Thursday, May 28, 2009

I love the Internet

Thanks to Omar El Akkad at the Globe and Mail whose great article linked to two of the best things I’ve seen on the Interwebz in a while.

First, there’s the Verizon Wireless employee math FAIL, and the “best airline complaint letter ever.” Listen, read and enjoy. Relish in the human condition. We’re the freaking best.
Those links are helping me forget last night’s Jays game.

This was my yesterday….start work at 7:30 a.m. Shed a few tears, enjoy a couple of group hugs and finally arrive home from work at 10:45 p.m. to sip a glass of wine and ….holy shit….watch a live Jays game! Not only were the Jays playing a day game, but Halladay was pitching and we were up 8-3!!!

Any one who watched the game knows how the rest of my night went.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Here is what's distracting me today

You know that perma-state of dreaminess you feel when reading a really magnificent book? That’s me right now. I’m hopelessly obsessed with my current read and am unable to focus on little else. Being distracted rules.

The book in question: How Proust can Change Your Life by Alain De Botton.

Now, even though I studied English lit in school, I’m not a fan of book reviews. They are especially unwelcome on a blog specializing in all matters trivial and fleeting. To me, book reviews are alienating and irrelevant to the 98% of people who haven’t read the same text as you.

But fuck it. I really, really want to share some of the gems in How Proust can Change your Life, in hopes you’ll be inspired, pick up the book and form a Skype book club with me.

Proust and De Botton share ideas much more eloquently than I could ever could, and I hope these nuggets reach you in some way.


Please note that, when it comes to literature, I'm easily affected. One year after reading The Sun Also Rises, I decided to model myself after Lady Brett Ashley. I actively made myself into a miserable, independent woman. That phase lasted about a minute, but whatever.
Ava Gardner/Lady Brett Ashley - same diff.

Right now, I’m so preoccupied with this book that no matter how uncomfortable my physical/emotional surroundings, I’m completely immersed in the sublime. Dreamcity. On Sunday, I spent two hours in a boat for a photo shoot, in 50 degree weather, wearing long sleeves. And I didn’t whine once…until now.

All right, let's get on with it. Here, in beat blogging format, are some grand excerpts from How Proust Can Change Your Life. Maybe this won’t work as I imagined lying in bed last night, but we’ll give it a go.
On relating to a piece of art:

The restricted number of human types also means that we are repeatedly able to read about people we know in places we might never have expected to do so.

One cannot read a novel without ascribing to the heroine the traits of the one we love.

In reality, every reader is, while he is reading the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a king of optical instrument which he offers to the reader to enable him to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have experienced in himself And the recognition by the reader in his own self of what the book says is proof of its veracity.

If we read the new masterpiece of a man of genius, we are delighted to find in it those reflections of ours that we despised, joys and sorrows which we had repressed, a whole world of feeling we had scorned and whose value the book in which we discover them suddenly teaches us. On reading the newspaper:

The abominable and sensual act called reading the newspaper, thanks to which all the misfortunes and cataclysms in the universe over the last twenty-four hours, the battles which cost the lives of fifty thousand men, the murders, the strikes, the bankruptcies, the fires, the poisonings, the suicides, the divorces, the cruel emotions of statesmen and actors, are transformed for us, who don’t even care, into a morning treate, blending in wonderfully, in a particularly exciting and tonic way, with the recommended ingestion of a few sips of café au lait.

The more an account is compressed, the more it seems that it deserves no more space than it has been allocated. How easy to imagine that nothing at all has happened today, to forget the fifty thousand war dead, sigh, toss the paper to one side and experience a mild wave of melancholy at the tedium of daily routine.
On great art:

Proust argued that enjoyment of such a wayward reading matter was typical of a writer, someone who could be counted on to develop enthusiasms for things that were apparently out of line with great art, a person for whom:

A terrible musical production in a provincial theatre, or a ball which people of taste find ridiculous, will either evoke memories or else be linked to an order of reveries and preoccupations, far more than some admirable performance at the Opera or an ultra-smart soirée in the Faubourg Saint-Germain.

Yes, Proust, yes! This is why I get more enjoyment out of watching reality television than a night at the orchestra. Right?

Was that alienating? Are you annoyed with me? If so, my apologies. I’ll write about trash television tomorrow. If you enjoyed any of that....you're welcome.

Please read this book, you will not regret it. It makes 50 degree heat bearable.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

A quick skip down Hack the Bone memory lane

*Man that picture is terrible.

In Hack the Bone's short (but awesome) history, I’ve made many pop culture icons and celebrities my bitch the target of my disdain. Problem is, I oft rip into the meaty arse of a celebrity to never bite them again. With this in mind, today I'll spend time on Google News search and revisit some of the people/things that have escaped my ire of late.

