Shaping up

Yesterday afternoon, I had a pleasant, and somewhat inappropriate, surprise. In the mail was the latest issue of Shape magazine. If you're unfamiliar with the publication, it's your average, run-of-the-mill women's magazine. It advises women on how to lose weight, get the man of their dreams, and in the current issue, eliminate an evil presence in a woman's bed.


Shape up with gorgeous hair!

I thought "Oh, my mom subscribed." Nope, apparently I did; it was addressed to me. I have no idea how I ended up with a subscription to this magazine. I didn't sign up for anything, and so far, none of my friends have revealed themselves to be the perpetrators of a prank.

One may think I have no use for this magazine, but so far I've found several. The front cover has a beautiful picture (albeit airbrushed) picture of Katherine McPhee (American Idol runner-up to 50-year old winner Taylor Hicks). It provides me with several unique exercises to tone my lower body into those long, beautiful shapely legs all women strive for. And I now know the sex secrets men wish women knew!

And with the Christmas break now in full force, I have a lot of time to apply my new-found workout techniques. The holiday season is shape-ing up for sure!

Oh, the lurking menace in your bed is dust.

Book Review: Oryx and Crake (by Margaret Atwood)

More like Bore-yx and Crake.
Before I get started, I'd like to mention that I flip flopped between "Bore-yx and Crake" and "Snore-yx and Crake". I also wanted to title it "Bore-yx and Crappy", but a friend pointed out that "Crake" rhymes with "cake", not "crack-e".



When I asked for a book recommendation, a friend of mine brought up "Oryx and Crake", a novel released in 2004 by renowned Canadian author Margaret Atwood. I had never read an Atwood novel (not even in high school), so I decided to take a chance. A few other people I know have mentioned how good it was, and it was short-listed for the Man Booker Prize. The book seemed to be bursting at the seams with credentials and accolades.

The premise sounded interesting enough; a drifter drifts alone in a dystopian world after his friend's attempt at molding a utopian society went to shit. What was once the world we now know has become a desolate wasteland, and the drifter, unfortunately, survived the armageddon. His name is Snowman, but he used to be called Jimmy. Ever since that fateful event, the man has dubbed himself "Snowman." Why "Snowman"? What significance does a snowman hold in this man's life that has caused him to alter his ego around it? Did he enjoy snowballing with girls in the past? We'll find out.

I'm no author, but whether you're writing a paragraph, novel, dissertation, or essay, the structure goes as follows: introduction, body, conclusion. Notice how the introduction comprises only 1/3 of the overall structure, not 9/10.

I can't even say that the plot moves at a snail's pace, it simply doesn't move. Things finally begin to pick up around the last little bit, by which time readers may have tuned out (I've stopped books before just because they were utterly bad). In the end, I finished the book, and though I can honestly say I'm glad I did, the payoff in the end wasn't worth sitting through 250 pages of introduction and set-up. The only reason I'm glad to have finished it is to say "I've read an Atwood novel." If her other books are as boring as this one, this is an accomplishment I'm boasting for the wrong reasons. I'm likening it to a medal of survival instead of a literary status symbol.

Now, some comments on small parts of the story....(minor spoilers coming up).....

What is the deal with Crake and Jimmy watching porn? Jimmy speaks fondly of when he and his childhood buddy would watch internet porn, together, in the comfort of his bedroom. Jimmy doesn't go into further detail, and he admits that the porn videos eventually got boring. Despite the increasing boredom, the two managed to make the time pass, together....there's something unsettling about two heterosexual teenaged guys enjoying their sausages together, without the buns.


A computer simulation of Jimmy and Crake's teenaged years.

Finally, I will also never come to understand Jimmy's fascination with Oryx. Yes, she is beautiful, but what a fucking tease. "Oh Jimmy, why do you keep asking me that?" "Oh Jimmy, why do you always want to know that?" Maybe if you gave him a straight answer he'd stop asking.

(end spoilers)

You do eventually find out why Jimmy renamed himself Snowman. After the world went to shit, he just picked it. Neither snowmen, nor snowballing, held any significance in life. I don't even think winter was ever a major setting in the story. He could've fashioned a name that paid homage to his forgotten lover Oryx, or his beloved pet from childhood (for whom he still weeps), but no, he goes for the most insignificant, inert nickname possible...Snowman. That climax is more non-existent than a faked orgasm.

If you're a big Atwood fan, I suppose you'd like this book. If that's the case, you've probably already read it. So for the rest of you, stay clear and read something else. There are better ways to pass the time; like watching internet porn with a close friend.

Mad World

If you watch any television, you may have seen a commercial advertising a new video game titled "Gears of War." The story of the game is typical of many other action games; an alien race has come to earth to wipe out the human race for some unknown reason. The game itself, although very familiar, has enough new gameplay elements to make it fairly unique amongst the hordes of action-shooter games out there.

But what is it about Gears of War that has my attention? The commercial. It's absolutely beautiful.



It doesn't capture the feel of the game at all. The game is non-stop, pulse-pounding action without the dramatic spin. But I don't know...I love this commercial. And I may get a bit poetic and deep about it....

I love how the main character is forced to run for his life while he's pondering the remants of yesterday's world. Franticaly running through the ruined city, he desperately searches for a place to hide. And when he thinks he's safe, he sees the very trouble he tried to escape from, waiting for him, staring him down. Realizing escape is no optin, the main character, overwhelmed, and possibly frightened, braces himself and stands his ground. And as the lights of valour pulse the room, the trouble bears down on him, snuffing out his last ditch effort to live (I'm of the opinion that the main character dies in the end).

I think it's so beautiful that the advertisement sidesteps the hard punk rock music that is normally associated with these genres of entertainment.

Here's the actual music video if you wanted to hear the whole song...it's called "Mad World" by Gary Jules (this is a cover, by the way).

