Thursday, July 21, 2005

Worst Nightmare

My friend Lisa and I were talking about irrational fears, just a conversation confessing what scares the shit out of us.
We threw a few fears back and forth and then she told me that her mother was afriad of balconies.
Me; "Why, she's afraid of heights?"
Lisa; "No, she's afraid she'll jump."
It was the first time I had ever been able to completely relate to someone elses fear, and I had only heard it second hand.
When I am sitting on a balcony I worry that I will suddenly snap, and throw myself over.
To the point where I can feel myself falling.
I can see the ground getting closer.
I don't want to die, but for some reason I throw myself over the concrete wall and metal railing.
My heart always races, and I want to go inside, but I keep it quiet and tell myself that I am just being 'crazy'.
I think it stems from a special I watched on City TV, years ago, about people who suffered 'psychotic breaks'.
Apparently you lose you mind for an undetermined amount of time, and then all of a sudden regain your sanity.
There was this one girl, cute, sleeve tattoos, seemed so grounded.
She woke up in the psych ward after 'apparently' running naked through the streets of toronto and chanting.
Police came, the whole nine yards, they forced her into an ambulance and took her to the hospital.
Psychotic Break.
It said it can happen to anyone, at any time.
I never think about that show, or the 'breaks', until I am on a balcony.
I'm afraid of my own mind?
I watch too much TV?
I don't know.
It's just funny how certain things stick with us.
20/20 fucked me up hardcore in a similiar way.
Odd that parents keep their kids away from violent movies and TV shows but 'real horror' is fair game.
I don't know where I am going with this, I was just on a balcony.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Parles Francais

I've always wished I could speak french.
There is no better language to express discontent than french.
Je Ne T'aime Pas!
You'll have to pardon my spelling, as I said, I do not speak or write the language. But, here are a few things I ne taime pas.

1) PT Cruisers - Okay, the one with the faux wood paneling on the doors is the most offensive, shit, or is it the convertible? They're always driven by business people who have these odd fantasies about being a gangster (not to be confused with gangsta) or they want to fuck a mob boss. Middle aged, white professional schleps with stinky foreskin and 2.3 children. Hold me back, I think I may go Gotti.

2) Poorly thought out Tattoos - Okay, I saw this woman, HUGE, not obese, but tall, I felt like a dwarf. She had white cotton shorts on (her underwear was blue, but the shorts weren't sheer as much as falling apart) and her tat was cat paw prints running all the way up her leg. But, close together, one after another, and they were all black, then, like the tenth paw print, PINK, more black, then pink. It went all the way up her leg, ankle to dilapidated shorts. Did they lead to her pussy?
I have the shivers.

3) Advertising - Okay, we all puked at the ZIT slushie, but I have issues with the new yogurt drink. I remember 'YOP' when I was a kid and wondering why people wanted to drink yogurt. Now, we get XS or is it XL, some shit, anyway, the commercial depicts these kids going to some cool after school party and drinking yogurt while getting down to some cool hip hop that is being mixed by a cartoon tiger. Hip hop and yogurt, of course, I only kick myself for not thinking of it first. Damn advert moguls.

4) Dog Town and Z Boys - The original doc had woody harrelson narrating the story of a group of people in Cali that made skateboarding what it is today. It was cool. Then I saw that a movie was made of it. I must have missed it. But, there are kids wandering around with the hairstyles and attitudes of the Z boys, but no one has a fucking skateboard? This is almost as annoying as the indie rocker phase where everyone looked like Jack White, but no one played an instrument.

5) The INXS reality show - If I died masturbating I would be pissed if my band replaced me at the will of the north American public. 'Guns In The Sky', a fucking anthem man!

6) Camping Equiptment - Lantern; $69.99, Tarp; $19.99, Rubbermaid Container; $29.99, Stove; $84.99, Water Container; $8.99. The list goes on, it was supposed to be a cheap trip. OH, Weed; $75.00. Plus, as per Karen, first aid kits so we can stitch one another back together after plummeting off a cliff.

7) Irrational fears - Bears, I'm going camping. There will be no food, hygienic products or pleasantly smelling items or people in my tent. I have checked the bear safety websites, I know the guidelines, and the mother fuckers I am camping with WILL adhere to these regulations. Rattle Snakes, yeah, in Northern Ontario. Who Knew? I still need to check the Rattle Snake safety websites. New guidelines coming shortly.

8) Dreams - Yeah, last night I had a sex dream about a midget, and his foreskin got caught in my throat? I now believe that dreams are a glimpse into the level of crazy that one person houses. Potential Crazy. I may very well be a sexual deviant for reasons I had yet undiscovered.

