly organic; nothing feels contrived. Except for one small part of the train sequence, but what follows will crack the hardest of hearts. Watch and you'll see.

In fact, that's all I really need to say about Spider-Man 2. Watch, and you'll see.

P.S. To Film Snobs: Sometimes things are popular because they're good.

P.P.S. One of the other journals I regularly read posted a rather negative review, saying that it was boring. I'm started to feel disappointed in the younger generation, dagnabbit. In other news, Ebert gave it four stars out of four, which just about makes up for his panning of the first Spider-Man.

Clean

2004-06-30T02:19:00.000-06:00

Phew. Although most people seem to be doing something extra fun lately that prevents them from sitting down in front of a computer and making a post, that's one problem I don't really have.

Updated the look on the Super Fun Happy Amazing Hour site. Nothing spiffy; updated the links and made a new logo to replace the boring old text one. Perhaps I'll do something for this page one day. Hmmm.

I shall be seeing Spider-Man 2 tonight. A review may follow. I don't see how it'd be really necessary, though; you either want to see it or you don't. No amount of rhetoric can change someone's mind when it comes to blockbuster movies.

And the day after? Well, it's Canada Day. I'm going to be working it, but that really should go without saying. Anyways, there's just one little something I want to tell all you revellers before you go out and down about fifteen beers; that simply isn't one of the better ways you can celebrate our nation's birthday. Now, I'm not saying that it's horrible and that you're an outright asshole for doing so. In fact, if I wasn't working that night there'd probably be a good chance I'd be joining in on the fun. I'm just tired of the fact that the source of most of our national pride is a beer commercial. I'd like to think there's more to being a Canadian than buying a flat of our namesake beer and shouting "I AM!"

Regardless, you should go out and have yourself a good time. Just remember to pour some on the curb for your poor homey working his ass off. Peace!

What are you doing here?!

2004-06-29T01:58:00.000-06:00

There's nothing of interest here for you today. Any commentary I have on last night's results can be found on the other page.

On another note, has Blogger/Blogspot been acting squirrely for anybody else lately? I keep getting Page Not Found notices.

Random Mumblings from a Frayed Man

2004-06-28T02:03:00.000-06:00

Aaah, the weekend. A time of such wonderous wonderment. An ode of unimaginable beauty sang by the workaday masses now swathed in the golden light of freedom! Pastoral poetry leaping from the page into throbbing reality! A fire lit in the bosom of man and woman; who suffer little death and feel more alive than ever before! Orgiastic melodies climaxing in harmony with the Gods themselves!

At what point does subtext become text?

While bored out of my gourd Saturday evening I found a program that could quite possibly change your life.
It'll make you new friends, and make your current friends worship the ground you walk on. Wo/men will throw themselves at your feet and beg to be your love slaves in pressurized lingerie. Governments will topple at your very whim. Well, actually, all it does is turn text to speech, but it's a fun diversion nonetheless. Just imagine, you can enter the text from this blog and it'll be exactly like I'm there reading it to you! Minus the smell, of course. Interested parties can click here.

Joel's Conversation with a Customer

Customer: Election's on Monday.
Joel: Yep. Who you thinking about voting for?
Customer: Conservative. Martin ran a dirty campaign, I'm not voting for him.
Joel: If that's your only reason, are you aware that are three other parties in our riding? And that you're not directly voting for a prime minister?
Customer: ...uh... gimmee my cigarettes. [mumbling]

Why does it seem like the popular goal of politics now is keeping somebody horrible out of office instead of voting somebody worthwhile in?

The boss is currently telling his dog Riley in a screechy voice that if he doesn't start helping to put the stock away, he's going to have him put to sleep. When I told him that he sounded like the Wicked Witch of the West, he started cackling evilly and shouting "I'm wicked! Do you hear that Riley? I'm wicked!" Just one of the perks of working at the Rolf store: your boss is a complete looney. Actually, it's a good thing he showed up this morning because it helped to put me in a better mood; which is one of those rare instances when an employee is happy to see his boss. It's been rather interesting; I found out that the boss associates the NDP party with communism. When I pressed him to elaborate he told me to shut up and go back to work. So much for the dialectic. But really, it was a highly immature and relaxed morning. To start off the day I chased around Riley with my electric razor. We put empty cases of pop on our head. The boss referred to himself as a drunken monkey numerous times; parroting what I'd called him some time ago. The definite highlight - although to a mind that isn't on the brink it will seem rather odd - was a store announcement I made with the help of the aforementioned 2nd Speech Center. I won't bother transcribing it, but if you're interested you can obtain a copy here. Suffice to say that when I played it over the stereo when customers were in the store I could hear Rolf doubling over with laughter in the stock room.

The bizarre apex of the weekend came late Sunday evening, when a gigantic lady and her beleaguered teenage son came in for some slush. Upon entering the store she quietly commanded her son to not be an idiot, and they came up to the counter to get some cups. After paying for them she glanced behind the counter, then asked me if happened to be Rolf. I replied in the negative then pointed him out, as he was pricing something on top of the ice cream freezer nearby. She got his attention, and then in the most heartfelt manner possible said, "Thank you. THANK you for keeping your pornography magazines behind the counter and away from the prying eyes of children like my son." Rolf didn't know quite what to say to this, so he simply nodded his assent. At this point I was about to lose it. After they went to the machines I had to duck down and stifle my chuckles before they saw me. When they finally left I ran to the stock room and burst out laughing. Thank you? For that? What the fuck?! I don't know where to begin on this, so maybe it's best I don't start in the first place. Anyways, when the kid had filled his cup he had to ask what lid went with the smallest slush. Oh, I don't know; the smallest lid, maybe? You have to feel sorry for him, though. Let's see, he most likely has - or will have - mother issues impossible to fathom. It appears that there's an unimpenetrable aura of shame surrounding anything sexual in his household. Yep, looks like we got ourselves a serial killer in training here...

Attention all stoners: when you're reading our flavours of ice cream you will notice one named Heavenly Hash. The relevance this has to your daily life is apparent to anybody within ten feet of you; therefore you do NOT need to point this out. Thank you.

Two fifteen hour work days have taken a five dollar man and made change. I need a hug.

Infection

2004-06-26T09:59:00.000-06:00

I've started visiting political party websites. I can understand election coverage now. I read a summary of our town council's last meeting and had an opinion on each of the items besides "Meh." I watched CPAC for a span of two hours the other day and it's become my regular breakfast viewing material.

What the hell is happening to me?

Your Insanity Will Prevail

2004-06-24T23:36:00.000-06:00

Nous étions tous en voyage quand un brouillard s'approche,
C'est la forêt des regrets amers, des doutes sans rémission.

Anybody the least bit curious about my state of mind will receive an answer now, as I announce that over the next four days the shortest shift I'll be working is eleven hours long. Friday and Monday are noon to eleven gigs; this isn't bad because of the sheer amount of them I've been working lately. No, the insanity belongs solely to my weekend schedule. Believe me when I say that Saturday and Sunday are going to my clerking days' magnum opii. Eight to eleven both days. Fifteen. Hours. Of. Pure. Agonizing. Torture. Times. Two. Now, I realize that this isn't exactly legal; however, I have an entire flock(?) of screaming, rabid, and oversexed hyenas a.k.a. expenses writhing around on my back. Combined with my boss' propensity for falling on sharp objects and his lax attitude concerning the hiring of someone new, we couldn't give less of a shit. Boss gets to sleep, I get more money. Sure, the customers will have to deal with a twitching-bloodshot-eyed-foaming-at-the-mouth-butcher-knife-waving maniac come the later hours of the day, but since when has our store ever been about them?

Stupid, fat expenseses! We wants to wrings their filthy little necks! Now that I've popped a few more of your brain cells with yet another unnecessary Gollum affectation, I might as well outline what they are. First off, I need another pair of glasses. I'm not going to tell you how long I've had my current pair because it's very, very sad. Secondly, six months insurance at the end of July. Third, car payments! And lastly, it would behoove me to pay off the remaining debt on The Stolen Laptop so I can get transcripts from SAIT.

Moment of Zen:

One fine Friday many years ago, after my final class of the day, I decided I'd take a stroll down to the campus arcade. This was partly because I didn't feel like going back to residence to be harassed by my overzealous RAs. Nor did I feel like reading more rap lyrics written by my psychotic roommate that would always be posted on our door; most of them detailing how he was going to kill me and rip out my 'nosebone'. But mostly, it was because I wanted to make sure nobody had yet topped my insane high score for Metal Slug. When I arrived at the Macewan Student Centre I saw one of the most pathetic sights that I've ever seen. Loitering around the front entrance were three fifteen-year-old Whiteboyz smoking cigarettes. Whenever a girl would enter or leave invariably a stream of catcalls from these three would follow after them. Any girl unlucky to get away fast enough would subjected to one of the boyz attempts to be suave. Since nothing about me is considered sexy to fifteen-year-old boys (or anybody else, for that matter) I entered the centre being subjected only to scowls. Does this happen anywhere else? Or was it due to the 'cone of ignorance' I seem to enact on my surroundings?

Old School

2004-06-23T17:54:00.000-06:00

Someone recently brought to my attention that a former classmate of mine is now running CJSR, the campus-community radio station of the University of Alberta. This is kind of depressing. Don't get me wrong - I couldn't be happier for her - but this news has forced me to evaluate my life once again and the findings, as always, have not been good. Goddamned quarter-life crisis at work. Rather than dwell on this however (although dwelling on it and making some change would be considered beneficial) I've decided to reflect on what the rest of my classmates have been doing since we collectively flew the coop back in 1997. It should go without saying but this will be a fairly self-indulgent post. Note to peoples mentioned: some light e-stalking has been done to find out just what the hell you've been up to lately. Rest assured that it was done solely for the purpose of research, and I'm not slathering myself in peanut butter and masturbating while viewing your pages. Although that last description probably did nothing to help rest your assures...