A message from Moby...

A friend of mine sent me this letter, written by Moby (of "Porcelain" fame). Both men and women should read it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
suppose you were redecorating your house. and you wanted your house to be a quintessential minimal mid-century modern
house. and you had a friend who only liked victorian houses, filled with velvet drapes and thick carpets and over-stuffed couches and lots of ornamentation. this same friend also had repeatedly said that they had no interest in ever living in a mid-century modern house. would you ask them for their opinion about decorating your mid-century house? obvious answer: no. because they don't like mid-century furniture and aesthetics and they only like victorian aesthetics. pretty simple, right? why consider the opinion of someone who has no interest in the aesthetic that you're going for? right? ok, that was the analogy.

so, i ask you, why do women listen to the aesthetic opinions of gay fashion designers don't get me wrong: i love gay fashion designers. i'm just dismayed that there are hundreds of millions of women currently starving themselves and beating themselves up because
they don't have a body that's deemed 'attractive' by men who aren't attracted to women. gay fashion designers(and editors, photographers, stylists, etc)are sexually attracted to men. which is great and should be applauded. but they're not sexually or physically attracted to women, which does kind of make their opinions about female bodies kind of moot. is it any wonder that these same designers/etc tend to like female models who have very boy-ish bodies?

to make an anthropomorphic generalization: male bodies: angular. female bodies: curvy. most female fashion models are angular, which is a quality normally associated with male bodies. women are supposed to be curvy. it's what makes a woman's body feminine.
can you imagine how absurd it would be if women designed clothes for men and expected men to have breasts and hips? wouldn't it be absurd if hundreds of millions of men were staring into mirrors and berating themselves for not looking more like women? ok, so isn't it then absurd that hundreds of millions of women are staring into mirrors and berating themselves for not looking more like young men? it's unnecessary and unhealthy.

and yes, obesity is bad. that goes without saying. but when perfectly healthy, normal women beat themselves up for being 'too fat' it's not only absurd, but emotionally and physically unhealthy. women are not supposed to look like emaciated 14 year old boys. they're just not. i'm not trying to pick a fight with the fashion industry, i'm just saying that endlessly promoting an ideal of beauty wherein women are supposed to look like emaciated 14 year old boys is absurd and destructive and creates tons of unnecessary anguish for the hundreds of millions of women who are healthy and don't look like emaciated 14 year old boys.

to use me as an example. i'm a vegan. i don't like meat. so if you were having a sausage and cheese party would you ask me for my opinion on what sort of sausage and cheese you should serve? of course not. my hope is that somehow women will allow themselves to be who they are, and stop beating themselves up for not looking like emaciated 14 year old boys. as i said, it's absurd and deeply unhealthy.
thanks,
moby
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"You work it....GIRL???"

Contrast position

It's been well over a month since I've posted something meaningful. My one month practicum has come and gone at Brother Andre Catholic High School. So what have I learned about my future profession during my one month there?

I've learned that teaching is a job of contrasts. It will suck the life out of you, but can reinvigorate you a hundred times over. For every bad day, there are several good days. For every time a student mouths off to you, the student can surprise you in pleasant ways. The class that drove me up the wall the first couple of weeks with bad behaviour became the group that I got attached to.

Am I glad that practicum is over? Yes, I'm tired. Sleeping around 1am-ish preparing lessons, getting up at 6:30am, and expending a lot of energy keeping students in check is quite taxing. Do I look forward to doing this as a career? Absolutely.

Random tip of the day

When jumping off a bridge into a lake, clench your bum so water doesn't rush up your anus. (from the novel "Oryx and Crake", by Margaret Atwood).

Or just take a donkey punch on impact. Same thing.

Four Cornered

The other day, I learned about a teaching strategy referred to as “Four Corners”. It works best with philosophical/abstract questions (e.g. political sciences) rather than concrete lessons (e.g. biology and math). The teacher poses a question and in each corner of the room are four responses. The students, when prompted, go to the corner that best describes their feelings towards the question/topic. The reason for their decision is discussed as a group, and a representative presents the concensus to the entire class.

To demonstrate this, the prof asked us “What do you think of love?” Corner 1: Love is like a wild rollercoaster on a brisk summer evening. Corner 2: Love is a random phenomenon, a game of dice. Corner 3: Love is like a tidal wave that engulfs you. Corner 4: Love is like a slow-burning candle, spreading its warmth around you. The prof said go, and all 60 students in the class began to move. The entire class spread out pretty evenly amongst corners 1, 3, and 4...with the exception of two students; a guy named Henry, and myself.


The ultimate symbol of love.

When the dust had settled, everybody looked to our corner and had a good laugh. Given the disparity in numbers, the prof decided to talk to us last. Henry isn't an open talker, so I agreed to do the class discussion for our "group".

Prof: "...SO.....you two...why did you pick that corner?"
Me: "Well, Henry and I are both heartless so we can't understand all that symbolism you provided in the other corners."

But Henry and I did discuss that love happening for two people is very often dictated by circumstances beyond one's control. It's not that we are heartless and cold-hearted; on the contrary - I love romantic-comedies, I enjoy a good love story, and was moved to tears when I saw my friends' get married. Thinking of how happy my loved ones are with their partners brings a smile to my face, and I wholeheartedly cheer them on when they're dreaming of the object of their affection.

This has nothing to do with bitterness toward relationships or women. It is just my feeling that, if you love somebody, external circumstances which are completely out of the realm of your control, can prevent it from ever happening.

Even worse, the other person may not reciprocate! Is that up to you to decide? No; you may as well be rolling a dice.

Rise, Lord Mayer

I was on John Mayer's website the other day. Yes, I admit that I like his songs, giving others an oppurtunity to question my sexuality and my balls. Anyway, to promote his new album, the following banner is placed at the top of the homepage.