I have said too much!

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Taking Em Out In The Good Ol' U.S. Of Fucking A.

Today is Thursday July 14th 2005.
On Tuesday July 12th 2005 the State of Georgia put to death a one, Robert Dale Conklin. He was killed using a lethal injection in the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison in Jackson.
Conklin, a parolee for a burglary conviction met a 28 year old attorney named George Grant Crooks after his release and the two began a short affair. During an altercation at one of the mens apartments, Conklin stabbed Crooks in the ear with a screwdriver, killing him.
The rest is merely facts and fictions belonging specifically to this case.
After all, nothing else matters.
An eye for an eye.
Since January 1st of this year the United States has maintained its unified stance on execution, and taken 29 eyes retributively.
Since January 17th, 1977 when Gary Gilmore stood before a firing squad in Utah, the United States has taken 973 visual organs to compensate for horrendous criminal acts.
No charges are laid against the people present at executions.
The 'bystander effect' does not exist there.
The LAW, does not exist there.
This is where murder becomes legal because it is a form of punishment.
Shoot them, inject them with poison or have them inhale it. Have them hanged, or maybe electrocution suits your fancy.
Whatever way they go, they're going to go for good, and good riddance to the lousy fuckers too....
What of the good doctor who injects the criminal. We've all thought it. Are they not just as guilty?
The criminal is expected to be penitent, but the executioner is simply doing a job.
Both have killed someone.
'An eye for an eye', but only in certain cases of course.
"They deserve it for what they did"
Ah yes, sure they do, and it is within our rights as humans to decide that the only plausible punishment for certain acts is murder.
'You killed them, now we'll kill you'.
I can't believe I didn't see it before.
It's like when children breaks a dinner plate, they deserve to be spanked so they'll learn their lesson.
We learn from violence to be better people, and the better people punish the criminals with more violence.
I'm designing my PRO-EXECUTION banner in my head as I am writing this.
Sadly I have to travel all the way down to Oklahoma to support the execution of Michael J. Pennington this coming Tuesday.
Too bad I couldn't just go to toronto and see someone getting hanged at Nathan Phillips Square.
I wonder why i can't?
Oh right. I'm in Canada.
We don't 'do' that.
Well, the idea that rehabilitation is somtimes possible, or that a life incarcerated is more punishment than death.
Someone is telling us 'impressionable canucks' that murder is never okay.
Must be all the beer we drink, but we fucking bought it.
We don't kill the killers.
We punish them.
We don't hold ourselves above the law.
We stand in support of it.
An eye for an eye isn't emblazened in our minds growing up.
My mom didn't punch me after I punched my brother. I didn't get my hair pulled by my school teachers after I pulled a classmates hair.
I got 'punished'.
It doesn't always 'fit the crime', but it's never above the law that our country has created for itself.
I'd rather be swilling beer in a country where the law may be too lenient, than living in a country where the law doesn't apply to everyone.

On a side note....The most disturbing piece of information I found during some online research;
Between 1984 and 2000 the USA executed 34 people who showed "EVIDENCE OF MENTAL RETARDATION."

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Shower Curtain Ring (aka - BLING) Posted by Picasa