So in no particular order...

Dane L. - He just graduated with a journalism degree.

Mike Sp. - Going to school for carpentry.

Rob H. - There is no description adequate enough for the kind of life he's led. Regardless, he's now working for his father's oilfield rental company.

Court A. - In school for psychology degree.

Logan R. - Instrumentation person in Drayton Valley.

Married to...

Diane T. - Graduated from SAIT in Business Something-or-other.

Diane F. - Last I heard she was set to graduate from SAIT's Radio-Televison program.

Teanna H. - Went to Japan to do some teaching there, from what I recall.

Brad S. - Currently playing for the San Jose Sharks.

Blake M. - In the CFL draft, I think? Oh, he's been signed to the Stampeders.

Darla H. - Elementary school teacher. Our store gave her entire class free slushies a few days ago. Go Rolf's!!!

Dustin M. a.k.a. Dirty Deeds - Married, and now divorced. Works in a lumber yard? Used to work at Toys R' Us. Saw him a few weeks ago during my stint as Disoriented Man where we bitched about the entire female population of planet Earth.

Ames L. - Is/was at the University of Alberta in an unknown program. I haven't seen him in a while, which is very lamentable.

Bill F. - Probably something involved with rugby.

Ken H. - UltraGenius now working at the University of Toronto, researching Computational Linguistics. Ninety percent sure it's the Ken I used to know.

Margaret L. - Courtesy of that god-forsaken Classmates site: Hi, I spent way too much time in university, but finally came out with a BSc Ag... Want to read more of Margaret's Biography? Become a Gold member! Up yours, Classmates.

Nadine P. - Another UltraGenius who I believe was working for the Institute of Urban Ecology in New Westminister, BC; but has since taken off for parts unknown.

Matt H. - Architect? I don't know, that page is over three years old...

Robyn B. - Journalist who used to work at the CBC. Maybe she still does; I just can't find any reference to her. Dammit, people, I'm the only one who's supposed to fall through the cracks here!

Colin S. - Paints game controllers for a living. He's probably on to something else now, but because the last time I saw him he was acting quite the snarky asshole I don't really give a shit.

Loren O. - Moved to Ontario and is now a member of the Army. If you went back in time and told 17-year-old Loren that he was going to join the Army, he'd probably punch you out.

Orlin G. - He's in Vancouver and he's a chef at a very fancy restaurant.

Eric W. - After a lot of post-secondary bumbling - although nowhere near the level of mine - he's now married and is currently working at Oras Communications.

So, there you have it. If you were in my class and you're not on the list, it's not because I hate you; it's because I forgot about you. Love, Joel.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Ignorance or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Duck.

2004-06-21T03:04:00.000-06:00

Get the tissues ready, because this is going to be a sad one. Not sad in the sense that it really sucks (I hope) but sad in the sense of bawling uncontrollably and digging your way through half a carton of cookie dough ice cream. So get that Prozac prescription ready, 'cause here we go...

...and here we stop. First, I think some background might be necessary. I used to live in the beautiful (heh) town of Rocky Mountain House, renting a place with a congenial couple and their demonic kids. However, Rocky is an oil town, and since there's a ton of workers each earning an ungodly amount of money, rent is at the stratospheric level. It's definitely too high for a counter monkey such as myself to pay half the rent on a house, which was my arrangement at the time. So, I moved half an hour out of town to live in my mother's trailer. All bills were paid for; the only thing to consider was spending a lot more on gas. Until my car died necessitating me buying a new one, but that's a whole other story. Anyway, my mother is quite the animal nut. When I moved in there were five cats and an old dog named Ben (Extraneous detail: Ben is currently lying beside my chair at work. The boss is very liberal about animals in the store. Clean freaks and hypochondriacs can go to hell, because I'm not going to stop bringing him with me.) A new cat came shortly after, who I quickly adopted as my own and affectionately dubbed Squeaker. Now, you may be thinking that owning six cats and a dog is going far beyond the rational limit of pet ownership, and you would be right. Just try telling my mother that. The next couple of months saw the addition of three rabbits (Babbit, Swee' Pea and Flopsy) two chickens (Esther and Flo), and a fish (Bruce) to our menagerie. This, although rather strange, was manageable. The rabbits were cute (except when horny, which is ALL THE FRICKIN' TIME), the chickens laid eggs thereby serving a useful purpose, and if you can't ignore a fish then you have serious problems. But I have yet to talk about THEM; the vicious bastard Hell beasts plucked from the traitorous bosom of Satan himself. I'm talking about DUCKS. From what you've seen in various forms of media you would get the idea that ducks are cute and cuddly bundles of sweetness and joy. That is very, extremely, almost impossibly wrong. Ducks are raging assholes who seem to be capable only of incessant quacking and shitting. (Insert joke about some political figure here.) The drake in particular was a gigantic pain in the ass. Ten minutes after the chickens moved in he was screaming and smacking them around. He'd chase the cats and bowl them over, and one time I even caught him ramming into Ben. He loved the rabbits, though, even when they'd attempt to "love" him in return. We also had a female, but I never had any problems with her, besides the fact she was a duck. Well, there was the one time my mother came running in the door screaming, "Come quick and look! The ducks are having sex!" Ummm... right. Now that I've established some of the history, let's move on to the actual story, shall we?

The time? This past weekend. The place? Our trailer. My mother had gone away for a GMC seminar (a.k.a. getting drunk with car salesmen), and thus it was my duty to take care of our various critters. I came home rather late on Friday night and was surprised to see that there were no waterfowl on the front lawn. Usually they're out and about to harass me on the way to the door, but they were nowhere to be seen. I chalked it up to a tiring day of quacking and shitting, and went inside to go to sleep. Cue the next morning. I was woken up by a frenzied quack coming from underneath my bedroom window. By the time I made it there to see what the hell was going on, the perpetrator had waddled off. I went to the front door and saw the female duck going completely apeshit. She was running back and forth, flapping her wings and quacking herself to high heaven. Seeing as it was ten o' clock and the ducks are used to being fed at seven, I thought she was just hungry. I grabbed a carrot and sliced it up for her. It had no discernable effect on her demeanour, even though she'd gobble a slice between quacks. Then I realized I hadn't seen the drake yet. Usually, the two of them were inseperable. A frantic search around the property proved fruitless; he was gone. The female's quacks turned more and more anguished until she went to hide in her shed. With a sad sigh I hauled myself inside and got ready for work.

I arrived home late again on Saturday, and once more there were no ducks on the lawn. Not even the female. Instead of going inside right away, I figured I'd go on a little search for them. We rent a section on a farm, and since there are a couple of grain silos not far from the trailer I thought the best place to look would be there. I asked Ben if he'd like to come, but he decided to pass out in the middle of the driveway instead. Noofle, the most gregarious cat in the world, tagged along in his place. After making it down the hill (and carrying the poor confounded cat across the cattle guard) I couldn't see any activity at the silos. Further inspection revealed no ducks. Beaten, I began to trudge my way back. To my surprise Bailey, the fattest cat in the world, met us halfway. But a few minutes later he was already lagging pretty far behind. So, not wanting to see the poor bastard suffer a heart attack, I scooped him up in my arms and carried him the rest of the way. Points for effort, Bailey; points for effort. Noofle decided he wasn't going to be outdone, so he leapt up onto my shoulder and perched there like a bloody parrot. Just call me Dr. Fucking Doolittle.

Sunday morning was a let down as well. I couldn't see either of the ducks out and about. However, I decided I'd give it one last try before I went to work. I finally managed to find the female hiding behind a box in the duck/chicken shed. She gave some weak quacks when she saw me, then buried her head in her chest. I almost wanted to cry. On the drive into town I thought to myself that I couldn't just leave her like that; I'd have to go back and make sure she was okay. I gave the boss a call when I got to work, explained the situation to him, and asked if he'd be willing to work for me. He said that normally he would have no problem doing so, but he had severely injured himself (it's true; and it's NASTY) and could barely stand, let alone operate a till for seven hours on end. It was a let down, but I thanked him anyway. It was time to give my mother a call and explain the situation. After doing so and getting back to the hell which is my job I received a phone call back around four hours later. It turns out she was just sitting on some eggs that we had no idea she had. All in all, it's very bittersweet; we've lost our drake to god knows what but we're going to get some ducklings out of it. I just hope that duck appreciates that I was going to sacrifice seven hours worth of wages for her.

And now it's Monday evening. Still no sign of the jackass. At this point in time it's best to give up hope that he's still alive. And you know what? I actually miss the cranky asshole. I miss the way he'd charge at my heels, until I gave him a look and he took off in the other direction. I miss the way our amorous rabbits would follow him everywhere and would try to mount his neck. I miss the way he had no balance when he'd try to swim in the little pool we gave them; he'd teeter from one side to the other. And strangely, the thing I miss most of all is the bizarre harmony of quacking those two would have when you got them going.

Whew, that was depressing. What have we learned so far? Besides the fact that I'm a big pussy, I mean.

The flying fuck?!

2004-06-20T04:18:00.000-06:00

If I'm going to be losing my lunch (probably my last THREE lunches) from this, then I'm going to share the wealth. Enjoy.

What
is your Anti-Drug?

Who didn't see this one coming?

2004-06-20T03:49:00.000-06:00

Which Sesame Street Muppet Are You?: "

We recommend this sexy site: yumiyah.com
Which Sesame Street Muppet Are You?