I saw the picture, and as the image registered in my mind, I did a double-take. "He looks like someone.", I thought. Not more than a second later did it hit me.



John Mayer, the artist behind several love ballads that have swooned women the world over, resembles the modern day film icon of corruption and betrayal - Anakin Skywalker. I wholeheartedly expect John to go all out and snap on this newly released album. Instead of singing about beautiful women, and making love to their wonderland bodies, he'll discuss the intricacies of bitches, hos, and doggy style.


John Mayer may go loco anytime now.

If the visual similarities aren't enough to convince you, ask yourself this; when did Anakin Skywalker go from virtuous to villainous? Third movie. This record John has recently released; what number is it in his growing discography? Third. Coincidence? Highly unlikely.

Rise, Lord Mayer. RISE.

Alpha is the new Beta-Max

This is not news, new news at least. But the reality of the situation just hit me this weekend.

With the new fall TV season in full swing, and school work taking up all of my primetime, I figure I should record my shows and watch them at a later time. There are a couple of problems with that solution.

Problem 1) - I don't have a VCR. Revise that; a useable VCR. I do have one VCR whose timer doesn't work, and it's nearly as old as I am. It works, but I'd prefer one that is programmable.

Problem 2) I can't find a VCR to buy. I knew the technology was becoming more and more obselete, but I never thought they'd be this hard to find. All the major electronics stores no longer carry them. I found one at Wal-Mart for around $50, so I may pick it up this weekend.


Look at it while you can; it's headed the way of the dodo.

It's amazing to think how the former king of home video has gone the way of the failed beta-max within a few years.

Resetting the Pace

I finally did it. After over a year of sleeping at 3am and getting up at 11am, my internal rhythm has been reset to accomodate early morning arousals (6:30am).

Why did I do it? OISE (a fancy acronym that basically translates into "teacher's college at U of T") has scheduled me for several 8:30am classes. Factoring in the time needed to commute and do my entire beauty regime (you CAN look as good as me, you just have to invest the time....), I figured I needed about two hours.


The Red Team chooses to raid the Blue base when I fall asleep at my post.

It wasn't easy, mainly because of my late-night rituals. I love watching Conan O'Brien. I love killing n00bs on Xbox Live at night. I love reading novels/comics before going to bed. And I love doing all of this after 11pm. There were times in the past several months where I had to get up around 7am for early morning teaching. 11pm would roll around and I'd think "I can't sleep now!"

Anyway, with all the work I have these days there's barely any time for all of that goodness. Maybe I could fit some things in if I pace myself accordingly.

Countdown to Jackass Part 3 - Butt x-ray

This stunt was originally going to be done by Steve-O. However, prior to the "performance" of the stunt, he discusses how disappointed his dad sounded when he told him about it. Yes, believe it or not, Steve-O has feelings and cares about what his dad thinks of him. So he trades up this one for the off-road tattooing stunt, originally planned for Ryan Dunn.

For some reason, Ryan agrees to get a toy car shoved up his butt. The toy car is placed into a condom, lubed up real nice, and inserted into his rectum - all under paramedic supervision (now that's some safe sex). During the entire ordeal, Ryan proclaims "Oh God, I feel like I gotta s*** my ass!!!" That didn't even make sense, you need your ass to take a shit. How do you "shit your ass"? He's obviously delirious at this point.

With the car shoved in his hole, Ryan walks to the local doctor, complaining of a pain in his bum. He talks about how he passed out at a party the night previous, and awoke to severe rectal pain. The doctor is unsure of what is causing it, so he agrees to take an x-ray.

As he analyzes the results, the doctor furrows his brow. Surely that CANNOT be a toy car in his butt. But the doctor has no choice but to believe his eyes, and infers that Ryan was at a party full of drugged-up homosexuals. While talking to Ryan, he explains that he shouldn't tell anybody about this, not his girlfriend or his boyfriend. How Ryan kept a straight face after that comment is is beyond me. The doctor says that removal of the car will require major surgery, which Ryan refuses.

As the final credits roll, the film shows that Ryan successfully removed the car himself with voluntary bowel movements. Apparently it came out in his shit, as the movie shows the car, in a shit-encrusted condom. Yuck.



Ryan showing off his x-ray. Unfortunately, the idiot that captured this screen didn't include the x-ray. Stupid jackass.

Another legal note for this stunt - the movie could not be clear about who put the car into Ryan's butt. In some states, sodomy is against the law, and this would've gotten the Jackass crew in deep trouble. Since we have no idea who really shoved the car up his butt, I guess that makes it suitable viewing. Whatever.

Countdown to Jackass Intro - Commence Countdown
Countdown to Jackass Part 1 - Riot Control Test
Countdown to Jackass Part 2 - Off-road Tattoo

Countdown to Jackass Part 2 - Off-Road Tattoo

Steve-O volunteers to fuse his love of body art with his Jackass art. The stunt goes as follows: Steve-O agrees to get a tattoo of a smiley face on his shoulder....while in a moving off-road dune buggy driven by none other than hardcore punk artist Henry Rollins. Steve-O straps his arms against part of the structure in a futile attempt to restrict mobility while Henry drives over bumps and rocks in the middle of the desert.


The simplest tattoo pattern ever? Maybe...

Henry floors the dune buggy, and tattoo artist Jeff Tremaine goes to work. Rollins does a good job of finding routes to optimize bumpage and interference for Jeff. He makes sure that physically stable periods are kept to a minimum, whilst yelling to Steve-O "This course is designed to F*** YOU UP!!!".

About 45 minutes later, Rollins brings the vehicle to a halt, and Steve-O looks at his tattoo. At first glance, Jeff appears to have done a superb job of following the simplistic pattern, to which Steve-O proclaims, "It's a total smiley face, dude!". Because of all the bumps, blood and ink can be seen smeared down Steve-O's arm.

