Thursday, December 11, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
Showoff
There are some new pieces of information that make your life better.
Today I discovered the seeing eye horse - miniature ponies that are trained in the same capacity of seeing eye dogs.
I realized that if they trained Aye-Ayes in a similar way, they'd be called Seeing Eye Aye-Aye. Similarly, if I got trained to help the blind, I'd be a Seeing Eye Lei.
Or, if they trained one of the McDonald's mascots, they'd be Seeing Eye Fry Guys.
Go here if you want one: http://www.guidehorse.org/
There are some new pieces of information that make your life better.
Today I discovered the seeing eye horse - miniature ponies that are trained in the same capacity of seeing eye dogs.
I realized that if they trained Aye-Ayes in a similar way, they'd be called Seeing Eye Aye-Aye. Similarly, if I got trained to help the blind, I'd be a Seeing Eye Lei.
Or, if they trained one of the McDonald's mascots, they'd be Seeing Eye Fry Guys.
Go here if you want one: http://www.guidehorse.org/
Skellies!
In 1940, British colonial officer Gerald Gallagher found a human skeleton and a sextant box under a tree on Gardner Island, a coral atoll in the western Pacific. Colonial authorities took detailed measurements, and in 1998 forensic anthropologists judged that the skeleton had belonged to a "tall white female of northern European ancestry."
It may have been Amelia Earhart.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Still Hallowe'en Week? Check.
Ok, so given that I haven't written or done much of anything at all in the past..oh...4 months, I figure going hog wild on ridiculous costume ideas this week is the most easy, accessible and entertaining way to win back readership.
Today's selection: Costume wearers I'd never trust around young children.
We have everything from the drooling cycloptic patio umbrella...
To Roald Dahl throwback with a transsexual haircut Pederast
To the I'm-probably-56-years-old-and-male-under-here situation
The "Ok now we're really calling the cops. This is the third time we've seen him in the playground this week" (he's new!)
The rotting husk of a wax museum obsessed serial rapist.
So..just...no. Really, really, really just no to this guy as a babysitter.
Ok, so given that I haven't written or done much of anything at all in the past..oh...4 months, I figure going hog wild on ridiculous costume ideas this week is the most easy, accessible and entertaining way to win back readership.
Today's selection: Costume wearers I'd never trust around young children.
We have everything from the drooling cycloptic patio umbrella...
To Roald Dahl throwback with a transsexual haircut Pederast
To the I'm-probably-56-years-old-and-male-under-here situation
The "Ok now we're really calling the cops. This is the third time we've seen him in the playground this week" (he's new!)
The rotting husk of a wax museum obsessed serial rapist.
So..just...no. Really, really, really just no to this guy as a babysitter.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Hallowe'en Costume Ideas
Sometimes people turn to the web for fun costume ideas.
I turn to the web...and more innocent times.
Note on this last one: if the two false faced clowns didn't do it for you, how about the Oil Derrick children?
There will be blood indeed.
See more here
Sometimes people turn to the web for fun costume ideas.
I turn to the web...and more innocent times.
Note on this last one: if the two false faced clowns didn't do it for you, how about the Oil Derrick children?
There will be blood indeed.
See more here
Unabsurd for a Change
..likely to be followed by a post that is absurd. I lay awake in bed last night thinking about how I live for stories. The stranger the way stories are manifested, the greater the thrill. McSweeneys is excellent for that. If you don't know them, you should. Their publications are packaged as delightfully as the baby smooth prose they house.
I came across this page.
Who knew that spinal columns could be so tasty?
When the warm weather has gasped its last, I'm going to screw with some libraries.
Herewith, a new way of reading:
Go to this place for more spinal chills.
..likely to be followed by a post that is absurd. I lay awake in bed last night thinking about how I live for stories. The stranger the way stories are manifested, the greater the thrill. McSweeneys is excellent for that. If you don't know them, you should. Their publications are packaged as delightfully as the baby smooth prose they house.
I came across this page.
Who knew that spinal columns could be so tasty?
When the warm weather has gasped its last, I'm going to screw with some libraries.
Herewith, a new way of reading:
Go to this place for more spinal chills.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
We Push Around a Lot of Old Ladies From Flawrida
I can't believe I haven't put this up before.
Without a doubt, a hidden gem - one of my favourite youtube videos of all time. I don't know if it's the dialogue (choice), the accent (aces) or the wide lapel suit from 1977 that make it, but somewhere - somewhere - in the magical combination of all three, genius is born. It's supposedly culled from the vault of a tv station. A alternative version to a real spot that ran - and ultimately a testament to the warped creative mind of the voice talent.
I can't believe I haven't put this up before.
Without a doubt, a hidden gem - one of my favourite youtube videos of all time. I don't know if it's the dialogue (choice), the accent (aces) or the wide lapel suit from 1977 that make it, but somewhere - somewhere - in the magical combination of all three, genius is born. It's supposedly culled from the vault of a tv station. A alternative version to a real spot that ran - and ultimately a testament to the warped creative mind of the voice talent.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
For Pomsterity
Have I mentioned how much I love Etsy?