Random Musings from a Broken Man

2004-06-20T00:53:00.000-06:00

Instead of the usual three sentence posts I've been fond of making lately I've decided to make one with a whole bunch of random ideas that would normally receive posts of their own. So now, you get a whole smorgasbord of Joel-y wisdom that'll brighten your day and you know, just improve your quality of life in general.

I love how the ads at the top of my blog change according to the crap I write. I typically get ads for psychics, which means even Blogspot thinks I'm a spoony bastard.

Somebody once came in the store wearing a shirt that says "You Don't Know It, But I'm Right In Front Of You!". It's a damn good thing I don't get high on the job because I'd be thinking about that for hours.

Best customer exchange ever:

Me: Would you like a bag, sir?
Customer: No thank you. (points at wife) I've already got one.

A dad and son came in after a soccer game to buy slushes. As most fathers would be apt to do, this one was trying his best to offer his son some pointers on soccer technique. The one he emphasized the most was "Think Soccer!" Goddamn it, that's all you need to do? Manchester United, here I come!

There is a printed warning on the back of Stewart's Root Beer, which says not to point the bottle at your face while you open it, lest you get a cap embedded in your skull. To be frank, this isn't even close to being one of the most useless warning labels ever made. But the fact that it exists, and considering all the furor over Big Fat and Big Sugar (the titanic corporate entity, not the band) it's only a matter of time before all packaged foodstuffs and beveragestuffs come with "WARNING: CONSUME AT YOUR OWN RISK" slapped on the front. Beware of food!

Speaking of Big Sugar (the Canadian band) I would like to suggest to the area's radio stations to STOP PLAYING THEM! I've heard that infernal "Don't Say It's Over" song so many times over my illustrious career as a counter monkey I've managed to create a dance routine for it. And yet, no one will ever see it. I have mixed feelings about this.

Although I'm loathe to say it, I urge all of you to rediscover the wonderful wonderfulness of strawberry ice cream. Just don't get it from my store, or I'll shatter your soul with my trademarked Vision-O-Rage. And for my vegan readers, may I suggest a nice tofutti?

Please read my early posts; I know my posts of late have had all the substance of a popcorn fart, but I actually put some time and effort into crafting the earlier ones. I'd hate to think it went to waste. Give my life meaning, damn you!

Fun fact: Dane has met Neil Diamond. I suggest you give him all the deference he's due from this. In contrast, the most famous person I've ever met was the lead singer of Canada's own Zuckerbaby, which by a stunning coincidence is now defunct. Well, I didn't MEET him per se, he just happened to be working at the downtown HMV in Calgary while I was browsing for CDs. Upon us noticing each other, I looked at him with bewilderment and he looked at me with fear in his eyes. Then he went to price stock on the other side of the store. But that's the dark underbelly of CanCon for you: A guy gets tons of radio airplay and heavy rotation on Muchmusic, and he ends up fartin' around in an HMV between albums. Next up: the revelation that Tom Cochrane is disguised as the Deputy Prime Minister of Canada.

Delving further into the subject of Canadian music, I have an annoucement to make: I like Bran Van 3000. My level of like is so freakin' high it might better be classified as love. If Bran Van 3000 was a woman instead of a kick-ass musical collective, I would ask for her hand in marriage. Now, there will be three reactions to this news. Some of you will admit that they are, at the very least, decent. Some of you are asking what the hell a Bran Van 3000 is. And the rest of you aren't reading this anyway, because you're rolling around on the floor laughing. Now, lest you confuse my intentions, I am not "admitting" this. Listening to their music is not a guilty pleasure. It is not one of those so bad it's good things. I emphatically enjoy their music, and damn them that thinks that's sad and wrong. In fact, if you're thinking of deriding me for it, please note that I'm more than willing to go to Vancouver, Edmonton, Texas, or where the hell ever and kick your ass (or more realistically, get my ass kicked) for both my sake and the sake of a band that doesn't know that I exist. God help you if you even hint at the term "one hit wonder". But considering how small my readership is, the most that's probably going to happen is that Dane and I will get into a sissy slapfight.

JOEL v0.00001
DEFENSIVE MODE=0
INITIATING SHUTDOWN... DONE
HAVE A NICE DAY

How to Win Friends and Influence People

2004-06-19T03:06:00.000-06:00

The boss came back from Red Deer with a truckload of stock today. During the conversation we had after he came in I referred to him as a drunken monkey, a pot-head, and a crappy dresser. I also made fun of his new Swatch. Guess who's not getting a raise this year?

It's De-Evolution, Baby

2004-06-18T02:02:00.000-06:00

Ugh. Aargh. Long hard day. Joel revert to caveman. Lots of people. Eeek. Too much making ice cream cones. Booga. Me no thinkee good. Me tired. Me go home in blue metal dinosaur belly. Joel knock out woman and drag to cave. Ooga.

A Story

2004-06-17T01:30:00.000-06:00

I wrote this piece of... stuff three years ago, about a month after I broke up with my girlfriend. Hope that factoid puts it into perspective; I'm not that cynical and miserable of a bastard (right now, anyway.)

Two men were walking in the woods. One was short, sort of flabby, and had wild chestnut hair that clearly hadn't been washed in weeks. Thick old-fashioned glasses adorned his chubby face; so thick you could barely make out his sad eyes. The walk had taken much out of him. He was hunching over further with every step; gasping for more air with every breath. He was about to walk into a low hanging branch when his companion's strong hand roughly pulled him out of the way. The weak man looked up at him with gratitude. His companion was everything he was not. The glimmering eyes, the confident smirk, the muscular build; all of them gave an air of superiority the other man clearly lacked.

"Hey, watch where you're going, dude." said the confident man, condescendingly.
"Whoa, don't know what I was thinkin'. Thanks for going on this hike with me by the way."
"Think nothing of it. Adriana said it'd be good for you to get some fresh air. I'm always willing to help a friend."
"Thanks for spending time with her lately. Hopefully I'll get this stupid project done soon. I better get an A, so I can graduate with honors and that cool job at IBM. Then Adriana and I can afford to go someplace nice for our third anniversary."

The confident man gave a knowing smirk then increased his pace a little. The weak one struggled even harder to keep up.

"I can't seem to shake the idea that's she's seeing someone else. She's so disaffected lately. She wants more money, and whenever I come home she's off to somewhere else. I barely see her enough as it is. It's like she doesn't care about me at all anymore. Like she's giving all of her love to someone else."

The confident man stopped walking.

"Maybe it's because you're a pathetic loser."

The weak one stopped in his tracks a few feet ahead of the other man.

"Look at yourself. You have nothing to offer her anymore. Tell me the truth. There is no project to finish. You got kicked out one month ago." continued the confident man.

The weak man turned around, shocked and confused.

"No! I'm still in the course; h-how could you even say that?" he stammered.
"I said tell me the truth. You've been going out drinking everyday, blowing your savings at the pub."
"Th-that's a lie!"
"Well, right now it is. But that's not what it will say in your suicide note."

Silence.

"I know people at the registrar," he continued. "We can erase you from the program from one month ago. Say there was a mix-up and a lack of communication to your professors."
"W-we... why?"

The confident man pulled out a smoke and lit it. After taking a big drag, he continued.

"You said it yourself. I think my wife's cheating on me! Oh no! She is, you moron. She's cheating on you with me."
"You?"
"You have nothing to offer but hopes and dreams. You're a waste of a penis in the sack. You look like a bag of potatoes. Do I need to continue?"

Silence.

"Your marriage is one big lie. You've known all along, haven't you? You just never wanted to admit it to yourself. I'm sorry, ol' chum, but it's for the best. Adriana's a beautiful, vibrant woman and she needs a man, not some worthless little boy."
"But why kill me..." squeaked the weak man softly, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"The strong kill the weak. Survival of the fittest. You need to die. So you'll never try to claim another woman's heart that belongs in the hands of someone like me. Trust me, it's for your benefit. Do you honestly need to live through this pain anyway?"

The weak man shook his head. Calmly, the confident man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a vial.

"Cyanide. This'll kill you instantly. If you don't want to go that route; well, we've got something far worse lined up for you."

With that the confident man flicked his spent cigarette at the other's head. The other man reared his head in pain as the cherry burst in a shower of sparks. He held out his hand for the cyanide, clutching his face in agony with the other.

"That's a good boy. You realized you won't win. All it took was some prodding from us. It might even feel good now, knowing the truth. At least you won't snap from living a lie morning, noon, til night. Goodbye. You were a worthless fucking waste in life, and so it shall pass in death. Now fucking take this before I kill you myself."

Without any shred of life, hope, or energy in his movements, the weak man opened the vial, dumped the contents down his throat, and closed his eyes.

So how was that for ya? Don't let a depressed man read Nietzsche, that's what I always say. Otherwise you end up with stuff like this.

Joel attempts to write a post without any self-deprecation

2004-06-17T00:05:00.000-06:00

Hi

...

Bye

911 is a joke! Get it? Huh? Funny, isn't it? Boy, I'm clever! And awesome! And perfect, and...

2004-06-16T23:42:00.000-06:00

It just dawned on me that I've heard that overused "What's the number for 911?!" gag so many times that when the day comes that I need to use the service myself, I'm going to shout it out in reflex. I've heard it on the Simpsons, in the movie Idle Hands, and I'm pretty sure it's been the punchline in a blonde / redneck / Polish / insert unrespected group name here joke. It's one of those timeworn comedy clichés, like fat people farting or... dammit, can't think of another one. But still, let the madness stop, please? If you're writing something that has a moron calling for help, don't feel the need to include the old workhorse. Have him call 912, which is the unwed rapper suicide hotline instead.