The movie cuts to an unspecified amount of time later, and the happy face has somehow morphed into a circular smear resembling nothing. Amazingly, some ink dots can be seen as far as a few centimetres away from the circle.


"It's a total smiley face, dude!" - Steve-O

On a semi-related note, Steve-O had another tattoo done prior to the smiley face. This one, as you can see, is on a slightly grander scale.




Yes Steve-O; indeed you do rock.

This is his self-proclaimed, largest self-portrait tattoo on earth. According to Steve-O, the depicted head is bigger than his actual head. He believes that if he pitched the idea to the Guiness Book of World Records, he'd win.

Imagine if he tried the self-portrait one in the dune buggy. It sounds crazy; all the more reason why I wouldn't put it past that Jackass.

Countdown to Jackass Intro - Commence Countdown
Countdown to Jackass Part 1 - Riot Control Test

Countdown to Jackass Part 1 - Riot Control Test

Welcome to part one of my "Countdown to Jackass" series. It is my hope that this series will either:
a) get you hyped about the movie, convincing you to watch it if you're on the fence, or
b) appall you to the point that you stop coming back, because if your butt is clenched that tightly, you really shouldn't be part of my readership.

Johnny Knoxville volunteers to get shot in the belly with a non-lethal bean-bag projectile gun, the type of weapon used for riot control. According to online articles, its effects on targets are the following: "Incapacitation caused by loss of breath, psychological effect, and/or excruciating pain and extreme discomfort."

He stands watching on the sidelines for a minute as the "expert" demonstrates for the audience how powerful these things are. Despite their lumbering size and softness, the velocity at which they're fired at allows them to cut through paper targets like butter. Johnny just lowers his head as he is hit with the reality of what he signed up for.


Johnny Knoxville under considerably less pain...for a Jackass.

It's showtime, and Knoxville steps into place. The marksman kneels and steadies his aim, focusing on a self-drawn bullseye on the target's abdomen. As he holds his breath to ensure accuracy, Knoxville stands remarkably still, wide-eyed, waiting for the pain to come.

After several seconds of silence, a loud burst of air is heard, followed by the sound of a grown man howling in pain as he doubles over into the fetal position. He rocks back and forth for a bit, while onlookers are so stunned they can do nothing but stare.

The movie then cuts to Johnny, showing what it looks like two weeks later. A large purple bruise, covering about half of his abdomen, marks where the beanbag hit him (it wasn't a bullseye, by the way). Apparently, the pain can still be felt when he stands from a supine position, goes into a supine position, or is generally conscious. Ouch.

An interesting note on this stunt - what actually transpired is different from what is seen on the DVD. The marksman completely missed his first shot. When you watch the DVD, the video of Johnny awkwardly waiting for the shot to come was actually the second attempt. MTV lawyers told them that the first "shot" had to be removed. Reason is that the beanbag gun can be lethal if fired at an unprotected chest and face (both of which were not protected). The Jackass crew were not allowed to waive criminal liability (only civil), hence the markman could've technically been charged with attempted murder. Needless to say, Johnny Knoxville was not too pleased about this edit.

But after getting hit in the belly, I'm sure the legalities of the stunt were the least of his worries.

Countdown to Jackass Intro - Commence Countdown

Commence Countdown: Jackass Number Two opens Sept. 22

The unexpected, yet highly anticipated sequel to one of the greatest comedies in modern cinema, Jackass: The Movie, releases this Friday. The entire series has been widely criticized for signalling the end of civilization. But the Jackass crew doesn't give a crap; with the previous film's $5 million budget and $64 million in domestic box-office income, they could probably care less if the movie was lauded as the worst movie of all time. In fact, I'm sure they'd welcome that label.

The sequel is a dream come true for fellow Jackass fans. After the movie came out, Johnny Knoxville (who founded the entire Jackass thing) decided that he wanted to move on his career, ending the series. But his love for weird, insane, and often disturbing acts could not be ignored. It's kind of like the twin in the bible story who took off for a bit, but like a lost sheep, eventually returned home. To that, I say, "Johnny, good to have you 'BAAAAAAA'ck!". I admit, that was bad.

In order to quell my anticipation before I explode, over the next few days I will recount my favourite stunts from the previous movie. I will try to get one up tonight. But if I don't; too bad, jackass.

Red-zowned

Do you know the mission statement of the Town of Markham? No? Because I do. It is as follows:

A traffic light at every turn, intersection, and sewer drain by 2010.

With such a plan in place, commutes that currently require 20 minutes will require 35. What a blessing; 15 extra minutes. We are being given the gift of time! This generous gift is only possible if Markham becomes completely red-zoned.

How was I privy to this info on the town's mission? Simple; I drove through Denison St. from Markham Rd to Warden Avenue this past Sunday. I was stopped at no less than 12 red lights along the way. Total commute time - 17 minutes. Normally I take 14th avenue when travelling between those two streets. Total commute time along that route (with considerably less traffic lights) - approximately 9 minutes.

Last time I take the scenic route.

The costs of sympathy

I walked into a local Chapter's bookstore this past Saturday. Out of habit, I looked to the bulletin board on the left in the vestibule, where the staff posts recent recommendations and author appearances. Lo and behold, an author was scheduled to appear. Her book was a fiction piece, something about a girl, while going through some village rites of passages, is prematurely thrust into a scenario where the balance of the world tilts on her fingertips. MY GAWD!!! Without a second thought, I walked in and MY GAWD! Her appearance is today!