First up, the unofficial king of Hack the Bone: Lord CONRAD Black.

Original posts here and here.

It's always inneresing to check in on Connie. And wouldn't you know it, Canada’s most notorious criminal is back, bitches. Back in a big way. Each day brings a new story chronicling CONRAD'S ups and downs behind bars. At press time (haha) CONRAD is enjoying a bit of good press and good luck. His appeal is pending and he dodged harm when a riot broke out at his prison. A riot at CONRAD'S prison!? To this I say, inmates— please! You breathe the same air as the most verbose man of all time. Try and act the part. Civilized.

Aside from prison riots and maybe losing his Lord title, and MAYBE having his appeal thrown out, things are looking up for our boy CONRAD. The saga continues and all that....
NEXT!

Michael “I can’t believe he’s such a butterface” Phelps

Original post here.

Boy, was I ever hard on Phelpsy. Today, we'll start fresh with the swim phenom and forget why he offended me so in the first place. He’s not so bad -- he smokes pot. People can change. I can change! Let’s see what he’s up to.

He’s lost a few races, but also picked up some gold medals. Good for him. Let’s all cheer for Phelps…..oh eff it, I can’t pretend to like swimming. His face is too distracting.
I'm still a jerk. Moving on.
NEXT!

The Blue Jays

Seven straight?? Owie. Good thing I’m going home soon because my Jays need a serious dose of drunken blonde girl heckling. Don’t fret, Scooter Downs. I’ll be behind the bullpen screaming motivational speeches at you in no time.

NEXT!

Susan Boyle

Original post here.

The woman is still inescapable. After browsing Google News, it seems she hasn’t succumbed to drugs or leather orgies as I predicted (YET).

Boyle’s had a busy week. She returned to the reality TV stage to perform a stirring rendition of Memories. I haven’t watched the video yet but the Twitterverse is certainly impressed (and they're like, super tough to please).
Also, Boyle’s original Britain’s Got Talent performance became one of the Top 5 most watched viral videos of all time last week. Meanwhile, I pet two dogs and three horses on the weekend.
NEXT!

Sidney Crosby versus Alex Ovechkin.

Original post here

So that didn’t work out as planned. It’s okay though. In my mind, Ovi actually won the playoff series, celebrated by filling a hot tub with champagne and inviting me to party. Sidney Crosby went home and played Xbox wearing his sad playoff beard.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

DKM on....

The Boston Red Sox:

goddamn bean eating jowl-fuck-faced Ted Kennedy ambervision sunglass-wearing white-haired frat piece of shit bandwagon-jumping second place park-inflated statistic Masshole fucks

HAHAHAH. My boy's a nerd. I had to violate his privacy and share this. I knew he felt strongly about the Red Sox but this is....beyond. Dane Cook is a Red Sox fan. Another reason to hate them.

To DKM: Don't despair! I hate to see you blue. Jays will win next time. Millar must be vindicated!

**UPDATE**
It turs out DKM didn't write that super angry and hysterical post. He read it on Drunk Jays Fans and liked it so much he saved it to a Word document so he could re-visit it whenever he wanted. Must give credit where it's due.
The best part of this story is, he's an even bigger nerd than I previously thought.

Best Day Ever: Doha Styles

As far as normal, average days go, yesterday was probably the best of my life. There were no life changing moments, no dance offs, baseball watching or trivia (activities included in the best day ever in my head) but it was definitely awesome.

Synopsis of the Best Day Ever

Wake up at 10 a.m., slightly hungover.

Drag my ass out of bed long enough to get to the Ritz Carlton spa. Promptly lay down again for a 90-minute massage and facial. My masseuse says I have finesse and gives me an extra treatment. I die inside. Enter steam room. Sweat out hangover. Enter Sauna; sit there wondering why I don’t come here every weekend. Remember how much it costs. Decide it is worth it. Arrange booking for next visit.
Return home at 1:30. Exhausted from the massage, take a two hour nap while DKM happily watches documentary on Death Row Records. I feign no interest in watching and he doesn’t mind. Sleep like a baby.

Wake up from nap. Go to the gym. Use all of the machines I want because it’s the weekend and no one is around. Watch episode of Style her Famous on wall TVs. Laugh at lady firefighter who just wants to look like a girl. Jay Manuel styles her like Jessica Simpson. Lady firefighter looks like a tranny. Enter steam room, again. Practically fall asleep listening to two Philipino ladies speaking in tongues.

The gym is in a mall. On my way out, go shopping. Feel lucky and buy clothes without trying them on.

Return home. Try on clothes. Fit perfectly. Look hot.