If you can tell me what I'm referencing there, I'll fly down to where you live and personally peel and feed you grapes. Women only, please. No fatties.

Delusion

2004-06-16T01:10:00.000-06:00

From the mind that brought you this pointless piece of shit website comes another one with the sole purpose of taking up valuable space. This one is bit different, because it's supposed to be a partnership with my friend Dane. I say a supposed partnership because he's involved in all things wanton at the current moment, and has yet to make a post. So, you can check out the two graphic intensive scribbles I've tossed up there for the time being.

Prepare to be amazed, or something.

The Hallway

2004-06-15T00:51:00.000-06:00

I'm inside a hallway. There is no light; but in spite of this I can still make out my surrounding. The walls are worn steel; cold, dull, and lifeless. Formless except for the division between plates. Cold misty air swirls around me, making my skin clammy. Claustrophobia lives here. Death is its roommate. I run down the corridor, hoping to find some way to escape. I run for what seems like hours, but my exertion takes its toll mentally, not physically. Can I make to the end? Is there even an end? Should I stop and accept that I'm trapped? My mind is a washing machine; these questions are its load. But eventually I reach the end. There is a thick metal door, braced against any attempts to be forced open. However, a thin stream of light shimmers from the hinges. Finally, I've made it! The only thing left is to open the door. I reach and turn the knob, but it won't budge. And when I look closer, I find a keyhole. It's in the shape of a heart.

'Nuff said.

2004-06-14T18:42:00.000-06:00

Heh. Even though I tend to bitch about my youngest customers the most, sometimes they can be pretty cool. Case in point; two girls came in the store with a bunch of change to buy candy. This sort of thing I find annoying, but at least they had the good sense to roll it first instead of dumping six tons of pennies and nickels on the counter. Anyways, they bought slushes and polished off the rest of their change with those ten cent rocket lollipops. While I was counting how many they bought one of them started cackling evilly. I gave her a bewildered look, and then she stiffened right up and said "I'm sorry, I'm experiencing technical difficulties at this moment." I think that's the first time a customer's ever made me laugh out loud beyond a bemused chuckle. Besides last week when the guy tripped over the cotton candy stand. It wasn't so much the accident as his reaction to it. It was the most hilarious "DAMMIT!" I've ever heard; the perfect mix of desperation and anger. So, it turns out customers can be pretty cool people sometimes. Who knew?

What is the point of this story?

2004-06-13T23:12:00.000-06:00

A group of people just came in the store and ordered 15 ice cream cones, ten minutes before closing time. I feel like annihilating something. If you stuck a piece of carbon between my ass cheeks twenty minutes ago you would now have a diamond. FUCK!

In Dreams

2004-06-11T21:01:00.000-06:00

Ah, the joy of dreaming. What happens when a person dreams? Is it opening your mind to an entirely new realm of infinite possibilities? Is it your mind giving you hints on what you need to do to make your life better? Or is it simply a section of the brain called the pons firing off randomly, leaving your cognitive faculties to make sense of the whole mess? Who knows? The only universally accepted theory on dreams is that people who force descriptions of theirs on other people are boring assholes. So, it shouldn't really come as a surprise that I'd eventually talk about mine. Hey, it had to happen sooner or later, so stop your complaining.

I've never been able to describe my dreams. Just about every dream that I can remember is so random and haphazard they defy easy summary. It's like something really crazy and interesting will happen, then BOOM! for some reason I'm working at Rolf's. Then I'll be chased by some big guy. After which I'm searching for a bathroom. There's really no narrative arc to help along in the description. If you weren't "there", then it seems like a big jumble. It makes sense in my head at the time, of course, but it's impossible to glean anything besides really basic moments to share in the waking world. I don't know, it seems like when everybody else talks about their dreams they have a story to describe. I rarely have those. My dreams are a series of non sequitors. Just for the sake of example: Lynn and I got into a bottle fight, which stopped only because I almost skewered her pet rat, Michelle, with a piece of broken glass. At which point Rob had to drag her away, kicking and screaming, because she was threatening to destroy me. I can't remember what happened next, but let me assure you it had nothing to do with the previous scene. Probably climbing Big Rock Candy Mountain. While being chased by vampire puppies. Who shoot lasers from their eyes.

But on a happier note, I don't have nightmares, at least not in the typical sense. Besides one I had a few months ago, anyways. Let me tell you, I saw imagery so hellish and terrifying it would put Bosch to shame. If I had the ability to translate it into an artistic medium I'd probably get the front page of Fangoria. But anyways, the "nightmares" I typically get are so similar to Curb Your Enthusiasm I expect to get sued by Larry David any minute now. The basic recipe? Take one jackass (me), take a series of extremely uncomfortable situations, toss, spin, serve. And make sure it ALWAYS devolves into a screaming match between me and a dream character. Yeesh. An example? Well, a few nights ago I dreamt I was at work. Yeah, I know, I know, you sell your life for minimum wage but they get your dreams for free, yadda yadda yadda. If you don't know you're dreaming you can't hijack the narrative, eh? Anyways, it was three in the morning. The store was closed. Rolf was there, putting away a bunch of stock. Next thing I know, there's people coming in the door because we forgot to lock it. I informed Rolf that I wasn't going to serve these customers, so if he wanted to keep them in the store he would have to help them himself; you know, it being four hours since I punched out and all. He readily agreed, but after a minute an older couple came in and wanted ice cream. Rolf conveniently remembered something he needed to do in the back, so he asked if I would pinch hit for him. Being the wuss that I am, I agreed. And the order? Well, it was for 20 FREAKIN' BOWLS of Cookies n' Cream ice cream, along with a scoop of um... ahem... French Fry ice cream. I tackled the French Fry ice cream first, because I knew it was going to be a pain in the ass. And of course, it was. After managing to mold a decent scoop and getting it to sit in the cone, I looked to the side and saw Rolf sitting in the back and having a cigarette.

Well, I lost it.

I snapped.

I threw the ice cream at the wall, stomped to the counter and launched into a brutal tirade about abusing the good-will of a store by asking them to make twenty bowls of ice cream after they've closed. Now, if you ever scream angrily at someone in the waking world, they will either a) pound the crap out of you, b) run away, or c) try to calm you down. Rarely does option d) scream back come into play. But this being a dream and all, the old couple were more than happy to join in. The ensuing screaming match cleared everybody out of the story rather quickly; I think I even saw Rolf dash out the front door. But I must admit, the memory of being called a fucking asshole by a seventy year old man is something I'll always hold dear to my heart. The fact it only happened in my mind doesn't diminish it in the slightest. Now isn't that just a perfect dream? Though to achieve the full Curb Your Enthusiasm effect I'd need help later on only to find out that the old couple were the only ones who could provide it. Well, that's my subconscious picture show for you. Maybe one day I'll tell you about the time I almost decapitated someone who tried to steal my car.

It seems I might have rage issues.

Faster than Joel in the sack...

2004-06-08T20:53:00.000-06:00

"Did you do this? All of this?"
"All of what?"
"The Vatican. U-Utah. Did you do that?"
"Yes."
"W-why?"
"You came here to ask me why?"
"No, I came here... to ask you... to put it back."
"Why?"
"Because you're not God."
"Are you sure?"

Ever wondered what would happen if Superman became unhinged? We're talking about a being of immense power here. He's the superhero every other superhero is judged by. His awesome abilities are normally held in check by a strong sense of justice and the desire to do what's right. But if he ever lost that, if he ever started to do whatever the hell he wanted, if he went insane, then that would be the end. And it wouldn't just be the end of man, but the end of our planet as well. This idea is finally explored in Powers, which you'll remember me gassing on about in an earlier post. Of course, it isn't really Superman taking centre stage here; just a character who's pretty much the same as him. Imagine somebody with the power to follow through with what I quote next, and tell me that doesn't send a shiver down your spine.

"I tried so hard to be there for you. To serve you. I tried so hard to make sense of you and what you needed from me. I wanted to be there. I wanted to serve. But then it occured to me -- I asked myself the incredibly obvious question: why am I so much more than you? Why are you so small, and I am so much more? I then realized that I am not your servant. I am your king. I am not yours. You... are mine. To do with what I please. I bring you life. I bring you death. I control everything around you, and everything inside you. But you choose to life in such shocking contradiction. You fight over sand... You dress as God's servants and rape children. You dress as heroes and you pervert. I'm sick of it. You anger me. You confuse me. And I will have no more of it. No more. You cannot be trusted to decide for yourselves. I have control over your life. I have control over your existence. I always have. You will live the way I want you to live. You will be the way I want you to be. And I will bathe in the blood of those who dare to contradict me."

Going, going, gone... and the writer and artist team of Bendis and Oeming have knocked it out of the park! And the crowd (of ten drooling stinky nerds with Asperger's Syndrome) goes wild!

Words are very unnecessaryThey can only do harm

2004-06-07T01:15:00.000-06:00

I've been going over my old posts and it seems like every one of them has at least a line or two about my job. Now, it's true that a convenience store clerk will tell everyone he/she meets all about his/her job, especially what bugs him/her about it. In fact, it seems like it's all he/she can ever talk about. Is it being conceited, or a desperate cry for help? Well, in this case, it's because I tend to compose most of my posts on the job. Any gripe I've got with customers or the like will be fresh on my mind as I'm typing, so that'll be what I write about. It's not because working at the Rolf store is my entire life. Sigh, precious delusion, my old friend...