The author is practically an unknown as far as I'm concerned, so it's no surprise that there was nobody at her table. Our eyes met, we smiled at one another, and in a split second I thought "Shit, if I go there, I'll have to buy the book. But man, I feel bad for her. Maybe I should buy her book just so she feels a bit better. Wait a sec....glossy cover, bigger than standard 4 x 7 size....IT'S NOT PAPERBACK! That's gonna cost me $20 at least." After a few more split seconds of pondering and some awkward moments of staring at one another, I decided to bolt to Starbucks and get a coffee while I pondered (which I was gonna do in anyway, as per my regular Chapter's routine).

Now, keep in mind that I have had this experience before, and the first time around, I bought the book. I won't say which book it is so as not to create negative publicity for it, but.... WORST BOOK I EVER READ. I didn't even finish it. The author told me how he had never written before. Initially I figured he meant "never written a published book", but he must've meant "never written anything creative", because it was the most awful, contrived plot EVER!!! A previous girlfriend had done the same thing as well with a different author, with similar results. My past experiences were not boding well for this prospective benefactor of my sympathy.

As I mixed my coffee and pondered on the fiasco that was the last time, I decided that I would plunk down the $20. I turned in that direction and to my surprise, someone was talking to her. I thought, "Great! Now I don't have to!", headed straight to fiction, and half an hour later, walked out the front door.

In retrospect, I think I should've bought the book anyway. I don't know how many copies she sold, but I know the majority of the time, the authors don't do all too well at those things. She was by herself again as I left. My wallet still has that $20 (and the tax is still in my pocket in the form of change), but now there's this slight lingering guilt that I could've helped out a bit. I guess I should've considered the other costs of my dumb sympathy.

In sincere days

Oh, where has all the sincerity gone? It hit me today as I walked through the mall on my way back from school (I'm one of those people that park there for free when I'm not supposed to - feel the rebellion!).

Since I've got a long night of work ahead of me, I thought a Second Cup would do me good. I walked into the cafe and instinctively looked at the coffee bins to check the flavours of the day. Somewhere in the background I heard "Hi, how are you today?" I turned to respond, and before the the sight registered to identify the source, said "Fine thanks. Yourself?" I kept looking, and she didn't look up, nor did she respond. What the hell? Did she even look at me?? Probably not. Maybe she saw movement at the corner of her eye and felt compelled to greet.

Afterwards, I went to a bookstore to check on a book that had interested me. As I walked in, I was promptly greeted with a "Hello, how are you doing today?" I looked to see a woman behind the desk looking in my direction. "I'm fine thanks, and your...." before I even finished the sentence, the woman turned to her companion and resumed conversation with a "So anyway....".

Great, we've got a person who can't be bothered to look at me, and a person who can't be bothered to break away from conversation long enough to take in my response. In sincere days, person 1 would look at me, and person 2 would hear me out for three seconds. Insincere days are upon us, however. In the future, if you don't give a shit about how I'm doing, don't ask me.

Some of you may be thinking "C'mon Andrew, they were just trying to be nice." Bull shit, that is not "nice". In my book, sincerity is inherent to being nice. If you act nice when you don't mean it, you are not nice. You're FAKE.

Risin' Fall

Before I begin, I'd like to make a few things very clear:
1) I do not watch, partake, dabble in, or take any interest in gay porn.
2) I have no problem if you, or anybody else does.

OK, now that I've set myself 'straight' in a politically correct manner, I may move on.

There is currently much speculation regarding a new'comer' in the gay porn industry, a guy known as Brock (wow, oppurtunities for porn puns just keep 'popping up' <---there it is again!).



I hope you enjoyed those pics, because I went through great lengths to find pictures that didn't give you grounds to sue me. There are things that I saw that I do not wish to talk about - let's leave it at that.

The controversy and speculation have nothing to do with Brock's past criminal record or what he used to do to little kids. More like, what he used to do for little kids.

Look at his first picture closely, and try to see if he resembles somebody.
...
...
...
...
If you don't have it now, you'll never get it. Many believe that Brock is this guy.



Austin St. John, the Red Ranger of the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers! I don't know about you, but I think Austin St. John would make a great porno name. He should've stuck with it. If the speculation is true and Brock and Austin are one and the same, what a sad state of affairs for the ex-Ranger. One minute you're on top of the TV world, mowing down monsters to the delight of wee little children the world over. The next minute you're in a men's communal shower, dropping a bar of soap. Mind you, it was a scripted event, but you know what I mean. Sort of ironic how Austin's fall from grace is through his 'rise' within the underbelly of the entertainment industry.

I'm sure it must be 'hard on' him, but hey, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Sometimes, it's another man.

DVD of Wizard proportions

Yesterday (August 22, 2006) was a great day in the video game industry. Oddly enough, the occasion didn't even involve a video game release. Rather, it was a DVD release of the greatest game-related movie of all time, The Wizard.



As a chubby near-adolescent hooked on video games, Hollywood had delivered in all regards - a healthy dose of video gaming, a plot centered around 13-year olds, and an actress around my age that was, uh-hum....becoming a woman. Much screen time was devoted to my favourite gaming franchises; Ninja Turtles, Ninja Gaiden, Double Dragon. You name it, it was there.


The plot involved little Jimmy the weirdo, who had an inexplicable fixation on California. His family and doctors would ask what's wrong, and he'd simply respond "California!" Hence, he's in the nut house. It just so happens that there's a video game tournament in California. Corey (Fred Savage), upon discovering that his kid brother is a wiz at games and a social delinquient, thinks it's a brilliant idea to take him there without his dad's permission! Along the way, the rogue brothers meet Haley, a tough chick with an attitude (now there's a fresh character!). On their way to California, they win cash, get robbed, and sleep in abandoned trucks.

Some social service agent is hired by the nut house to trackdown the rogue brothers, while their dad tries to screw him over along the way. Hilarity ensues. The adventure culminates in the weirdo winning it all in a big video game tournament. It's revelaed in the end that some giant dinosaur attraction was Jimmy's obsession. Turns out it was the location of the final photograph containing the entire family (including Jimmy's favourite, and now deceased, sister). His intention was to leave his lunchbox there as a monument for his sister, AWWWWWWWW!!!!