Waiting Room Jitters

I have a new(ish) family doctor, new to me at least.
The office has about 5 different doctors working out of it.
The office itself is located in one of the less affluent areas of Hamilton, Ontario.
For those unfamiliar, Hamilton is also known as 'Steel Town' and 'The Egg Fart Of Ontario'.
I've never liked going to the doctor. Primarily because I'm worried that while I sit in the waiting room with all of the other patients, I am going to pick up some other random illness.
Now, my doctors waiting area is much bigger, probably seats about 45 to 50 people.
Usually, it's hard to find a seat.
Yesterday, while I waited to get diagnosed with strep throat, with my mom who was having her blood pressure tested, I was uncategorically disturbed by the freaks who had booked appointments on the same day.
I sat in a chair that had my back to most of the room. I heard an old man talking. He must have been hard of hearing, because he was speaking about 2 decibels above what he needed to for the entire room to hear him.
But, his voice. Remember when you were a kid and you'd put clickers in the spokes of your bicycle (or an old baseball card for the kids who didn't get clickers for their b-days). Well, picture a clicker rotating in his throat, and add some moisture to it. That is what his voice sounded like. I had to have a look.
I turned around, spotted him immediately in the crowd, and for some unknown reason he was looking at me too. I spun back around and got the shakes.
He had wisps of white hair, his head was pushed forward so it sat above his thighs instead of his chest, but his back was straight. His eyes were wide open, buldging out and surrounded by grey skin.
I fully expected to hear him start moaning "brainnnnns, brains" and take a bite out of the head of the person sitting closest to him.
I picked a spot on the wall and focused. Time didn't move faster at my will.
I looked at my mother who was glancing around the room with a look on her face like she had just witnessed a car accident or a train wreck.
A plump girl with greasy blonde hair walks up to the window to speak with one of the medical office receptionists.
"Well, I just want it back to normal, why can't anyone understand that".
A pause, I couldn't hear the words of the receptionist, who are all slightly barracaded behind glass with small windows through which to converse.
"Well, my sex life is awful, it hurts too much, and my husband is frustrated, I can understand why to, I let him put it in, and then I'm like NO TAKE IT OUT!"
I dry heave.
She finalizes her appointment which from the remainder of the conversation all I can gather is that she has had something put in her vagina that she now wants out of it. Hopefully the good doctor can help.
At this point my mother has found a spot on the floor, she is staring intently, but time moves no quicker.
Grandma, Mom, and the kids come in, talk to the receptionist, and then all settle around us in chairs that had freed up.
My mom looks at me.
"Are you getting ideas for something to write about by sitting here?"
Well, yes, to write, and to try to wash out of my head.
One of the little boys;
"I'm bored"
Grandma; "You're always bored. It doesn't matter what you are doing, you are always bored, and do you wannna know why? It's because you are a boring person"
Little Boy; "I'm not a boring person" and then sulking.
I had to glance at Grandma to find out who the fuck talks to their grand children like that.
She had long dyed black hair, with patches of grey coming through, not strands, but patches where the dye had faded. Her face was a scowl. And her wrinkles looked like pool water after someone had kicked their feet furiously at one end of still water.
She had a red t-shirt on, with a pair of stretched out pink track shorts on the bottom. I did glance at her feet too, but the look of them dawgs was so disturbing it blew all memory of her sandals out of my head.
She started ranting about doctors, how they're all 'stupids and dumb' and she 'knows more then dem doctors alls together'.
You know when you're in public, and you've just had enough?
Like, you want to tell someone to shut the fuck up because they have no idea how stupids and dumb they sound.
I didn't, my mom would have shin kicked me for sure. But, I was getting there.
The rest of them walked slowly, hunched over, coughing, spattering, and swearing about the wait.
It looked like a zombie convention, where the order of the day was discontentedness.
There were others there, who seemed to stick out like sore thumbs.
They were the ones with that lost look on their faces, the ones who covered their own mouths when their neighbours coughed on them. The ones who didn't use the f-word when they were talking to the nurses or filling prescriptions.
Finally our names get called and my mom and I jump out of our seats.
We get into one of the examination rooms and crack jokes about the people we were just sitting with.
The nurse comes in to ask why were there.
My mom tells her about wanting her blood pressure checked as a preventative measure, stating that it seems to go up and down.
The nurse; "Especially when you're sitting in a waiting room like that eh!"
We all laugh.
But, my mom and I got to leave. Not only do the people who work there have to be near that waiting room all day, but they have to interact with these people, day in and day out.
The throat clicking zombie, mysterious vagina girl, stupids dumb grandma.
I hope my doctor is a millionaire, and drives a BMW.
He works for every penny of it.

Piano Man

Yesterday I went to the doctor about one hell of a sore throat.
It's Strep.
I got my meds. Amazingly, after only 3 pills it's starting to feel better. So I had a cigarette this morning.
Yeah yeah yeah.
So, I'm sitting out front, and I can hear someone playing the piano. It seemed to be coming from a house where I didn't realize any musicians lived.
It was nice, soothing.
It got me to thinking about when I was a kid.
I played guitar, and my brother played the piano.
We both were expected to practice for at least a half an hour a day.
I hated it. Now I wish I wasn't such a fucking brat, and had actually realized what a great thing it would be to know the guitar as an adult.
I also remember hating the fact that my brother had to practice so much, and the fact that he was a bit of a keener, and would go beyond his 1/2 hour mandatory practice time.
I would be sitting in the basement with my extensive G.I. Joe collection right in the middle of some creative fantasy that indulged my juvenile sexual ideas (ie. The Baroness would be getting dry humped by one of the horny soldiers) and that damn piano would be belting out some Bach.
It killed any imagined sexual discovery my action figures where trying to engage in.
While I was smoking this morning I thought how I should have been more adult about it.
It was great music, I should have appreciated it.
The person across the street came to a part in the song that must have been particularly tricky. They stopped, tried it again, fucked it up, stopped, tried it again, fucked it up.....
I got the 'hot pricklies'.
I wanted to toss a brick through their window.
My musical childhood came flooding back to me.
Hearing the same few bars over and over again, then, when my brother thought he had mastered it, would start from the beginning, get to that part and fuck it up. Then, play the same god damn bars over and over again, and then start from the beginning.
It was torturous.
Children should not be subjected to one another attempting to learn a musical instrument. Especially not a LOUD one.
Sometimes my brother reads my blog.
I love you man.
I put my cigarette out (early) and headed back inside, thankful that all I had to do was close the door and the ivories would fade perfectly into the distance.
I am not without blame. I am just without patience.
My brother might secretly hate me, in high school, I played the trumpet.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

