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

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.

"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

Rice to the Occasion


I'll bear this in mind when I start wondering how to really please my man.

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!

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

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

Just Because It May Be My Favourite Ad Ever

Who doesn't like a good pinata?
Or even a bad pinata.

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:

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.

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.)

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?

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

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.

This Ever Happen to Anyone Else?

It's a little scary. Like asexual reproduction of the Error Message kind.
I tried to make it stop. But it felt some sort of natural imperative to keep procreating.

I forced it to quit. I am top of the food chain.

These Things Brighten My Day

#1: Kool Aid Man

I smile when I think about how many fences died in the making of this ad.



#2: Opening Theme of Rocket Robin Hood

My favourite ever part is where Rocket Robin hood does this little 'hands in the air' bit at :13.

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.

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:

"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