The entire film was practically a commercial for Nintendo, who were pushing two high-profile, on-the-horizon products. The first was Super Mario Bros 3, which I believe, had already released in Japan at the time. It was the third installment in the beloved Mario franchise, and the chance to see it in video form was reason alone to go see the movie. Despite never hearing of this game before, Jimmy somehow knew where all the shortcuts were..WHATEVER!!

The second product Nintendo was pushing? Well....how can anybody forget? The Power Glove was immortalized in this now classic scene. I love the Power Glove; it's so bad.



I love how not all of Lucas' movements translate into the video game. But hey, you can already see Nintendo laying down the foundation for its future technology, the Wii.

And how can anybody forget the music? The soundtrack included hits provided by none other than the Hoff himself, David Hasselhoff. I just remember some song about "Living by the Groove", and I was hooked on it. All the movie needed was a cameo appearance by KIT and it'd be perfect.

Tonight I may pick up the DVD and indulge in a classic.

Fantasy Match: Zack vs. Slater

Remember that episode where Zack and Slater were fighting over the same girl? It was a landmark moment; for years 'Saved by the Bell' fans had long wondered, "Who would win in a fight - Zack or Slater? Preppy or the Macho Hunk?"

Unfortunately, Mr. Belding stepped in and broke up the fight. The question went unanswered, the fans became angry, and the series was soon cancelled after the fallout of Mr. Belding's ill-advised intervention.

But over the four full seasons of Saved by the Bell, I have amassed a large amount of data that could lead to a good guess of the result, and hopefully put the questions to rest. We will likely never see the two fight again, so this is the best we'll ever have.

Without further adieu, let's run down the tale of the tape.

Chicks dated in high school:

Zack Morris: At graduation, Zack confessed to having dated around 72 girls during his high school career. This includes each of his three closest friends at some point – what a skank. Notable dates include a biker chick, the fattest chick in school that won him at a dating auction, the head cheerleader, a girl in a wheelchair, and a wrestler that had to save him from a bully at the Max. To say that Zack has dated both ends of the spectrum and all points in between would be an understatement.
A tabloid photo has surfaced recently, hinting at the possibility that Zack may have had an affair with his best friend, Screech.


AC Slater: he’s dated a whale defender, a tree hugger, and a chick hooked on caffeine pills, all rolled into one girl! Very impressive. The problem is, Zack bumped her too. To further add to AC’s story, he’s also dated a long-lost love from Europe, and a bikini chick that faked her own drowning just to catch his attention. Unfortunately, both women split the episode after he hooked up with them, which leads me to believe that for all those guns he’s packing, he fires serious blanks.

Analysis: No question; Zack is king of the male skanks. Through his dating, he has shown that friendship is a line that he’ll walk and hump all over to get to a girl. With Slater’s younger sister, the object of Screech’s affection, and his best girl friend since childhood under his belt (figuratively, and literally, at one point in time), Zack blows Slater away (figuratively, not literally).

Edge:


Zack Morris

Hair

Zack Morris: his beach blonde hair was pivotal in bestowing Bayside hunk status to him. Aside from all the gel it took to hold it all in place, believe it or not, he’s not naturally blonde!!!

Picture from NYPD Blue.

AC Slater: naturally curly, jet black. And his hair was somewhat revolutionary for the 90’s; it represented one of the final vestiges of that beloved hair style of the 70’s, the mullet.

Analysis: just as it goes with breasts, natural defeats artificial in my book. And nothing, NOTHING, defeats a mullet.

Edge:

AC Slater

Accessories:

Zack Morris: light years ahead of the current generation, Zack carried around a cell phone brick back when most of us didn’t even have a land line in our own room. Cell phone craze of the late 21 century? “That is soooo ten years ago!” says Zack. Also had a Nerf basketball hung on his closet door, which is probably why he was captain of the school basketball team.

AC Slater: A tank top, he always wore a tank top. Slater knows the way to a woman’s heart is to take her to the gun show. Slater had a good physique, and in today’s ‘roid raging society, I have no choice but to assume that he carried a loaded syringe at all times.

Analysis: An extremely tough call. Both were approximately ten years ahead of current civilization; Zack with the cell phone and Slater with the roids. Unfortunatey, steroids are banned from professional sports (and are frowned upon in general), while girls as young as six years old own cellulars these days. However, this advantage is quickly squashed by the fact that the gynormous cell phone has likely given off loads of radiation into Zack’s brain, long before scientists became concerned of their harmful effects. Either he’s become super smart with augmented reflexes, or he’ll be dead from cancer in months. Unfortunately, we don’t know which.

Edge:


Draw


Weapons

Zack Morris: The Zack attack (not referring to his music band) is two-fold. His hipness wasn’t just for aesthetics, it was functional. That brick he called a cell phone could’ve easily cracked a skull in half. Secondly; I’m sorry, but you don’t date 72 girls within a four year span without catching some sort of disease. This is a dual-edged sword; though it means certain death for Zack sometime in the near future, if both he and Slater get cut open during their battle, guess what Slater? Genital warts will be the least of your worries.

AC Slater: AC’s biggest weapons at his disposal come from within. He’s got major guns, so the power advantage is obvious. Plus, as an amateur wrestler, he’ll likely be on his way to victory if he can get Zack on the floor. Needs to stay away from a striking match; though his hits will surely hit harder, Zack’s got the brick.

Analysis: From the outset, this one looks like a clear decision; which would you rather have in a fight – a brick or a gun? Unfortunately, Slater’s guns don’t give him any long-range advantage, he’ll have to get in close. Brick aside, if you get within a two–metre radius of Zack, congratulations - you’ve contracted airborne Herpes.