I would like Etsy to be my boyfriend. It has all the qualifications: creative, eclectic, surprising, giving, humorous.
If Etsy and I went on a date, I'm sure he would come bearing treasures untold.
A knitted frog dissection shadowbox, a print of a dashing barn owl, a paper bird.
Perhaps then we would make crafts. Go wild blueberry picking. Rent a rowboat and sing Irish drinking ditties in the cicada filled summer air.
Perhaps not.
Only Etsy could dream this dose of extreme reality.
A weird finger on the weirder pulse of mortality. It may seem sweet, but imagine taking tea over the mortal remains of Captain Joaquin.
According to the vendor,
See it, read it, buy it here
Have I mentioned how much I love Etsy?
I would like Etsy to be my boyfriend. It has all the qualifications: creative, eclectic, surprising, giving, humorous.
If Etsy and I went on a date, I'm sure he would come bearing treasures untold.
A knitted frog dissection shadowbox, a print of a dashing barn owl, a paper bird.
Perhaps then we would make crafts. Go wild blueberry picking. Rent a rowboat and sing Irish drinking ditties in the cicada filled summer air.
Perhaps not.
Only Etsy could dream this dose of extreme reality.
A weird finger on the weirder pulse of mortality. It may seem sweet, but imagine taking tea over the mortal remains of Captain Joaquin.
According to the vendor,
We offer several different styles of pet urns and several styles of jar urn designs. Our ceramic jar urns can be personalized and customized with the pet/persons photograph, name, etc. Possibilities are endless for the designs which can be done.
See it, read it, buy it here
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Yer Toast, Buster!
I read a...well, no.
I SAW a strange picture today. Captured my imagination. Then I read on about it, and yea, there are theories, but I would like to posit my own and you be the judge.
THIS thing washed up on shore in Montauk.
Now, theories about neighbouring government animal testing facilities have been put forward. Then some claims about it being a part of a (rather sinister) viral marketing scheme for the Cartoon Network. Then some guy saying that photoshopping a turtle shell on its back will say everything.
These don't satisfy me. I think the answer is one that is more obvious, but perhaps more terrifying as well.
To me, there is little doubt that these are the remains of the hellbeast Zuul.
I think you'll agree.
Peep the original article
I read a...well, no.
I SAW a strange picture today. Captured my imagination. Then I read on about it, and yea, there are theories, but I would like to posit my own and you be the judge.
THIS thing washed up on shore in Montauk.
Now, theories about neighbouring government animal testing facilities have been put forward. Then some claims about it being a part of a (rather sinister) viral marketing scheme for the Cartoon Network. Then some guy saying that photoshopping a turtle shell on its back will say everything.
These don't satisfy me. I think the answer is one that is more obvious, but perhaps more terrifying as well.
To me, there is little doubt that these are the remains of the hellbeast Zuul.
I think you'll agree.
Peep the original article
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hello, Nightmares
To all those vegetarians out there, recognize that nature can go naughty, leaving us cowering in its wake. (Cower! :D)
In this case, mad cow disease takes on sinister dimensions that I tremble to contemplate.
To all those vegetarians out there, recognize that nature can go naughty, leaving us cowering in its wake. (Cower! :D)
In this case, mad cow disease takes on sinister dimensions that I tremble to contemplate.
"When his chickens started disappearing a few weeks ago, a farmer in eastern India figured dogs or jackals were to blame - until he discovered his calf making a meal of his poultry. "I've never read or heard about cows turning carnivorous," said Mihir Tripathy. "They eat grass and other vegetarian food but not fish or other non-vegetarian stuff." (examiner)
via Trendhunter
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
This One's For You, Heath
I have to give you something Bat themed because I'm going to see the Dark Knight tonight.
So following up on my blobfish post...I give you...
Batfish!
I have to give you something Bat themed because I'm going to see the Dark Knight tonight.
So following up on my blobfish post...I give you...
Batfish!
One of more than 60 different species of fishes found in warm sea, this fish has a broad head, slight body, and is covered in large gnarled lumps. Batfish are not good swimmers; they use their pectoral fins to "walk" on the ocean floor. When the batfish reaches adulthood, its dorsal fin becomes a single spine-like projection that lures prey. Batfish eat shrimps, mollusks, small fish, crabs, and worms.Sub Aquatic Species resource: Pbs.org
Monday, July 14, 2008
Superlative Imperative
So I sent out a Tweet a week or so ago that will act as my springboard (ed. note: ok, I automatically fail here because I'm blogging about twittering. I could just stop but I like the sound of my own keys.)
I know when I've had a rough week, and being a writer of sorts means I strive to capture - in words, mind - that feeling. Thinking about this brings me to the simplest and trendiest way of putting it: Epic Fail.
But the internet stops there. I mean, what if something put it all over the top and Epic Fail fell short. Dare I say it - failed?