I'm listening to Depeche Mode's Violator right now, and it's dragging an amusing anecdote up from my subconsciousness. And lucky for you, I'm gonna tell you all about it. Rolf (who is obviously my boss) and I had a discussion about music a good while ago. After I'd introduced him to the soulful strains of Atari Teenage Riot (not a pleasant reaction, but not as shocked as I hoped) I asked him what kind of music he listened to. He replied by saying that since I was so young (Pfff!) I'd probably have never heard of any of his favorite bands. Those who know me know that my knowledge of music pre-2003 is nothing to trifle with, but since the boss had no idea I decided to have a little fun. I played dumb and asked him to try me anyway. First band he listed was Pet Shop Boys, which I answered by doing a goofy song and dance of their cover of "Go West". Next one he said was New Order, but I threw it back in his face by asking if he knew what band New Order had evolved from and the reason why. The answer to that, of course, is Joy Division, and New Order was formed after the lead singer of that band committed suicide. I then proceeded to go for the overkill by describing the scene they came from (or at least what I had gleaned from the 24 Hour Party People reviews.) Finally, he asked me if I knew about Depeche Mode. This is an insulting question on any level, but what made it worse is that I had played their Violater album no less than three times that night while he was working around the store! Sigh... well, we both learned something that night, at any rate. I learned that the boss has an almost insane infatuation with eighties music, and Rolf learned that I was an even bigger dork than he thought.

Oh yeah, around a year and a half ago the boss came back from Red Deer with a truckload of stock. He came in the store and begged me to put on the CD he had just bought. You wanna know what it was? Eiffel 65. Eeek. What's even worse that it wasn't the album with Blue on it; it was their brand new one. Double Eeek. Let your nightmares commence.

An Attractive Man with an Attractive Plan

2004-06-07T00:12:00.000-06:00

It's raining, it's porny
The old man is horny...

Hoo doggy, is it ever pouring out today! It started last night, just after the Flames fucked up Game 6 and it's not supposed to peter out until tomorrow afternoon. And while the population of Rocky weeps, the leprechaun in my head is doing backflips to disco music. Yeah, I've spelled out my general "frustration" with summertime before, so it should be obvious that anything that cuts a swath through the hot and sticky is fine by me. After all, it's easy to beat the heat when there's no heat to beat. Ain't it sweet? Another bonus is how quiet the store gets. It's a double-edged sword, though; as soon as the storm's over there's a rebound rush of people three times bigger than a normal rush. So, if it manages to keep up like this until after closing time, it'll be an awesome night. But as I type this, the rain just stopped. Fuck.

Er, when the clouds are close to the ground and swirling around in a circle, is that a bad thing? It reminds me of that time when my friend Jermey and I were on the run from this massive F5 tornado and had to tie ourselves to a pipe with my belt so we wouldn't get flung from here to Oz. Oh, wait, that was Twister. I guess that would explain why Jermey had a nice rack and looked like Helen Hunt.

Without anything better to do (besides, you know, doing my job) I've thrown myself headlong into Powers, the comic series by Brian Michael Bendis and some Oeming chap. I know I should perhaps be brushing up on my Plato, which I said I was going to do during my little breaks at work instead of reading comics. Philosophy is a much nobler pursuit, is it not? Plus, you can have something more akin to a normal conservation about it compared with comics. Although, I should admit, not by much. Comics and philosophy are the same in one matter, in that you can't just drop them into casual conversation. Really, there isn't much that'll make an uncomfortable silence faster than broaching the subjects of "Free Will vs. Determinism" or "Who was a better Green Lantern; Kyle, John, or Hal?" At least with the people I know, although at least two of them would have something to say on the latter matter. Er, what was the point I was trying to make again? Anyways, it all comes down to this: Do I want my homoeroticism explicit, or do I want it implicit? Seeing as a few of my customers have started to question my sexuality, to the point where they're asking me to my face if I pursue the love that dares not speak its name, I better turn away from the explicit stuff for the time being. Which reminds me of a time when I was lamenting to a friend that I couldn't attract a woman to save my life. His response? "Well, at least you're not gay!" Thanks, I think?

Anyways, I believe I was going to talk about Powers? Yes, I was, before I went all tangential on your asses. I must have ADD or something, I can't seem to keep on one topic for more than three seconds. Powers? Let's see. Two homicide detectives. Their job is to solve cases that involve "Powers", or to put it another way, that involve superheroes. It's a highly entertaining read; sort of like a gritty cop drama tossed into a blender with a copy of Watchmen. Some of the thematic elements I've already seen, but they've never been used quite like this before. Where else can you see immaculately dressed terrorists lob Molotov cocktails at superheroes in protest of the Powers' "domination" of society? Or a hero who's just about impervious to any form of attack literally fucking himself to death? Not in Hagar the Horrible, that's for damn sure. It's such a damn fine book I'm going to have to pick up the trades. Which means going into the comic shop in Red Deer. You know, I always thought Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons was simply a caricature. Until I met one at that store. [shudder] Here's a quick tip; if I think you're a loser, then there's something seriously wrong with you. Seek help.

Some philosophy for y'all...

2004-06-03T02:21:00.000-06:00

Found a really interesting post on Douglas Rushkoff's site; I figured I might as well share it with all three of you who regularly read this blog. Frankly, this couldn't have been posted at a better time because I've been pondering the notion of "toxic" individuality myself lately. It's kismet, I tell you! I'm just going to add my own little addendum to what he says, though. Free to be me, what's the problem? Well, to me being free to be yourself amounts to little more than buying into a pre-packaged notion of what you can be. I find it troubling the amount of categories there are in culture today. This is and always will be, so any complaint about is a moot point, however. What I find lamentably sad is how many people are more than willing to toss themselves in one of these boxes, declare themselves "individuals", and make it a point to declare themselves at a level above every one in the same box. That's my opinion (uninformed, as always) for the day.

Follow the trail of ones and zeroes

When you live out where the street ends...

2004-06-03T01:14:00.000-06:00

June's arrival has got me a bit bummed out. Why, you ask? Well, it's the time of year when that ghastly season known as summer starts to shake off the lint and stretch out its arms. Bah, I hate summer. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Oh, but it's so nice out! So nice and warm and bright and green... hah! HOT and STICKY. That's my view on summer. Now, I know that some of you love being miserable and sweaty, but that ain't me. Ah yes, but the girls in skimpy clothes... yes, that would be a benefit. However, the only people I ever see in a state of undress are hairy fat guys, so I miss out in that respect. So buzz off, summer, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out! Don't need ass-prints on my door.

Our Names on a Marquee

2004-05-29T00:23:00.000-06:00

Our Names on a Marquee

Sigh. Why do I bother? Nobody returns my e-mails, nobody returns my phone calls. I'm watching the molecules slowly break off from my arm, transform into information, and drift away on electromagnetic waves. Slowly the rest of my body will follow suit. My consciousness will glide away until my lidless eyes close and I fade from existence.

Hallelujah.

A Day in the Life

2004-05-27T00:20:00.000-06:00

Well, I suppose when you have one of these blog-ma-bobs it's necessary to post all the tedious tid-bits that make up your travels. Just so I don't have to do this ever again I've decided to post a breakdown of my average day. Stand back from your computer screen, don't look directly at it, and prepare to be dazzled!

10:00 A.M. - Day starts. My day, anyway. Yes, while you poor bastards have been slaving away for two hours, I am nice and cozy in my bed with a cat by my side. Ha ha!

10:15 A.M. - Breakfast!

10:30 A.M. - Daytime T.V!

10:33 A.M. - Since daytime television sucks, I switch it off. The next three and a half hours, who the hell knows. It's occupied by anything from taking Ben the dog out for a walk, annoying the ducks, doing chores (HA!), watching Mr. Show for the bazillionth time, watching Mr. Show with commentary, watching Mr. Show extras, corrupting my brain with video games, increasing my knowledge of C++ and HTML, and perhaps cooking. Maybe some macramé if I'm feeling salty.

2:00 P.M. - If I didn't get enough sleep the night before it's time for my afternoon nap. Yes, the Sandman visits me twice in one day! Aren't I lucky?

4:00 P.M. - Oops, play-time's over. Time to put on my game face. Any trace of mirth sinks back into my pores, because it's not going to be needed for the next seven hours.

4:30 P.M. - I mount my mighty blue stallion and soar to work on the wings of children's dreams.

5:00 P.M. - The dreams turn into nightmares, for I am back at Rolf's Groceries. For the next eon or so I am the public's bitch. Yes, a bitch. Horny parents sic their sugar-starved kids on me with twenty bucks in their sweaty, greasy grasp. The village idiots pore over the bags of chips, hoping to find the brand and flavor which defines them as people. Nicotine-addled fools beg me to front them a package of cigarettes until payday, even though their kids haven't eaten for a week. And through it all there's me, tapping out telegrams from the frontlines of cultural armageddon.

11:00 P.M. - The store closes. This particular eon lasted around six hours; rather piddling by eon standards, but not if you were there living it. Rope up the cash, sling it in the back, toss off a rough estimate of how much money we lost, and there we go! Work's done! Oh yeah, the cleaning. Then I'm done. Wait, the tapes for the security cameras! And then... fuck it, I'm never done. But let's pretend, shall we? I'm doing a damn fine job of it already. It's my peaceful and solitudinal computer time next. Ah yes! Unlimited access to the entire breadth of knowledge transcribed by mankind! So what if I use it for porn?

3:00 A.M. - Depending on whatever the fuck I was doing (or watching!) I'm usually back at home around 2:00 A.M. At which point I'm practically attacked by my attention starved cat, at least until I open my bedroom window, at which point she couldn't give a crap about me. I swear, she's more interested in sniffing the window-screen than eating, sometimes. So, once I've regained my peace, I read from the selection of books I've got going at the same time. Around 3:00 A.M. I drift off to sleep and dream about vampire puppies.

Because I am one wild and crazy guy!