Edge:


Zack Morris

Current career

Zack Morris: Immediately following the end of the Saved by the Bell run, oddly enough, the actor portraying the star of the show found himself to be the only one collecting unemployment cheques (Lisa Turtle was on a soap opera, Screech became Belding’s assistant at the school, Slater went to Pacific Blue, Jesse did Showgirls and Kelly went to 90210). Eventually he landed a spot on ABC’s NYPD Blue, and stayed on the show until its finale.

AC Slater: Landed on Pacific Blue (otherwise known as Baywatch on speed bikes). I also remember him hosting some temporary game show on TV. Last night I was watching late night infomercials, and I think it may have been him vouching for a new face cream.

Analysis: he may have stumbled out of the gate, but Zack has done much better since graduating Bayside High. Yes, Slater has, technically, been more busy than this blonde opponent. But think of it this way; would you rather sit around a year or two before landing a big executive job, or work constantly at several fast food joints? Me too.

Edge:


Zack Morris

Zack Morris - 3 AC Slater - 1

Winner:


Zack Morris

Was there really any doubt? Zack was the face of Bayside High. When Slater first arrived on the scene, he definately gave Zack a run for his money, offering a legitimate challenge in every facet of Zack's being - playing hookey and going out with Kelly. But in the end, Zack was always triumphant. So it should be no surprise that in a straight up fight, Zack would be victorious.

Full circle

I'm going to deviate from the norm and be serious for once. Mind you, I was being serious when discussing my disdain for Paris Hilton and the new GAP cool, but you know what I mean.

This post turned out to be MUCH longer than I had anticipated. If you're feeling lazy, skip the asterisked part.

Yesterday was a big day. Two of my friends from high school got married.

I have known Ron since grade 4. Back then, he was an honest, stand up guy; always respectful and considerate of others. Today, he still carries the same honourable traits. In fact, one of the groom's men, Jason, and I were talking with Ron's father-in-law and family friend about how he hasn't changed since grade school. We used to play the usual playground games, ball hockey, hand ball and red ass (when the teacher wasn't looking, obviously). After grade 5, I moved and didn't see much of him until high school.

My very first class in high school was when I met Edilyn. I didn't speak to her much initially; everybody was pretty disoriented trying to adjust to new environments and new faces. My first impression was that she was a quiet, shy, and studious girl. She sat near the front and didn't say much. But she was in several of my classes first year, and eventually I started speaking to her a bit. I was right on the quiet thing, but she also turned out be really cool and friendly. Eventually, we become friends that chatted about school and the like.

**************************************************************
Meanwhile, I was catching up with an old friend. Ron and I still got along well, it was as if the four years apart didn't do anything. I remember every morning, he'd be hanging out with Jason and Geoff near their lockers. To get to my locker before first class, I had to walk past them every morning. Being a HUGE Leafs fan at the time, they would make sure I heard it whenever the Leafs lost. I will never forget coming to school the day after the Leafs were officially eliminated from the playoffs by Vancouver - I took a huge detour to avoid their pestering. Somehow Ron saw me from a distance, pointed, and the three of them laughed their heads off as I ran in humiliation. Good times.

Oddly enough, I never saw the two of them together. When I did, it seemed out of pure coincidence because neither of them ever said anything to the other. This, even though they both came from the same elementary school - and in those first few frightening weeks in high school, you cling to what's familiar. Perhaps the quiet tension was already bubbling?? Maybe. Other than their school and country of origin, the only commonality between them that I could think of was that they were both in the school band.

Two years past, the seperate friendships continued. It was a typical lunch period, and I was talking with Ron. By this point, Ron, myself and three other friends (Bryan, Jason, and Rhoscoe), had formed the "No Luck Club" - a title celebrating our collective bad karma with dating. The five of us were sitting at lunch with our other friends. At one point, Ron made sure nobody was listening, and quietly said "Guys, I was in poli sci today..." "Uh huh...." "we were lining up to leave after class...." "Uh huh....." "Edilyn was near the door and <voice drops to near whisper> man she looked GOOD."

After the requisite teasing and punching, the suggestion was made to give it a shot. Success would've meant an exit from the No Luck Club, and subsequent praise from its remaining members. And above all else, he'd be with a smart, sweet girl, and what guy doesn't want that? The suggestion was met with an awkward "Ooohhh....I don't know......" The thought must've been put to the back of his mind, because that was the last sign of secret admiration for Edilyn that I would hear for well over a year. I would've loved to have asked Edilyn what she thought about Ron at that point, but her and I never spoke about things like that.

March 1997, mid semester, and March Break is rolling around. Excitement for all, but especially the students in music band, as they had planned a trip to Jamaica. The Saturday after March Break, a birthday party was held at my house. Bryan and I picked up Ron.
"Hey man, how was Jamaica?"
"<big wide smile> Good man!"
"Anything interesting happen?"
"Well, I sort of hooked up."
"WHAT??? WITH WHO???"
"Edilyn!"
"NICE!!!"

He spoke a bit of how they got together, and we could really tell he was genuinely excited about the whole thing.

Once school resumed, the two were inseperable. They made such a great couple, got along so well it, and I practically forgot that I had never seen the two speak to one another for three years prior.

Fifth year rolled around, and their relationship had become a fixture in all of our lives. It was in biology class this year where I really got to know Edilyn. She sat next to me, and during the boring lessons we would often talk about things. It was at this point I began to have doubts about my ability to meet someone special. As often as I repeated it, she always listened, offered advice, and by the end of each conversation, I always felt better and believed in myself a bit more. When luck finally struck and things began to happen between me and somebody else, Edilyn was the first person I told. She was excited and genuinely happy for me. Being a rookie at relationships, the two of them offered seperate advice and really helped me along the way.
**********************************************************

After high school, I saw them less as we moved on through university and careers, but their relationship remained strong. Everybody knew it was only a matter of time before it all came full circle. Despite the expectation, I was really excited when I first found out they were engaged. Even more excited when I found out that I was invited!