Needs be, I consult Thesaurus and see if I can cobble together a fun synonym for the Odyssey of Failings of Monday July 7 - Tuesday July 15. Thus far:
Saga of Suck
.......err. anyone?
So I sent out a Tweet a week or so ago that will act as my springboard (ed. note: ok, I automatically fail here because I'm blogging about twittering. I could just stop but I like the sound of my own keys.)
I know when I've had a rough week, and being a writer of sorts means I strive to capture - in words, mind - that feeling. Thinking about this brings me to the simplest and trendiest way of putting it: Epic Fail.
But the internet stops there. I mean, what if something put it all over the top and Epic Fail fell short. Dare I say it - failed?
Needs be, I consult Thesaurus and see if I can cobble together a fun synonym for the Odyssey of Failings of Monday July 7 - Tuesday July 15. Thus far:
Saga of Suck
.......err. anyone?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
It Was Bound To Happen. I Have Become Paul Reubens.
As anyone entering unfamiliar territory knows, you have to OBSERVE to BLEND.
So though I lived all my life in an East End Toronto neighbourhood, I processed the behaviours of my new West End Toronto neighbourhood to get hep.
Three seasons in, I realize I will have to flirt with one or both of the following :
An interest in jogging (unlikely to achieve)
A jaunty bicycle and a sundress (more likely to achieve).
Having read somewhere that picturesque gardens, pleasant neighbourly small talk and a yen for organic produce is generally the monstrous sociopath guise of choice, I decided I needed a bicycle. To like, fit in and stuff.
But hot damn if it ain't a trial to find a 5-speed cruiser of pleasing appearance in June.
Months and curses later, Craigslist served it up to me: a red bike, contoured like a Greek God (if they were bicycle shaped), with 5 speeds and a mushy seat for my bummish parts.
Granted, it's a Tim Horton's 40th anniversary bike, won through Roll Up the Rim to Win. But I think we remember how fond I am of Roll Up the Rim to Win, so the minus is actually a plus. And I've never been good with math anyway.
It rides like a wing chair on wheels. I barely feel massive clefts in the road. I am followed by a perpetual rendition of 'Sunshine and Lollipops'. My heart is filled with summer glee. More importantly though, the act of mere ownership will help me survive the night - my neighbours content that I have surrendered to the Annex in earnest.
But now I have an issue. My new velo smacks of THE BIKE from Pee Wee's big adventure.
Take a look. It really, really does.
So now the question remains: do I find the requisite tiger headed horn? The banana seat? Dear God - the streamers? Do I tempt neighbourly disdain (even bloodlust?) and throw myself to the mercy of Large Marge?
As anyone entering unfamiliar territory knows, you have to OBSERVE to BLEND.
So though I lived all my life in an East End Toronto neighbourhood, I processed the behaviours of my new West End Toronto neighbourhood to get hep.
Three seasons in, I realize I will have to flirt with one or both of the following :
An interest in jogging (unlikely to achieve)
A jaunty bicycle and a sundress (more likely to achieve).
Having read somewhere that picturesque gardens, pleasant neighbourly small talk and a yen for organic produce is generally the monstrous sociopath guise of choice, I decided I needed a bicycle. To like, fit in and stuff.
But hot damn if it ain't a trial to find a 5-speed cruiser of pleasing appearance in June.
Months and curses later, Craigslist served it up to me: a red bike, contoured like a Greek God (if they were bicycle shaped), with 5 speeds and a mushy seat for my bummish parts.
Granted, it's a Tim Horton's 40th anniversary bike, won through Roll Up the Rim to Win. But I think we remember how fond I am of Roll Up the Rim to Win, so the minus is actually a plus. And I've never been good with math anyway.
It rides like a wing chair on wheels. I barely feel massive clefts in the road. I am followed by a perpetual rendition of 'Sunshine and Lollipops'. My heart is filled with summer glee. More importantly though, the act of mere ownership will help me survive the night - my neighbours content that I have surrendered to the Annex in earnest.
But now I have an issue. My new velo smacks of THE BIKE from Pee Wee's big adventure.
Take a look. It really, really does.
So now the question remains: do I find the requisite tiger headed horn? The banana seat? Dear God - the streamers? Do I tempt neighbourly disdain (even bloodlust?) and throw myself to the mercy of Large Marge?
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
You Know Who You Are
(I don't).
But that's ok. Because I don't think the intriguing aspect of all this is in the knowing or meeting. For me, it 's in three things: the first - experiencing a Craigslist MC story of my own. The second - realizing that it had been taken down and that it will remain an unsolvable case. The final - that I'm perfectly happy for it to remain so. As a result of this, I can finally put my finger on the essence of what it is about the MC that I love so well - it's the mystery. The musing on how and when these stories come about, not the concrete outcome. It's the fodder to spark a million secret stories of your own.
This is to you, phantom. In the face of probability, you were caught (whoever you are). Someone saw it before you took it down and they alerted me. I thought they had posted it. They hadn't. I went to look for it in context. It was gone. And now I , being the type of person I am, have to mention it on my blog. Because it's my blog, you see. And I can.
