i'm browsing the paper, drinking coffee and eating a delicious breakfast sandwich that would give a lesser man a heart attack! One of the qualifications for entering The Mayor's "inner circle" is being able to chomp one of these suckers and not drop dead. Granted, they used to be a tad bigger,using a bagel instead of bread, but we are living in more modest times. Perhaps i will call it "TheRecesswich".
i've also got The Golden Compass playing on the TV in the other room. Kidman looks out of this world gorgeous, talking monkeys and bears, man, this could be the film that finally convinces me to drop acid!
Speaking of being on acid, today is going to be the day i rediscover The Giant Lenin Head on the east side of town. Vladdy has been taunting me for a long time now, and i just might release the Cuban cigar that's been imprisoned inside a plastic tube and taunt Fidel's deadhead comrade.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
The safe removal of work demons
Friedeggs was another very trying day for me at work.
Things improved on the way home, i caught an empty bus and made it home a few minutes early. i celebrated over a couple of beers in the backyard with the wife and cat, chatting a bit with the neighbours and watched their kids play a little soccer.
Back indoors, i looked around for the SNL best of Eddie Murphy disc,couldn't find it, so i went with The Best of Triumph.
Had a pretty decent dinner, then popped in The Marx'Horse Feathers. That REALLY hit the spot. The movie is 76 years old, and there's a fine joke about "TheSpirit of 76" in it. Strange though, the cover says running time 97 minutes, but it only went about 67 in the machine...
After that, i threw in Network, a gift from a very generous and relatively new friend, kind of a "new kid on the block". I Spread out on the couch and submitted to the idea of spending the night there.It's been a LONG time since my last viewing of Network, and it's still as powerful, probably even scarier. It's basically a blueprint for FOX news,reality TV, all that crap. i fell asleep about halfway, and i can't remember any of my dreams, but i'm sure that the lovely Faye Dunaway made at least a cameo appearance.
Things improved on the way home, i caught an empty bus and made it home a few minutes early. i celebrated over a couple of beers in the backyard with the wife and cat, chatting a bit with the neighbours and watched their kids play a little soccer.
Back indoors, i looked around for the SNL best of Eddie Murphy disc,couldn't find it, so i went with The Best of Triumph.
Had a pretty decent dinner, then popped in The Marx'Horse Feathers. That REALLY hit the spot. The movie is 76 years old, and there's a fine joke about "TheSpirit of 76" in it. Strange though, the cover says running time 97 minutes, but it only went about 67 in the machine...
After that, i threw in Network, a gift from a very generous and relatively new friend, kind of a "new kid on the block". I Spread out on the couch and submitted to the idea of spending the night there.It's been a LONG time since my last viewing of Network, and it's still as powerful, probably even scarier. It's basically a blueprint for FOX news,reality TV, all that crap. i fell asleep about halfway, and i can't remember any of my dreams, but i'm sure that the lovely Faye Dunaway made at least a cameo appearance.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
The past is back
Due to overwhelming demand, a lack of anything interesting in the mainstream or alternative media and dreary weather forecast for the duration of the first long weekend of the summer, i've decided to dive into the blog cesspool.
Can millions of dingbats be wrong? Seems like everyone has a blog these days, "even educated fleas do it", so why not me? There are flea circusses, media circuses, a Lord swearing might be a Sir cuss...
Anyway, the name of this thing is a collaborative effort, kind of a byproduct of a recent trip to New York City. i noticed that practically every street has a second name there, from Senor Wences Way to Peter Jennings Way, there's a Joey Ramone Way and out in San Francisco, the loading dock or something at City Lights bookstore has been tagged Jack Kerouac Way. (The empty Thunderbird bottles are props, almost Disney-esque.)
Even in my little villa, Toronto, there's a Blue Jays Way. Wayne Gretzky spent a lot of money getting that strip of asphalt renamed.
Seeing all this, i decided i wanted a street or something to call my own. A street who's name i had to live up to, a street that i could protect and be proud of, keeping it clean and safe for racoons, kitty cats and strollers. A street seems like a big responsibility though, and sometimes a street has roadkill and other nastiness being cooked down into a stain by the sun. Why have telephone poles and stop signs when i can have basketball hoops and lilacs?
The perfect and obvious solution is the access alley behind my house. It vaguely resembles the opening of Coronation Street. It is used to access garages that are behind houses in my neighbourhood. It's a 'hood from the past, when houses and the people were more important than cars. It's from the past, a time before thirty-seven car garages became the norm, and the house became an annex of the garage, a time before the housebecame a little closet for the people responsible for operating and mainting the cars did their laundry.
This is the type of thing i'd be happy to lend my name to. An alley who's predominant sounds are that of birds chirping and kids shooting hoops. An oasis just off the old main drag, solace a few meters away from vigilante bus drivers and Mom UV's.
i mentioned this to a close personal friend while in New York, a professional wordsmith who makes a living making otherwise decent people dance like idiots. A seasoned veteran of coining a phrase, "Mayor Perry Way" was suggested, and wisely, i have accepted. It's out of my hands now, and into your computer's memory.
So check in from time to time, go through my words like that crazy Chinese man goes through our recycling. You never know if there's anything of value, but it doesn't hurt to bin shop.
Can millions of dingbats be wrong? Seems like everyone has a blog these days, "even educated fleas do it", so why not me? There are flea circusses, media circuses, a Lord swearing might be a Sir cuss...
Anyway, the name of this thing is a collaborative effort, kind of a byproduct of a recent trip to New York City. i noticed that practically every street has a second name there, from Senor Wences Way to Peter Jennings Way, there's a Joey Ramone Way and out in San Francisco, the loading dock or something at City Lights bookstore has been tagged Jack Kerouac Way. (The empty Thunderbird bottles are props, almost Disney-esque.)
Even in my little villa, Toronto, there's a Blue Jays Way. Wayne Gretzky spent a lot of money getting that strip of asphalt renamed.
Seeing all this, i decided i wanted a street or something to call my own. A street who's name i had to live up to, a street that i could protect and be proud of, keeping it clean and safe for racoons, kitty cats and strollers. A street seems like a big responsibility though, and sometimes a street has roadkill and other nastiness being cooked down into a stain by the sun. Why have telephone poles and stop signs when i can have basketball hoops and lilacs?
The perfect and obvious solution is the access alley behind my house. It vaguely resembles the opening of Coronation Street. It is used to access garages that are behind houses in my neighbourhood. It's a 'hood from the past, when houses and the people were more important than cars. It's from the past, a time before thirty-seven car garages became the norm, and the house became an annex of the garage, a time before the housebecame a little closet for the people responsible for operating and mainting the cars did their laundry.
This is the type of thing i'd be happy to lend my name to. An alley who's predominant sounds are that of birds chirping and kids shooting hoops. An oasis just off the old main drag, solace a few meters away from vigilante bus drivers and Mom UV's.
i mentioned this to a close personal friend while in New York, a professional wordsmith who makes a living making otherwise decent people dance like idiots. A seasoned veteran of coining a phrase, "Mayor Perry Way" was suggested, and wisely, i have accepted. It's out of my hands now, and into your computer's memory.
So check in from time to time, go through my words like that crazy Chinese man goes through our recycling. You never know if there's anything of value, but it doesn't hurt to bin shop.
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