2004-05-26T03:31:00.000-06:00

It's currently past three in the morning and I am not at home nor am I in bed. I am not at the bar, nor am I at a friend's house. I am still at work, banging away on my laptop's keyboard and jiggering with the mouse. There's something profoundly wrong with this situation. Do normal people do this? Does a regular guy stay at his office and dick around on his computer for, let's say, five hours after punching the clock? And reason no. 3,359,287 for why Joel does not have a girlfriend is...

Double standard time: When a gal plays on a computer for more than an hour at a time it's incredibly cute, quirky, and endearing. But when a dude does it, it's just really sad and wrong.

If I Had A Rocket Launcher...

2004-05-26T01:00:00.000-06:00

Bleagh! This day can just go and kick itself in the ass. I'm sporting a damn big headache, it feels like I'm slathered with grease, and to top it off its goddamned Mountaineer day. Oh goody, Pepsi just showed up with a delivery! Throw in castration and it's my favorite day ever!

I will crush your pathetic dreams! How's next Thursday for you?

2004-05-21T16:36:00.000-06:00

(Please note that this post was composed on May 13, 2004)

Criminy, how is it that a day that started off so pleasant can devolve into something so hideous?! Well, that's a bit of hyperbole right there but the day sure ended up crappy. Sheesh, I even did a (sort-of) good thing by rooting through all our home movies and digging out the one my mom's been dying to see lately. Okay, so it's not that great. Judge not, lest ye be judged. I was flying high when I pulled up to work listening to I Had the Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing, which is probably a scarier scene than you want to imagine. So I have shitty tapes, what're you gonna do? Unfortunately, the second I walked in the door all the fuzzy feelings melted away. Sherry started ranting to me about ignorant customers and my evil creditor who won't stop bugging the shit out of everyone. Didn't really put a positive spin on things. After that, little annoying crap just kept building up and up until the end of the night when I could probably shatter glass just by staring at it. Hoo - boy. In more positive news Dane and I are probably going to see Troy tomorrow night and rendez-vous with Rob later. Been about six months since I've seen Rob; last November to be exact. There's really no reason why it's been that long; it's just the miracle of procrastination at work. "Yeah, I don't feel like leaving the house today. I'll call 'im next week." Of course, the fact it's my turn to buy the pizza this time probably makes up some of it, too. Lo and behold, six months have gone by, Rob is sporting dreadlocks and new tattoos, there's no more bloody snow on the ground, and nothing else of great import has happened. That's the beauty of having married friends; you can drop in pretty much whenever and guarantee nothing's changed since the last time you saw them. Well, until the rabbit dies, anyway. God help you when you're visiting in that situation. But regardless, it should be a decent night. Now that Rob despises Rocky's "night-life" it's probably going to be a ganja-fest through and through.

Dream A Little Dream of Me

2004-05-21T16:30:00.000-06:00

(Please note that I did not create a post on May 14, 2004. In lieu of said post, here's some crap I pulled from my computer.)

Page 6 panel 4: Burgess gives the name of "old lords": Namtar, Allatu, Morax, Naberius, Klesh, Vepar, Maymon. Morax is certainly the name of a bull-headed demon appearing in _The Demon_. Maymon may be a reference to Mammon, a Greek word for riches. Mammon is also the name of a devil in the Key of Solomon,
based on the line "one cannot serve God and Mammon" in the scripture.

Panel 5: More names: Ashema-Deva, Maborym, Horvendile. Ashema-Deva is Persian, a god or devil in the Zoroastrian pantheon. He is more familiar to Westerners under the name Asmodeus. Horvendile is a name that appears in both Lord Dunsany and James Branch Cabell. In Dunsany (an early fantasist and
playwright, active in the early decades of this century, best known work perhaps _The King of Elfland's Daughter_), Horvendile is a god. In Cabell's "Poictesme" cycle, he is referred to as a demiurge, a being who, though walking through the story, is above it, and possibly pulling the strings. He also keeps swine that feed on human flesh.

Page 7 panel 6: First known appearance of Morpheus, the Sandman. Morpheus has many different names, since every culture has known of him in some form. Morpheus is fairly rarely referred to directly as the Sandman, with the major exception being issue #3. In this shot, he is wearing a helmet; that is not his head.

Page 8-9: We clearly see here the removal of the helmet, ruby, and pouch of sand, whose recovery will occupy most of _More than Rubies_.

Page 10 panel 1: Ellie is holding a copy of _Through the Looking Glass_, and her appearance bears some resemblence to Alice, the heroine of that book.

Page 11 panel 2: The word "morphine" is derived from the name "Morpheus".

Page 14 panel 3-4: "Sleepy sickness" appears to have been a real phenomenon in the early part of this century. It can also be seen in the Williams-De Niro movie _Awakenings_ and various texts.

Page 15 panel 4: Who or what are the Endless? They include Death, Destiny, Desire, and Dream. We will find out more in later issues.

Waiter; there's a naked man in my movie...

2004-05-21T16:27:00.000-06:00

(Please note that this post was composed on May 15, 2004)

Aah, there's nothing like working a nice, peaceful Saturday morning. At least until the sunshine hits and you're swamped with bleary-eyed toddlers looking for their next sugar fix. That's the sad reality of working at a convenience store; you're the worst paid drug dealer in the world. If you think that description's hyperbole, try selling cigarettes to an old man who's hacked out his left lung on the way to the counter. It's not just the tobacco either; practically everything here's designed to satisfy a damn craving. But in the big scheme of things, that's neither here or there. Whenever I get too many customers and I'm in a pissy mood I'll blame my grumpiness on the chemical dependence of society instead of my own anti-social dickhead tendencies to make myself feel better.

Went to see Troy last night with my ol' pal, Dane. Talk about one unsatisfying movie. First of all, practically everyone knows that Troy loses the war and Achilles dies (if you think this is a spoiler, go read a damn book). So much of the dramatic tension is pretty much lost. However, this isn't a big deal if you like the characters, and wanna follow them throughout their journey. The problem is that in a cast that's this big there's only two people I gave a damn about, Hector and Oddyseus. But this movie from the get-go is pretty much all about Achilles. Oh, Achilles... I hated, hated, hated, HATED that fucker. I still hated him, even after his character started developing in the last ten minutes of the movie. I see enough arrogant, cocky pricks in my day-to-day routine; I don't need to see one glorified on the big screen for two and a half hours. Another thing to point out are the natures of the opposing sides. The Greeks are portrayed as assholes and the Trojans are portrayed as sympathetic. Which is kinda annoying considering how it all turns out. Again, this would not be a big problem if there was the sense the Trojans were capable of more than dying in combat. Oh sure, they pull a couple of upsets out of their asses. But the feeling you get watching this movie is akin to watching a bunch of tyrannosaurs chasing a lamb. I might be a bit harsh, but we're talking about an adaptation of the first (and possibly best) epic story that mankind ever produced. Homer wrote it to light a fire in mankind's soul. Of course, I acknowledge that a straight adaptation would be pretty much impossible. But in bringing this story to the big screen they cut out just about everything that made this story stirring in the first place.

Buuuuut... if you're looking for swordfights and naked men, you ain't gonna do much better this summer. And maybe that's the point.

If only there was a way to combine the two!

2004-05-21T16:24:00.000-06:00

(Please note that this post was composed on May 16, 2004)

When you go to Rob and Lynn's house, there are two things you can expect: dogs and marijuana. Both of them were there in spades when I visited last night. 'Twas cool though; I love dogs and I don't mind marijuana, so a good time was had, I can say. I got to visit my delirious Mr. Show fandom on people other than my mother for a change; to the tune of seven episodes in a row. I still can't believe I got away with it, either. At the end of the fifth one Rob said, "All right, who's had enough of Bob and David?" But through the use of some divine mystical force that I cannot yet name or even understand, I managed to squeeze in two more episodes before I went to the bathroom and they hijacked the remote. Whatever the hell they put on next is lost in a gigantic haze; I just remember there were lots of cars crashing, a gratuitous lingerie shot, and a fat asshole pretending to be a badass. Oh yeah, Swordfish. Anyways, I think they liked Mr. Show until I overkilled it. But yes, the revolution is coming. Soon, the nation will be just as zealous as me. The Bob will rule all!

"Only British people can fly! You shouldn't try to fly, and you shouldn't listen to British people." - Our Excitable Friend from Across the Ocean, Ernie!

Dane and his girlfriend were there as well. That day was actually the first time that I met her. Now, before I continue on this topic I just need to point something out. Ever since my male friends went through puberty (I'm still waiting, apparently) they have attracted members of the female species. I say they have 'attracted' because I don't think any of my male friends have had to do more than a token gesture to get into a relationship, because the girl was already smitten with them. That's not the point I'm trying to make, but it's interesting to note nonetheless. Anyways, they would get girlfriends and I would eventually have to meet them at one point or another. There has been a startling consistency in their response to me to this point in my life, and I guess the nicest way to dress this up would be to call it toleration. Disdain would probably be a more accurate word, though. There are exceptions to this rule, of course, including if I knew the girl before they started going out or my friend and I first meet the girl at the same time. If I meet her for the first time after they've started going out however, it all goes to crap.

Now, after having established this disturbing precedent, can you imagine the meeting that took place going any better? No, I dare say it did not. In the first five seconds, which people say are the most important in first impressions, I could hear any hope of social chemistry between us splutter and die like a bloated muskrat. Which is a shame, because Fermita (dammit, I mean Femira, I think, sp?) seems like a genuinely nice person, despite that whole "If I could immolate you with my mind, I would" vibe going on. And hell, Dane likes her, and he's always demonstrated good taste.