For those who love the MC as much as I do - who love reading about other peoples' moments, who always sort of flirt with the 'what ifs' of actually having one posted for them: I assure you, it's a shock when it happens. Pleasant, surprising, confounding, curious, apprehensive, reflective. Curious twice, yet. But it will always be one of those little stories that puts a spring in my step and a wink to the joy of mystery.
That's all I have to say for now. But for your information - you are outed, ghost writer.
And thank you.
(I don't).
But that's ok. Because I don't think the intriguing aspect of all this is in the knowing or meeting. For me, it 's in three things: the first - experiencing a Craigslist MC story of my own. The second - realizing that it had been taken down and that it will remain an unsolvable case. The final - that I'm perfectly happy for it to remain so. As a result of this, I can finally put my finger on the essence of what it is about the MC that I love so well - it's the mystery. The musing on how and when these stories come about, not the concrete outcome. It's the fodder to spark a million secret stories of your own.
This is to you, phantom. In the face of probability, you were caught (whoever you are). Someone saw it before you took it down and they alerted me. I thought they had posted it. They hadn't. I went to look for it in context. It was gone. And now I , being the type of person I am, have to mention it on my blog. Because it's my blog, you see. And I can.
For those who love the MC as much as I do - who love reading about other peoples' moments, who always sort of flirt with the 'what ifs' of actually having one posted for them: I assure you, it's a shock when it happens. Pleasant, surprising, confounding, curious, apprehensive, reflective. Curious twice, yet. But it will always be one of those little stories that puts a spring in my step and a wink to the joy of mystery.
That's all I have to say for now. But for your information - you are outed, ghost writer.
And thank you.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
1 min Observation in the Living Room
I bought the mirror table for kicks, but it gets dusty everyday. good thing there's no coke involved. The cleaning would be treacherous then.
on top, always flowers of some variety. Dandelions of waning freshness. Mums that I bought last Tuesday along with some emmenthal and a jar of antipasti. Antipasti on a whim is soothing, even if my legs are cold on the walk home. goddamn Canadian springs.
I bought the mirror table for kicks, but it gets dusty everyday. good thing there's no coke involved. The cleaning would be treacherous then.
on top, always flowers of some variety. Dandelions of waning freshness. Mums that I bought last Tuesday along with some emmenthal and a jar of antipasti. Antipasti on a whim is soothing, even if my legs are cold on the walk home. goddamn Canadian springs.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Gnome? I Never Even Met Him!
Teenager Jose Alvarez - who filmed the gnome - yesterday told national newspaper El Tribuno that they caught the creature while larking about in their hometown of General Guemes, in the province of Salta, Argentina.
He said: “We were chatting about our last fishing trip. It was one in the morning.
“I began to film a bit with my mobile phone while the others were chatting and joking.
"Suddenly we heard something - a weird noise as if someone was throwing stones.
"We looked to one side and saw that the grass was moving. To begin with we thought it was a dog but when we saw this gnome-like figure begin to emerge we were really afraid."
Jose added that other locals had come forward to say they had spotted the gnome.
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Lengths I Will Go To To Convince Freddy I Won a Boat
Tim Horton's (Canadian-based coffee and donut phenomenon) has a 'roll up the rim to win' contest. My friend Freddy has been buying coffees for what seems like months in the hopes of winning 'something' - be it a free coffee or one of the more spectacular prizes, like a Boat. To date, his efforts and $1.29s have proven tragically unsuccessful.
In a moment of universal irony, the coffee Freddy so graciously bought me today was a winner. Knowing that he didn't know this yet, I decided that the best way to repay his kindness would be to pretend that I'd won the boat.
This would be like someone buying you the Wonka bar with the Golden Ticket in it.
I opened up Illustrator to mockup the rim prize claim note. Unfortunately, my efforts were thwarted when Freddy read my Tweet about winning the boat, and ran into my office on the verge of fury. It all happened so quickly, my efforts were shot.
But it deserves to live somewhere. So here:
Tim Horton's (Canadian-based coffee and donut phenomenon) has a 'roll up the rim to win' contest. My friend Freddy has been buying coffees for what seems like months in the hopes of winning 'something' - be it a free coffee or one of the more spectacular prizes, like a Boat. To date, his efforts and $1.29s have proven tragically unsuccessful.
In a moment of universal irony, the coffee Freddy so graciously bought me today was a winner. Knowing that he didn't know this yet, I decided that the best way to repay his kindness would be to pretend that I'd won the boat.
This would be like someone buying you the Wonka bar with the Golden Ticket in it.
I opened up Illustrator to mockup the rim prize claim note. Unfortunately, my efforts were thwarted when Freddy read my Tweet about winning the boat, and ran into my office on the verge of fury. It all happened so quickly, my efforts were shot.