If I Were A Princess

I have this friend named Lisa who is good friends with a girl who acted in the movie 'Mean Girls' with Lindsay Lohan. The actress told Lisa that Lohan was a total 'princess' and had a long list of demands that she enforced during filming.
I got to thinking.
If I were a princess, what would I make damn sure I had around to make sure I was acting at the top of my game.

1) Dasani - I don't care what people say, it's the best tasting bottled water out there. Yes, I am aware that it is bottled by the Coca Cola Corporation. I simply don't care. It beats Evian hands down.

2) My own private toilet - No one else would have access to this. Except the cleaner who would have to wipe off the bottom of the toilet seat semi regularly. I get the trots when I'm nervous. I would also need AXE deordorant body spray to freshen the room when I was done, and a stereo in there that would mask any sounds I may make. Also, I'd need a good shitting CD too. Maybe 'Coral Fang' by The Distillers.

3) Dill Pickles - To snack on between takes, and they better be crunchy or the caterer better fucking run. What's worse than a soggy pickle?

4) A Cell Phone - So I could call all my friends and tell them what a dick Mel Gibson is in person.

5) Nap Time - And I'd want an air conditioned trailer with a huge bed and a body pillow so I could dry hump it while falling gracefully off to sleep and picturing Mel naked and touching me.

6) A Mean Personal Trainer - So he'd call me shit like 'Fat Boy' or 'Chunk' and motivate me to do some time on the cross trainer for an hour or so in the afternoon.

7) All the software necessary to make my own electronic music - That way I can finally make my CD, and entrance all the other actors with one of my 'other' talents.

8) A body double - No fucking way I'm taking my shirt off and having it documented on film. He'd have to be nicely tanned, great pecs and abs and a fair measure of chest hair. I think when I die and go to heaven that's how I'll look, and I'll be an underwear model for Calvin when I get up there, oh yeah, and in my heaven, Mark Whalberg is chubby.

9) Flip Flops - Brightly coloured and make loud slapping noises when I walk, and I'd run by Mel when he was talking to one of his Christian friends on the phone. He'd scowl at me, and then I'd grab my cell phone and call someone to tell them what I had just done. And we'd laugh. Then I'd dry hump my pillow.

10) A Clock On A Gold Chain - And I'd freestyle in front of a room full of people who would have to applaud my efforts, or I'd get them all fired.

11) A Kilt - And I'd be dating Ashley MacIsaac. I'd put the kilt on and we'd spank one another, but some paparazzi would take pictures of us through the Venetian blinds of my trailer, and my mom would be really pissed at me when the enquirer came out.

12) LiL Kim - She'd be my friend, and we'd sit in my trailer and smoke pot, and she'd tell me stories about her and her other friends, and all the crazy shit they do. And from that relationship I'd introduce words like scurred, gurl and simma down, into all my public appearances. "Oprah, simma down gurl, I'm not scurred of you, let me fuckin talk gurl!"

Shit, now I wish I was a princess.
I hate my job!