Words can't describe what I felt seeing my good friends from high school exchange wedding vows. I feel truly blessed to have been there, and actually couldn't sleep last night because I was just so happy for the two of them. Even today, I couldn't get the smile off of my face.

Congratulations, Ron and Edilyn. All the best to you both.

Prioritize your problems

Remember back in your undergrad days, you'd be bombarded with advertisements offering to assist you with your poor essay writing skills. For a moderate fee, you could go from grade 1 ESL student to a modern day Jules Vern overnight.

Here's one example of such advertisement.



My first thought after I took this one in: if your head is that big in proportion to your body, writing a good essay should be the least of your worries.

How this guy made it to the college level without getting his head beaten in by the other kids is a mystery. It's so big that if somebody tried to punch him in the leg, he'd still end up getting a noggie. How he even got the shirt over his head is beyond me.

The bottom line is this: prioritize! If you have a freak-show abnormality, deal with that before your writing skills. Don't get a-head of yourself.

Verbal heiress-ment

By this point you've likely heard the new single by Paris Hilton, "Stars are blind". Man, is that song awful. It hurts the ears - that is grounds for a lawsuit.

The song has something to do with a guy, and she wants to do things with him. Although the fated stars lack the foresight to see their (hopefully) collective futures, she is sure that they can be together if he shows her real love. In return, she'll flash the guy some boobs ("if you show me real love baby, I'll show you mi-i-ne!")

I don't think she realizes that anytime, anybody, anywhere in the world wants to see hers, all they need to do is turn on their computers and watch "One Night in Paris".

By the way, Ms. Hilton, an inanimate object cannot be blind since they have no eyes. Although they are also lacking in the ear department, they are surely deaf by now.

Cool ain't so hot

If this is the new face of cool, throw me in an oven because I want no part of it. According to this GAP banner, to be attractive I need an awkward mix of Fonzi and Vanilla Ice, icons from eras seperated by nearly four decades. Replace the denim spandex with knee-high trousers from the 1920's and I'd be painting the town.

Red.

With my own blood.

After getting beaten up.

I'll opt to remain the smokin' hot guy I already am.

Ask not what you would do, but who you would do...

for $50,000 (one million is too easy-for that kind of money, most people would do anything and anybody, simultaneously).

It's much more fun, you'll get more laughs with your friends, and you'll really get a feel for who would sell their dignity and pride for money. After a lengthy session with friends, I am now supposedly an empty shell devoid of a moral code.

Now, if you're thinking to yourself, "But I have a good paying job and don't need $50,000.". Well, good for you; you've ruined the game for yourself and are officially a loser. Congratulations.

Head and Shoulders above itself

Since we were little, there have been a few notions so well engrained in our psyche, which are as follows:
-winter is when snow comes
-Polka-roo is never seen by two people simultaneously
-Mr.Clean never grows hair or changes his trademark white shirt
-Head and Shoulders eliminates dandruff

Everyone knows that if you've got snow on your shoulders when it ain't winter, wash with H&S and you'll be snow free in no time. So explain to me this:


Introducing Head and Shoulders Intensive Solution, clinically tested and proven dandruff control. Uhh....isn't H&S regular supposed to achieve the same goal? And what's with the new tag line "Clinically tested and proven dandruff control." So what's with the regular stuff? Is it not tested? Were random chemicals added in the hopes that it would eliminate dandruff? Have we been lied to all of these years, that H&S regular actually doesn't eliminate dandruff??? Are we a victim of media hype???

I want answers damn it, my world is falling to pieces, slowly and gently descending into a personal hell like snow.

For future scientists out there

Several times over the course of (what is hopefully) your illustrious career, you will be required to share data that you've generated during all of your hard work.

A picture is worth a thousand words, and this is no less true when reporting scientific work. Thousands of lines of text can be condensed into a small chart or graph.

Just remember this...

My dirty little secret

Everyone's got one. If you've seen the music video by the All-American Rejects, you'll know that they range from completely absurd ("I only love two of my children") to the downright strange ("I like to smell my own poop"). I'm here today to confess my very own dirty little secret.

That song. I love that song. Most people hate it, but I love it to death.

I listen to it all the time, it's probably one of my most listened to tracks on my MP3 player. When it comes up on my MP3 player in the car, I blast it, but not before I roll up the windows so nobody can hear what I'm rocking to.

There are only two other people I know that love this song; my niece Analyse, and a friend who will remain nameless, because he's also embarassed about it.

There was this one time I was talking with a bunch of friends, and we recounted all the crappy songs making the rounds on the radio. And obviously, "Dirty Little Secret" came up. I remember recoiling into my shell, simply smiling and nodding along.

Long story short, that's my dirty little secret. What's yours?

My first blogger post

I used to have an MSN Space. It was popular, it enjoyed high traffic, it nearly levelled Microsoft's servers in a few scant weeks. But amidst all of that popularity, unbeknownst to me, I was being held down. A friend of mine informed me that I would enjoy even more traffic and exposure over here on Blogger, that I was being held back by MSN Space.

So I moved. Whereas that one was the Worstest Blog in the Whole Wide World, this one is easily the Bestest.

And this is my first post.

Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it rivetting? I think so.

So what do I talk about here that the other 497803462 blogs don't bother to discuss? Well, everybody else talks about what's on their mind and what they're thinking, but what about my thoughts, and what's on MY mind? I think we can all agree that my thoughts and opinions should carry more weight than the average person's.

Unfortunately, it's 1:18 my time, so instead of the usual mundane thoughts, I'm thinking about bed.