But it deserves to live somewhere. So here:
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Basket Cases
The supermarket is one of the best places I can think of to be inspired by humanity's quirks. One of my favourite things to do on a lazy weekend afternoon, is grocery shop. Sounds lame. Perhaps it is. But it's not about the act of running an errand - it's about how it becomes this eye-opening odyssey into the inner lives of complete strangers.
A few years ago, the moment of enlightenment struck when I was behind an older man, bent, weathered, sporting an outfit of unremarkable details. But look! What is this he's buying? 8 heads of cabbage, 14 cans of Manwich and 4 x 2L grapefruit sodas. What could you possibly be making mister? Is this meal (whatever is may be) so violently appealing that you can repeat it everyday for..what?...3-4 years?
I'm in love with you mister.
And today - today I began to calculate the best parts of the supermarket for quiet observation. The meat section is a good one, for it is there that the stranger ears, snouts and etceteras are found for purchase. Anyone buying snouts is bound to have intriguing side dish elements in their carts: I was rewarded with the proposition of snout with gherkins and mushy peas with frozen strawberries for dessert.
To me, there are infinite backstories to be found in a grocery cart. Even the young men with the oddly gourmet tastes are curious. And hot. But that's different.
In the same vein, I know of a series of projects that fabricate stories based on found shopping receipts. All those shopping lists for all those personalities. It never ceases to fascinate.
The supermarket is one of the best places I can think of to be inspired by humanity's quirks. One of my favourite things to do on a lazy weekend afternoon, is grocery shop. Sounds lame. Perhaps it is. But it's not about the act of running an errand - it's about how it becomes this eye-opening odyssey into the inner lives of complete strangers.
A few years ago, the moment of enlightenment struck when I was behind an older man, bent, weathered, sporting an outfit of unremarkable details. But look! What is this he's buying? 8 heads of cabbage, 14 cans of Manwich and 4 x 2L grapefruit sodas. What could you possibly be making mister? Is this meal (whatever is may be) so violently appealing that you can repeat it everyday for..what?...3-4 years?
I'm in love with you mister.
And today - today I began to calculate the best parts of the supermarket for quiet observation. The meat section is a good one, for it is there that the stranger ears, snouts and etceteras are found for purchase. Anyone buying snouts is bound to have intriguing side dish elements in their carts: I was rewarded with the proposition of snout with gherkins and mushy peas with frozen strawberries for dessert.
To me, there are infinite backstories to be found in a grocery cart. Even the young men with the oddly gourmet tastes are curious. And hot. But that's different.
In the same vein, I know of a series of projects that fabricate stories based on found shopping receipts. All those shopping lists for all those personalities. It never ceases to fascinate.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Fun Imag!
Occasionally I like to investigate my numbers (ya, I know, I know..). In doing so, I find some fun google search terms ("how to make a slutty costume" has appeared with frightening frequency) and a variety of great pages - blogs, feeds, etc.
Today, I found a combination of the two - I believe it's Google's Bhutan page. The search term: "Fun imag".
I topped the list! I can die happy now.
(no I can't.)
Occasionally I like to investigate my numbers (ya, I know, I know..). In doing so, I find some fun google search terms ("how to make a slutty costume" has appeared with frightening frequency) and a variety of great pages - blogs, feeds, etc.
Today, I found a combination of the two - I believe it's Google's Bhutan page. The search term: "Fun imag".
I topped the list! I can die happy now.
(no I can't.)
Friday, March 07, 2008
Snorterly Tranquileizer
'Lei' because of me. It tranquilizes me.
What is 'it'? Well son, hop up here and take a boo:
That's right. Mr Sketch smelly markers.
I notice, through blog posts and things that I say, that I've been waxing nostalgic recently. Lord knows why - maybe it has something to do with constantly trying to anticipate the future at work. My soul craves a little of the good ol' days. And in this case, the good ol' days are 1988 and Mr. Sketch smelly markers.
My favourite scents were light blue and pink, with light blue in the clear lead. Light blue was meant to smell like mango [fail], but it didn't matter - I literally couldn't (still can't) remove the cap without deep huffing. It's narcotic and disarming - yoga for the ol'factory.
So, a happy surprise:
When I need a breather from being THAT copywriter, I go and grab a Tazo tea from Starbucks, typically erring on the non-caffeinated side. One day, a new addition to the box display: Berryblossom White.
One sip, and my brain melted: every taste bud standing on end, screaming with Grade 2 art class. I swear to you, dear blogrels, it's like someone ground up Mr. Sketch blue smelly markers, bagged the debris and steeped away. My mind races with questions: namely, if the dulcet aromas of a Mr. Sketch light blue marker represents mango [again, fail] then is a berryblossom closer to the mark? Is there some natural combination of things that produce this heavenly stench?
Will my heart explode from such simple joys as these?
'Lei' because of me. It tranquilizes me.
What is 'it'? Well son, hop up here and take a boo:
That's right. Mr Sketch smelly markers.