Thank You Corky

The other day I was driving around with a couple of my friends, and one of them told me that I "had to hear a song called The Only Gay Eskimo, by Corky and the Juice Pigs".
I told her that I was familiar with the song, and we sang some of the funnier lines.
Then, my friend, who we'll call Trixie, to save face. Said;
"Well how would you know you were gay if you were the only Eskimo in your tribe"
The other friend and I eyeballed Trixie trying to decipher what she was talking about.
It fizzled out in the car, but later when I got home I figured out what she was saying.
How could a gay person realize their sexual orientation if they had never had sex with a person of the same gender?
Then, at work the other day one of the younger staff members asked me if I had ever had sex with a woman.
I told her that yes I had in fact (and I was a great lay, well, I didn't tell her that, just you).
To which she responded;
"Oh, okay, so you didn't like it, and that's how you know that you're gay!".
Now, these are two people that have known me for a while. People who I enjoy being around, and talk pretty openly to.
How can they both be so clueless, and, if they are, how many more people are equally daft?
I mean, this was not the first time I had heard comments, or fielded questions like this, but more than anything this line of thought blows my fucking mind.
I can take people who think it's a choice, fine, whatever, let me know when you chose to be straight and swore off same sex relationships then.
You do not have to have had sex with the opposite sex to realize where your attraction lies.
It's common sense.
I mean, by that line of thought all straight guys would have to have sucked dick or been fucked in the ass to know that they were straight. As nice of a thought as that is, obviously, it is not the case.
Sexual attraction and courting rituals begin in childhood and flourish in adolescence.
I knew I liked boys as soon as I developed the mindset to ponder intimacy.
I was a kid.
Maybe 7 or 8.
I had crushes on the guys, and not knowing what sex was or anything to do with physical acts, I just liked looking at them. Admiring something about them in a way I didn't, and never have, with females.
I was gay long before I had sexual contact with a man.
But, I was also afraid to tell anyone, so I dated women, and for a while swore myself to my own dark secret, and resigned myself to a life where I would never be totally happy.
Then I thought, well, fuck you, and I came out, and never looked back.
Now I have had sex with one or two fellas (lol) and don't consider myself to be gayer now than I was when I first learned what gay meant. It has always applied to me, and it always will.
I guess all of this does stem from the idea that all us 'gays' choose this 'lifestyle'.
Well, rest assured, I had about as much choice in my sexual orientation as I did to whether or not I wanted to live my life as a person who had bowel movements.
If you're straight and think it's a choice, then be gay for a day. Choose to be attracted to the same sex, we'll see how well it works for you.
And Corky, for Gawd's Sake, it's Inuit, not Eskimo!

camping dandelion Posted by Picasa

Balcony Step Posted by Picasa

Monday, July 04, 2005


So, Homolka got set free.
The world is once again her oyster.
She can go out to dinner, catch a movie, grab a beer, and maybe even re-offend.
After all, those who know her the best say she is 'remorseless' and 'capable of another offence'.
Hmm, well, that is fucking comforting.
Although, one of the ones who is now saying that Karla is dangerous is an ex lover from the all female prison. It's funny too, that French lesbian inmate is constantly quoted as an expert on all things 'Karla'. But, what did the french lady do to get into prison? Did she off someone too? And why is it that when her face was buried in Karla's pussy she didn't realize that the bitch was a psycho. It's only after Karla stopped eating her out that she came forth and said what a danger Homolka can be. I'd say anyone who enters into a sexual relationship with someone who murdered innocent children needs to SHUT THE FUCK UP, and stop trying to provide insight into anything about anyone.
As for the whole "An Eye For An Eye" thing, well, that's horseshit. I don't want 'witches and queers' burned at the steak again, or black people hanged. That's prehistoric, and ignorant. No, one wrong does not make a right, but, do I hope she suffers? Hmm, well, to what degree. I mean, the thought of her sitting around someone's backyard and drinking beer and laughing bugs the shit out of me. That's the stuff I do, with my friends, as a somewhat mature and responsible adult. Why she should still be awarded the same comfortable rights that I enjoy, let alone any special privileges. I don't want the media to constantly report on her every move, because I don't want to see that cunts face every night on the news, and every morning on the paper. But, you can be damn sure that if she lived in my city, in my neighbourhood or on my street, I'd wanna fucking know. Would I pitch rocks through her window or at her? No! But I wouldn't care if other people did. You, see, she's not a human, she's not a person. People do not do the stuff that she did, and appear on videotapes to be enjoying it while it was happening. She isn't even an animal, they only fight for territory, or dominance. She is unclassifiable. She does not deserve to move back into a happy life. She does not deserve to be a 'normal' part of society. She deserves to be outcasted. Ostracized. Don't like the way that sounds? Think it's harsh? Well, she pulled teeth out of the mouths of living girls, she and her husband raped them, she disfigured, and dismembered other human beings. And this is the shit we know because it leaked out, we don't even know the true horror of what Kristin, Tammy, Leslie and Jane Doe went through. Do I hope someone kills her, nope, do I care if someone does? Nope.
Did she do her time? Yes, as a result of an agreement that was signed she has done her time. Does her time fit her crime? Well, we all know it doesn't, but, she's fucked anyway. She will never be left alone, she will never be comfortable. But, the most likely person to kill Karla is Karla herself.
I don't want to join a betting pool on how long she'll last or talk endlessly about her, and glorify her any more than the media already has. I do hope she finds her true jail sentence outside of her jail term. I hope she never feels comfortable sunbathing, dating or corresponding again. She spent 12 years in a strick hotel, now she's out, but, she'll never again be as safe as she was when she was behind bars.
I like that she has to watch her back.
I'm just not the type of person to be behind her.