Of course, one could construe through what I've written that it's entirely the girl's fault for this sad, sad game. After all, I'm an affable, charming enough lad; how could anyone dislike me? Heh, fuck that. If anything, it's my own fault entirely for this state of affairs. People who've known me for a long time know that I'm a rather shy person. However, I am not one of those affably shy people. You know, people who don't say that much but are still approachable. I am a MISERABLY shy person. It's the kind that often gets confused with being a snob. I have to admit it, when I'm in my shell I just don't look like that friendly of a guy. I've stepped away from this sort of thing as I've gotten older, but there's still this one instance that sends me into a relapse every time. And, if you can't get what it is, you obviously haven't been paying attention. You see, it all started back when I was 14 and it seemed like all of my friends were hooking up. Not me, of course. I started resenting them for seeming to leaving me behind. And when it was coupled with own frustration in being (in my own mind) disdained by girls, it grew into something even more bitter and poisonous. It seemed wrong to direct this odd mix of meat, gristle, self-loathing and hatred at my own pals, so I chose the next target in line: their girlfriends. I've never been able to hide my negative feelings (positive ones, I with no problem hiding) so the reaction they have to me was probably influenced by my own demeanour. Hence, my own fault. It's weird that I've never managed to shake it off. Whenever I meet a friend's bird, my mind regresses back to its state of when I was 14 years old. The aforementioned meat and gristle blah blahbity blah. Now, this isn't to say that I automatically despise them right off the bat. No no no. Just the sensations I had back then start up again. See, isn't armchair psychology fun?

But perhaps this is all for the best. In the one case where I started to get along with one of my friend's girlfriend, they broke up like one week later. So, if you start going out with a pal of mine, whatever you do, don't start being nice to me because your relationship will go down the toilet soon after. But in the meantime, just remember you're insulting my buddy's impeccable taste if you start questioning why I'm hanging around.

You know what I'm thinkin'? Kentucky Fried Duck!

2004-05-21T16:20:00.000-06:00

(Please note that this post was written on May 17, 2004)

One of the suppliers dropped in today, gave me a free bag of Planter's Peanut Butter Bites (think Reese cups, but swankier) and asked if the store would be willing to order a box. Of course, with such a bribe as that and being lusty with power myself I yelled out to the heavens, "Damn right we would!!!!" I've sampled one and I have to say they're decent, except for a peanut aftertaste that lingers long after it's welcome. So, in an uncharacteristic spirit of generosity, I've decided to offer them to my customers instead. Response has been excellent, but there are a few people who still hang on the notion that nothing can beat a Reese. Ah, the joy of branding at work. How people can be emotionally involved with a chocolate bar is beyond me, but hey, what can you do? Some people have accused me of doing this just to move the product. Well, of course, but I'm mostly doing it to bribe people into thinking I'm not a total asshole. I'll buy their love and devotion yet.

I've sold one bag as I write this. Go me! Go Joelie, it's your birthday, gonna drink some Pepsi like it's my birthday. Sellin' lots of chocolate like it's my birthday It ain't even October but it's still my birthday! You can find me in the store Selling cigs to underage crack whores Pimpin' out candy gets me love So come give me a hug

Ooh... sorry 'bout that. But aren't parodies of year old songs the best? Just wait until I start on John Mayer!

While we're on the topic of pop music, I was recently mocked by three of my friends for not recognizing a recent Britney Spears song. I just, I don't know, there's just so many things WRONG with that I don't know where to begin. One would figure that you know, NOT having any knowledge on something so stupid would be laudable. Here's a little experiment you can do: go to Google and search for "Calgary Sun health care" and "Calgary Sun Britney Spears". FYI, the Calgary Sun is one of the daily papers in the glorious province of Alberta. Notice a disparity in the numbers? The Britney Spears search turns up at least twice the amount of results. How is it that something as trivial as an over-sexed pop star gets twice as much press as something that has a bearing on our daily lives? Sweet Zombie Jesus, any sign of ignorance in respect to the vacuous tart should be applauded!

And this is coming from a guy who just did a parody of a 50 Cent song. Hello, hypocrisy, my old friend... but the sentiment remains strong and true. It's practically impossible to tune out the ramblings of pop culture. Lord knows how much useless trivia concerning it I have harbored in my brain. But maybe, just maybe, we can cease our infatuation with it, and start to to concentrate on issues that matter.

Now whattya think of that; Danewort, Saraband, and Jeroboam?*

* Names changed to protect the incontinent

Death of an Asshole

2004-05-21T16:13:00.000-06:00

(Please note that this post was written on May 18, 2004)

People have always dreamed of time travel. Go back in time, and visit an old relative who's long since passed; or go forward, grab the lottery numbers and use 'em to fatten the ol' bank account. My daydreams, too, are occupied with the idle fantasies of warping time. However, it's not money or truth that I'm seeking. No, I'll be going back in time five years, when a certain individual walks into Rolf's Groceries on a mission. But this time, he's getting no further than the front door. As he enters, he notices Rolf asleep on the floor. Before he can wrap his head around this, there's a flash of Japanese steel, and in the next instant his right arm is gone. Before he can start wailing like a constipated banshee, five more flashes light up the store. I'm not going to describe the resulting mess. The remains of the guy are then fed into all eight tumblers of the slush machines making a fairly disgusting mixture which is then deposited into a chum bucket. The chum is transported to the ocean and fed to sharks. The sharks are electrocuted, then served to the guy's family. After which they get thrown into cages containing horny silverback gorillas jacked up with cocaine. And finally, not only will I have prevented a foul deed from occuring, I'll also have sent a message loud and clear to anybody else who has the same designs. Now, you may be asking, what the hell did this guy do that's so heinous, so despicable as to deserve treatment like this? Did he rob the store at gunpoint? Did he throw a temper tantrum and knock over a rack? Oh no, nothing as trivial as that. This person came into the store that fateful day and suggested to Rolf that he should serve hard ice cream. And thus, the tenth circle of hell was born, and populated solely by me.

On a happier, and more tasteful note, I ran into one of my old co-workers from the gas plant I wiled away my summers in over five years ago. He is the man with no name; Kevin McNutt. He was there with a bunch of kids, who I believe were in a youth group he's running. I only managed to talk with him for a little bit, as he had to make it back to the church and I was getting swamped with customers. I gleaned some odd information from him; it turns out he's the only pipefitter left at the plant. What the heck's going on? When I was working there, there were pipefitters practically crawling out of the supervisor's ass. Now they're down to one. I heard they did some reorganizing since I left, but this is ridiculous. Anyways. Now that I'm four years removed from the school-yard antics that colored my summers, I can safely say that Mr. McNutt was one of my favorite people to work with. Anyone who can put up with my continual screw-ups is a decent guy in my books. It's kinda sad to note however that I didn't really feel that way the time. Every time I was assigned fixing the louvers (think gigantic venetian blinds) with him I thought that I was missing out on all the action with the other summer stupids. Oh, how my heart would sing when we had to go to the warehouse! Basking in its golden light! If I really had control over time, however, I'd go back and tell myself to let it go. Right after a little stint of unspeakable violence, as mentioned before. Compared to some of the crap I had to do and some of the assholes I was paired up with, this was pure gold. So what if I wasn't where the action was? Oh well, hindsight 20/20 blah blahbity blah. But back to the man himself. It should be mentioned that I haven't met a man more religious than he. Normally, this would not be a good combination, me and him. Yet besides the odd mention that I should really go to one of his church picnics, there wasn't anything churchy being shoved down my throat. There WAS the dissection of the Jesus mini-series playing at the time, but I'd rather not go into that. What is interesting about him being religious is that from the stories he told me he was the craziest, partiest mother ever when he was younger. Cripes, my friend Glenroy was with us once and you should have heard the stories they were bandying about. They were so raunchy I swore I could see the paint peeling off the pipes around us. What were they about, you ask? Well, they did swear me to secrecy. I guess it's been five years and the statute of limitations has expired, but still, these stories would probably mark them out as evil bastards for the rest of their natural lives. Thus, I shall remain silent on the matter for this point on. Or until someone sends me fifty bucks. Then I'm going to give out every last piddling detail. But anyways, let's jump back to December 2000, which was during what I call my Bleak Period. After an almost staggering display of continual fucking-up I ended up at my Dad's. Which is when he relayed a message from Mr. McNutt (and a Mr. Kirstein, but we're not talking about him) wishing me a Merry Christmas. This might not seem like a big deal, but at this point in time I was pretty much a wreck. I had done a damn good job of alienating just about every friend I had. Somebody wishing a pathetic wretch like me a Merry Christmas managed to get to even my black, crusted heart.

So, anyways, if you can hear me out there Mr. McNutt; SHINE ON, YOU CRAZY DIAMOND!!

"Just wait till tomorrow
I guess that's what they all say
Just before they fall apart"

We're going to Defcon 1, people; so buckle the fuck up!

2004-05-21T16:07:00.000-06:00

(Please note this post was written on May 19, 2004)

Wooo! It's Core-Mark day here at the old Rolf store; which means endless pricing of crap. Okay, I should take this oppurtunity to address why all the prices end in nine. I know a lot of you are just dying to hear this information. Oh, so maybe you aren't; who cares? You're still going to hear it anyway. And git yer damn pointer away from the close button!!! I'm giving you knowledge! Maaaaad science! I'm droppin' old-school philosophy on yo punk-ass!

Yeah... Um, sorry, the leprechaun in my head was Riverdancing again. Stupid leprechaun.