I notice, through blog posts and things that I say, that I've been waxing nostalgic recently. Lord knows why - maybe it has something to do with constantly trying to anticipate the future at work. My soul craves a little of the good ol' days. And in this case, the good ol' days are 1988 and Mr. Sketch smelly markers.
My favourite scents were light blue and pink, with light blue in the clear lead. Light blue was meant to smell like mango [fail], but it didn't matter - I literally couldn't (still can't) remove the cap without deep huffing. It's narcotic and disarming - yoga for the ol'factory.
So, a happy surprise:
When I need a breather from being THAT copywriter, I go and grab a Tazo tea from Starbucks, typically erring on the non-caffeinated side. One day, a new addition to the box display: Berryblossom White.
One sip, and my brain melted: every taste bud standing on end, screaming with Grade 2 art class. I swear to you, dear blogrels, it's like someone ground up Mr. Sketch blue smelly markers, bagged the debris and steeped away. My mind races with questions: namely, if the dulcet aromas of a Mr. Sketch light blue marker represents mango [again, fail] then is a berryblossom closer to the mark? Is there some natural combination of things that produce this heavenly stench?
Will my heart explode from such simple joys as these?
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Goodbye Brett
Travis, one of the other writers at Tribal lost someone important yesterday:
Green Bay Packers quarterback Brett Favre.
To honour Travis - and Brett - we created this little tribute.
Written by me, performed by Freddy, JC and Jess.
What we lack in rhythm, we make up for in heart.
Lyrics:
This goes out to all the Green Bay Packers fans who lost someone today. His name’s Brett.
Let’s do this.
Seems like yesterday you used to snap and throw
Laced your shoes and rocked Lambeau
The back of your jersey was number fo’
Green Bay Packers, you won the bowl
You were 1995’s MVP (uh-uh)
Words cant express what that meant to me
Even though you’re gone, they’re still a team
But now it’s like a Sundae without whipped cream
Brett next season I’m afraid to see
The Favre-less team playin’ on tv
Reminisce that tie in ‘0-2 at season’s end (uh-uh)
Try to black it out, but it plays again
Pain was real, vicodin tried to conceal
Can’t imagine injuries you feel
Give anything to keep you with us Brett (with us Brett)
Thanks to big ass paychecks - you got no debt.
Chorus:
Every chair I break, every ad I make
Every single day, every time they play
I’ll be missing you
Thinking of the play, when you ran away
What a point to make, what a game to break
I’ll be missing you
Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywFSg4Zql1g
Travis, one of the other writers at Tribal lost someone important yesterday:
Green Bay Packers quarterback Brett Favre.
To honour Travis - and Brett - we created this little tribute.
Written by me, performed by Freddy, JC and Jess.
What we lack in rhythm, we make up for in heart.
Lyrics:
This goes out to all the Green Bay Packers fans who lost someone today. His name’s Brett.
Let’s do this.
Seems like yesterday you used to snap and throw
Laced your shoes and rocked Lambeau
The back of your jersey was number fo’
Green Bay Packers, you won the bowl
You were 1995’s MVP (uh-uh)
Words cant express what that meant to me
Even though you’re gone, they’re still a team
But now it’s like a Sundae without whipped cream
Brett next season I’m afraid to see
The Favre-less team playin’ on tv
Reminisce that tie in ‘0-2 at season’s end (uh-uh)
Try to black it out, but it plays again
Pain was real, vicodin tried to conceal
Can’t imagine injuries you feel
Give anything to keep you with us Brett (with us Brett)
Thanks to big ass paychecks - you got no debt.
Chorus:
Every chair I break, every ad I make
Every single day, every time they play
I’ll be missing you
Thinking of the play, when you ran away
What a point to make, what a game to break
I’ll be missing you
Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywFSg4Zql1g
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Does Anybody Remember Yahoo Serious?
Ok, well to begin with, this doesn't have anything to do with Yahoo serious. It has to do with a memory I just retrieved from Grade 6. But I promise, at the end of the day, when all is said and done and the dust has settled, then..ultimately..after all that..there will be Yahoo Serious.
This is dedicated to my oldest friend Jess.
You are pregnant now. That's weird.
Just sayin'.
Our story takes place in our elementary school portable. The building itself was something of an educational refugee colony, mainly thrown to excess grade 5s and pregnant French teachers. This year, it was Mr McCauliff's Musical Centre of Excellence.
From the very beginning, Mr McCauliff expressed unabashed devotion to the works of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Phil Collins. We set to work immediately on two songs:
- Music of the Night (Lloyd Webber's sweeping gothic melody from The Phantom of the Opera)
- Groovy Kind of Love (Phil Collins. Yes.)
Mr McCauliff was a perfectionist - he demanded that our pubescent voices ring out the haunting lyricism of lines like "When I kiss your lips, ooh I start to shiver/ Cant control the quivering inside" with complete conviction.
Two songs, rehearsed daily for six months. It would be a a coup for Adult Contemporary: leveling the playing field between 11 year olds in slap bracelets and 37 year olds in dickies.
The details of the concert are still shady. I believe there was a ukele showcase (the school prided itself on its well rounded musical programme. Clearly I missed something), and the kindergartens likely sang something shrill and fetching. We, the dauntless Webber/Collinses, dressed in white shirts and black pants, took to the stage. We sang these songs for the last time.
If I squint my mind's eye, I think I can still see the shell shock on my parent's faces.
But now, years later, I believe that Mr McCauliff triumphed after all. On the whole, Grade 6 recitals are unremarkable. At least ours delivered the kind of soulful energy you can only grasp while buying meals for one at Valu Mart.
Next week's caricature of a Music Teacher: Mr. Furta.
And now, as promised - Yahoo Serious.
Ok, well to begin with, this doesn't have anything to do with Yahoo serious. It has to do with a memory I just retrieved from Grade 6. But I promise, at the end of the day, when all is said and done and the dust has settled, then..ultimately..after all that..there will be Yahoo Serious.
This is dedicated to my oldest friend Jess.
You are pregnant now. That's weird.
Just sayin'.
Our story takes place in our elementary school portable. The building itself was something of an educational refugee colony, mainly thrown to excess grade 5s and pregnant French teachers. This year, it was Mr McCauliff's Musical Centre of Excellence.
From the very beginning, Mr McCauliff expressed unabashed devotion to the works of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Phil Collins. We set to work immediately on two songs:
- Music of the Night (Lloyd Webber's sweeping gothic melody from The Phantom of the Opera)
- Groovy Kind of Love (Phil Collins. Yes.)
Mr McCauliff was a perfectionist - he demanded that our pubescent voices ring out the haunting lyricism of lines like "When I kiss your lips, ooh I start to shiver/ Cant control the quivering inside" with complete conviction.
Two songs, rehearsed daily for six months. It would be a a coup for Adult Contemporary: leveling the playing field between 11 year olds in slap bracelets and 37 year olds in dickies.
The details of the concert are still shady. I believe there was a ukele showcase (the school prided itself on its well rounded musical programme. Clearly I missed something), and the kindergartens likely sang something shrill and fetching. We, the dauntless Webber/Collinses, dressed in white shirts and black pants, took to the stage. We sang these songs for the last time.
If I squint my mind's eye, I think I can still see the shell shock on my parent's faces.
But now, years later, I believe that Mr McCauliff triumphed after all. On the whole, Grade 6 recitals are unremarkable. At least ours delivered the kind of soulful energy you can only grasp while buying meals for one at Valu Mart.
Next week's caricature of a Music Teacher: Mr. Furta.
And now, as promised - Yahoo Serious.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
No Thought of Yeats
apprehending underhanded blue jeans
by no means apologetically apoplectic
in the apocalyptic honey festival.
She sold the baby.
Words to the hoards
Walking by signs, metallic in lines
While the wood trees wall to wall, fall
to their living knees.
Stay, please -
It's hot outside, and deranged.
apprehending underhanded blue jeans
by no means apologetically apoplectic
in the apocalyptic honey festival.
She sold the baby.
Words to the hoards
Walking by signs, metallic in lines
While the wood trees wall to wall, fall
to their living knees.
Stay, please -
It's hot outside, and deranged.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Science is Awesome
Stumbling is also awesome. I came across Carl Zimmer's site of Science Tattoos.
Yes, SCIENCE + TATTOOS ( = Science Tattoos).
Science is the new Rock n Roll. It's dangerous. In your face. Rebellious.
It'll scar your children's flesh and laugh in your face.
But probably the best part of these science tattoos lies in the descriptors. Wicked bad ass science tattoo descriptions make me feel like a wicked dumbass.
Here are two examples:
And then there's this defiance piece from Jeremy Batten.
This man knows his late Jurassic transitional fossils. No foolin.
Stumbling is also awesome. I came across Carl Zimmer's site of Science Tattoos.
Yes, SCIENCE + TATTOOS ( = Science Tattoos).
Science is the new Rock n Roll. It's dangerous. In your face. Rebellious.
It'll scar your children's flesh and laugh in your face.
But probably the best part of these science tattoos lies in the descriptors. Wicked bad ass science tattoo descriptions make me feel like a wicked dumbass.
Here are two examples:
"Here is a picture of my serotonin tattoo. I don't know that it needs much more explanation than it's my favorite neurotransmitter."--Hayley
And then there's this defiance piece from Jeremy Batten.
This man knows his late Jurassic transitional fossils. No foolin.
"Here is my archaeopteryx, the 'missing link' between birds and reptiles. It comes in handy as a visual tool during debates with creationists that like to visit campus sometimes! Yes, I know structural pigments probably had not evolved by this time..." --Jeremy Batten
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Advertising Snarkfest
Me to Freddy: "I love Diamond Shreddies. It's hilarious. It's brilliant."
Freddy to Me: "It's Stupid."
Me to Freddy: "Your face is stupid. Put it on your blog"
Freddy to Me: "No, it's stupid."