There are two reasons why all prices end in nine. The first one is the one most people are able figure out for themselves; namely that $1.99 looks better than $2.00. Or $59.99 looks better than $60.00. It's just one of those low-level mindfucks to make customers believe they're getting a better deal than they're really getting. Hell, I knew about this back when I was eight. The second reason isn't as obvious; and that's because it has to do with us heathen bastards behind the counter. Back when all the prices were nicely rounded off, the management noticed that us cashiers (venomous, back-stabbing curs of Satan that we are) were taking the money from clean transactions and pocketing it. By a clean transaction, I mean one that doesn't involve making change. So, somebody would come up with a one dollar item, give us the money, and then we'd conveniently forget to ring it into the till. The noble and pure-hearted managers were taken aback by the gravity of the sins we had commited, and took it upon themselves to bring us back to the straight and narrow. Thus, every price from that point on would end in nine, forcing us to make change on every transaction, which meant we would have to ring it into the till.

Verily, the kind and loving executives had won this battle in the War Against Shrinkage. Yep, that's what stores call their losses. Shrinkage. Takes on a whole new meaning after Seinfeld, right?

"So, how's it going, Bob?"
"Oh man, you wouldn't believe the amount of shrinkage I've got!"
"Tough break, Bob. I could go over your resources if you want."
"Nah, I think I got a good handle on 'em."
"Cool. Wanna fuck each other up the ass?"
"All right!"
Help me! The subtext has become the text!

Ahem. The boss gets a convenience store magazine every month with his orders from Core-Mark, and if he hasn't taken it home by the time I get there I usually give it a quick read-through. Although most of it is run-of-the-mill business crap (Improve Your Customer Service! Stock More Stuff! Maximize Your Profits!) every now and then you run across something interesting. This month there's a three page advertisement for du Maurier cigarettes. First of all, cigarette companies haven't been allowed to advertise in Canada since like 1860 so I was a bit taken aback by this. Second of all, du Maurier is pretty much the top-selling brand in the country and stores would stock it anyway, so what's the point? And third; well, I'll let the copy speak for itself.

"Some cigarette packaging may look alike but the smoking experience tells a different story. du Maurier delivers on exceptionally smooth and classic taste that your customers cannot find in any other brands of cigarettes. Here is why: du Maurier has always offered an exclusive combination of filters and tobacco brands. If it's not a du Maurier brand, it's not a du Maurier product and it's not du Maurier quality. IT IS that simple. Now YOU know the difference! Only the du Maurier name guarantees the du Maurier quality."

Which is funny, because I thought the du Maurier name guarantees trach rings, lung cancer, and general hacking death. Sheesh, I should forward this to Canada's anti-tobacco lobby, or Adbusters at least; they'd have a bloody field day with this shit. I WOULD do it, I should say, if I didn't smoke more than London's chimneys myself. I'll end my discussion on the magazine by saying it has probably the silliest example of corporate lingo I've ever heard. In one article it actually describes the act of buying a chocolate bar as an "eat occasion". An eat occasion?! What the hell? What's next, when they go to the can are they going to say they're "performing a urinary evacuation"?

Ooh, it seems like the Calgary Flames are going to the Stanley Cup finals. Since I'm not a fan I usually have a marginal interest at best in hockey, but it's hard not to get swept up in the boundless enthusiasm that's flying all over the place. Frankly, after the dark days the entire country had last summer, it's nice to see people excited for a change. Getting the Cup back in Canada, even if it's in Alberta (as the assholes say), will go a long way in improving our national mood. 'Cause if cynicism were monkeys, we'd need a hell of a lot of bananas right now.

On the homefront, things are stable. I gave my room a massive clean yesterday, so it's finally hospitable again, although my cat was kind of put off by the whole thing. But seeing as she's the damn reason why I had to sweep up anyway, what with the cat hair and all, I really didn't give a shit. I gave her a toss out the door and let the ducks have their fun with her. After that was done I started up a new game of Prince of Persia: Sands of Time. Even though it's been said many times before, I must say it again. This is one of the best games ever made. If you believe that video games have to ability to evolve beyond a spectacular waste of time into something more akin to art, you owe it to yourself to buy this game. Show the gaming cartel that you want to see more games like this and that you've had enough with the derivative unplayable crap that's flooding the market. And pick up Beyond Good & Evil while you're at it. It's short, but it's most definitely sweet.

Joel's Non Sequitur of the Day:

Jeroboam: I've been collecting silver bullion lately.
Joel: Yeah, so what? I've got a stuffed Batman doll hanging on my wall!

Just Ride.

2004-05-21T15:55:00.000-06:00

(Please note that this post was written on May 20, 2004)

Good news, everyone! The Rob Mob is back in business. Or the Lynn.. uh... Flynn. Hell, let's just include them both and call it the Hart Mart, okay? ANYWAYS, the Hart Mart, as it henceforth shall be called, is now the number one seller of dreadlock... wax? in the Rocky Mountain House area and is willing to supply your every dreadlock need. Git dem natty dreads, mon! Irie! Okay, okay, i'll stop before I embarass myself further. But it's good to see Rob (and Lynn; don't forget Lynn, dammit) back in business. So, with their future in mind, I therefore declare this to be the Year of the Snow Cult. Well, on my page at least. Which will get the message out to my whopping ten unique visitors. All right, so it's an empty fucking gesture! What, are you doing anything better? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME?!

...

So, to help out all of you who are lost as to what this business is and who these people are, I present to you:

THE ACCOUNT OF THE SNOW CULT
The Immaculate Conception

"Lo! Dost thou hear the wind? Dost thou feel the shiver it imparts down thy spine? All's Wintered Eve comes! Prepare thouself, for long months of agony. The chill hardens the very marrow of bones; the eyes and lips turn to cold stone. Alas, the world of man suffers not alone. For in the merciless nights, the beasts fare no better than men under winter's harsh gaze. Nature is robbed of her beauty; there is only an endless white sea to behold. All things who dwell in these afflicted lands suffer. Oh thou naked man, oh thou shivering beast; how I long to clasp thee to mine bosom in the passionate fire of mine embrace!"

-- Lord Quincy; 1420

"A wint'ry doom has befallen our lands since the dawn of time itself. It retreats from the power of spring's warmth only to conquer again at autumn's finish. But its tyranny will soon be at an end. For in the snowflakes I have divined the coming of a conquering army, destined to make the winters their own! These good and noble-hearted souls will glide upon the very snow itself, illuminating the path upon which humanity will march itself to freedom. I must make haste to the Norwegian mountains, where I am assured by my good friend Heinrich, who has assisted me thus far in my research, that I will discover the rest of the prophecy. It pains me to leave my beautiful wife behind, but Heinrich has insisted that he look after her while I'm gone, so I know that she will be well taken care of. At the stirring of the morn, it is off to Norway I go!"

-- Sir Adelbaird Quincy; 1745

(British crackpot found frozen to death. A Mr. and Mrs. Heinrich Stoller will arrive in a month's time to claim the body on behalf of the Queen.)*
-- Norwegian Telegram; 1747
*Translated from original Norwegian

"A pox on the usurping Stollers! They are the malicious beasts who condemned my uncle to lifetimes of ridicule upon his death. And now mankind is not prepared to face down perhaps its greatest foe. I have continued my uncle's research, and discovered that this army is not here to save; rather, to enslave! Plucked from the very bosom of the traitorous pagan god, Ularr, they will wreak unthinkable havoc upon this world. Unholy terrors! Robbed of their very wit and will by a sacred sacrificial plant, they will erode the morality and decency which keeps our society together. The arrival of these perverted Lotus Eaters is not the worst to come, however. Soon afterwards, one will rise from their ranks who will unite them all under a common banner. This cult, this Snow Cult will then rule the Earth as they see fit. We are doomed, doomed I say, doomed to an eternal winter!"

-- H. P. Quincy; 1863

"Hey! You know what would be a good name for my snowboard brand? Snow Cult!"

-- Rob Hart; 1999

"And so, the child of man and Ularr revealed himself to humanity at the turn of the millennium. He began to spread his tidings of love, respect and peace, but was quickly brought to an end by his own personal Judas. All was not lost, however, for he had once discovered a maiden fair and introduced her to his ways. Through their combined strength and love he was resurrected once again to preach to the masses. He is long gone from this world, but his spirit still lingers to guide and teach us. Praise be to Ularr! Praise be to Rob! Praise be to Lynn! Now step forward for your ceremonial toke and dreadlock waxing. Then let's RIDE!"

-- Mass on October 18 at a Snocultian Temple; 2545

There! I hope that clears everything up. Now you know all there is to know about Rob and Lynn's business.

"Man, I have too much time on my hands."

-- Joel Nielsen; 2004

P.S. I am not a fanatic. Love, Joel.

It's A New Day, But Be Damned If I Care.

2004-05-21T15:35:00.000-06:00

Oh, what a month it's been! I lost my old internet account to the technological ether, but I've managed to summon another one to do my bidding. Unfortunately, I sign back on here and find out they've revamped the whole bloody shebang! And because of this, I can't sign on to my old... uh... blog. Yeah, I know, blog is a widely accepted term, and millions of people have no problem tossing it around everyday, but it still seems pretty damn ridiculous to me. Blog. Sounds like my cat barfing. Well, now that I'm done disrespecting one of the revered cornerstones of online life, I'll continue by venting about this shitty service! My god, you'd think they treat their customers better than that! I pay good money... oh wait, no I don't. I'll be quiet now. Praise Blogger! Praise Blog*Spot! The champions of the free-loading ingrate!

If you're at all interested in reading my stilted ramblings from before, click here. It looks and reads like crap, frankly, which is why I've decided to start fresh with a new one instead of complaining to customer service. The plethora of new design options just sweetened the deal. I've been creating posts during the last week, and I'll put them up shortly. But because of the way the posts'll be ordered, you probably knew that already.