Me to Freddy: (knowing he loves the whopper freakout and wanting to be a contrarian)
"The Whopper freakout is stupid."
Freddy to Me: "Whopper freakout is brilliant. I'll make you a bet. If we have reviews this week, I'll post diamond shreddies on my blog. If we don't, you post whopper freakout."
Me to Freddy: "Agreed."
And yes, we had our reviews. And now I too will post a Diamond Shreddies item on my blog. And I will also post Whopper Freakout. Because I am a good sport.
Diamond Shreddies:
Whopper Freakout:
Me to Freddy: "I love Diamond Shreddies. It's hilarious. It's brilliant."
Freddy to Me: "It's Stupid."
Me to Freddy: "Your face is stupid. Put it on your blog"
Freddy to Me: "No, it's stupid."
Me to Freddy: (knowing he loves the whopper freakout and wanting to be a contrarian)
"The Whopper freakout is stupid."
Freddy to Me: "Whopper freakout is brilliant. I'll make you a bet. If we have reviews this week, I'll post diamond shreddies on my blog. If we don't, you post whopper freakout."
Me to Freddy: "Agreed."
And yes, we had our reviews. And now I too will post a Diamond Shreddies item on my blog. And I will also post Whopper Freakout. Because I am a good sport.
Diamond Shreddies:
Whopper Freakout:
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Installing Cable May Be a Huge Mistake
This happened when I was getting my cable tv box installed. I wrote it the moment after he left, so I think I got his words faithfully recorded. Of course, there is always a bit of a filter when it comes to writing or photographing that skews the memory of something - filters it. But nonetheless, the upshot of this 20 or so minutes may be the opposite of what he intended: I want to get more things installed. If only for the conversation.
"I have something to say. I don’t know why I want to say it, but I do" he said.
"I would like to hear what you have to say" I said.
“If you want to ask me, there is time, and there are moments.”
“Ah.”
“A moment is different from time. Time is measured in maps, and clocks. Moments are very different. You can’t measure them. A real moment is when …”
He stopped to glance at the tv and fiddle with the remote control.
“You are walking through a park,”
He stretched the image across the screen, a Li’l Rascals-style adventure show. Four kids who mess with gangsters and gleefully make their escape.
“With a friend, a trust worthy friend. And it begins to rain. And you feel the water on your face.”
He turned and thoughtfully placed his index finger on his pliers in the belt. I thought he was indicating them for a reason, but I suspect that it’s his philosophy pose.
“And your loved one has passed on,” he continued, “and you remember walking through the park and feeling the wetness on your face and your hair. And you smile. That is a moment.”
“Tv can’t do that for you. Sit sit sit and absorb what other people are doing. So all I can say is…is that.”
“You’re a philosopher!” It came out of my delight even before I could caution it to stay.
“I did a bit of that. A long time ago, before I moved here.”
His tone was neither wistful nor resentful as he pronounced those final words. He was stating fact – he was a philosopher, now he was gathering his cables together.
“All I can say is, tv can’t offer your what a park can. If it rains on tv, you miss the feeling entirely. All I can say is, don’t offer Rogers your money.”
And he shook my hand with a sober little smile, and took his leave.
This happened when I was getting my cable tv box installed. I wrote it the moment after he left, so I think I got his words faithfully recorded. Of course, there is always a bit of a filter when it comes to writing or photographing that skews the memory of something - filters it. But nonetheless, the upshot of this 20 or so minutes may be the opposite of what he intended: I want to get more things installed. If only for the conversation.
"I have something to say. I don’t know why I want to say it, but I do" he said.
"I would like to hear what you have to say" I said.
“If you want to ask me, there is time, and there are moments.”
“Ah.”
“A moment is different from time. Time is measured in maps, and clocks. Moments are very different. You can’t measure them. A real moment is when …”
He stopped to glance at the tv and fiddle with the remote control.
“You are walking through a park,”
He stretched the image across the screen, a Li’l Rascals-style adventure show. Four kids who mess with gangsters and gleefully make their escape.
“With a friend, a trust worthy friend. And it begins to rain. And you feel the water on your face.”
He turned and thoughtfully placed his index finger on his pliers in the belt. I thought he was indicating them for a reason, but I suspect that it’s his philosophy pose.
“And your loved one has passed on,” he continued, “and you remember walking through the park and feeling the wetness on your face and your hair. And you smile. That is a moment.”
“Tv can’t do that for you. Sit sit sit and absorb what other people are doing. So all I can say is…is that.”
“You’re a philosopher!” It came out of my delight even before I could caution it to stay.
“I did a bit of that. A long time ago, before I moved here.”
His tone was neither wistful nor resentful as he pronounced those final words. He was stating fact – he was a philosopher, now he was gathering his cables together.
“All I can say is, tv can’t offer your what a park can. If it rains on tv, you miss the feeling entirely. All I can say is, don’t offer Rogers your money.”
And he shook my hand with a sober little smile, and took his leave.
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