Eat a gourmet meal with delicious fixings that I did not have to prepare. Drink a glass of red wine.

Finish off the night by watching 12 Monkeys with Brad Pitt (pre-Aniston and pre-Jolie. Gwyneth era? Remember when they had matching haircuts? Hilarious). Normally I can’t sit through a two-hour movie. Make it through this one and only complain, like, four times that it was boring.

Get into bed at midnight. End of best day ever.

My apologies for that menial, ass crappy post. I just wanted to write this down so I always remember it.

Oh, also watched this cat video at one point. Look at that fluffy thing. Is it even real? I’m convinced the one on the left is a really high-end stuffed animal.
You know, I don’t even like cats in real life but I could watch them all day on YouTube. My mother owns a cat but we don’t get along. It rejected me long ago, and I can’t handle rejection so I ignore it.

Maybe if my mom’s cat were something like that white one, we might get along. Until then, I will remain friends with Internet kittehs only.

Monday, May 18, 2009

"Untouchable Torontonian Ace"

Speaking of videos by Steve…here’s a six year-old video from our high school grad trip. Look at all those white kids.... LP Forever y’all.

Thoughts on Portishead and apples and Nowitzki*

*Do the three have anything in common? NO! But I wrote the post and couldn't think of a title

I’ve been listening to a lot of Portishead today. They make you kind of crazy, no? Good crazy, of course.

Portishead often goes overlooked on my iTunes. However, once they actually get played, I’m super stoked.

I probably ignored this band for so long because up until I was about 18, I thought this was their lead singer: Creepy video child.

Listening to Portishead is just like eating an apple. When you see an apple on the table, you’re hardly enticed. You can’t remember why you even bought apples in the first place. Then on the off chance you’re out of bananas, you eat an apple and you’re all, “OH MY GOD. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If only this apple could go on forever.”

I’m eating an apple.

Hey, here’s something. Last night, I dreamt that Roger Federer entered a horse in the Preakness and I was hired to tack his horse. Unfortunately, the dream ended there and I didn’t get to tack Roger. And I was sooo close.

I don’t know about you, but I never have sex dreams about good looking celebrities. Only ogres like NBA superstar Dirk Nowitzki make it through my stupid brain’s screening process.
WHY CAN’T YOU BE HOT!? My unconscious mind is an asshole.

Please tell me you have better luck.

**
BONUS!
Here's a video my friend Steve shot in British Colombia, when a friendly black bear wandered on to his lawn. I love Canada.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Thursday Night

I wrote a post about my embarrassing behaviour on Thursday night. Upon reflection, I read it back and felt great shame.

Delete.

The post lies in my digital trash bin. Right next to my dignity.

Don’t get me wrong – I feel no regret for getting drunk and acting a damn fool. Thursday night was just another step in my calculated life journey of going down in a fiery ball of fun and passion and hilarity.

Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.

Unfortunately for you, I possess the presence of mind to not write about this ish on the Interwebz. Not in detail, anyway. You just…had to be there.

However, now there’s nothing to write about. Really...nothing. It's the Sunday of a long weekend in Canada and most people I know are enjoying the wilderness. That will be me soon. I’ll try this again later. Ta.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Oh, but I love the computer!

In the coming days, two highly anticipated sporting events will air. The first being Game Seven (capitalized to stress the magnitude) between Ovechkin and Crosby. I’m especially cheering for the Caps now more than ever, since Mats Sundin and the Vancouver Canucks had their playoff hopes extinguished last night. Cruel world.

The other sporting event is tonight’s Blue Jays – Yankees game. The best pitcher in the world Roy Halladay faces hot mess A.J. Burnett. It’s going to be epic y’all. What I wouldn’t give to be there in person.
Picture made more AWESOME by the presence of Scooter "Batcave" Downs

Even my Toronto FC loving Father knows how exciting this game is. We were on the phone for all of three minutes on Sunday before the conversation turned to talk of AJ and the Doctor. We understand the important things in life.

This game is huge. I could try and build it up more but I’m pretty sure the hype is so big even Hype Williams is feeling small today.

That didn’t even make sense.

ANYWAY. I can’t wait to sign on to mlb.tv and watch as Halladay embarrasses Burnett. It’ll be glorious. There’s just one small problem.

You see, the game airs at 7 p.m. Toronto time. That’s like, two a.m. in Doha. I don’t know about you, but if I’m not in bed by 11 on a work night, I get legitimately stressed out. I’ve totally turned into a loser since joining the office brigade (haven’t officially entered the Hall of Douchebags yet, it’s more like chilling in Weenie Town).

Herein lies the problem. First thing in the morning, I’m always eager to see what the world got up to while I was asleep. Plus, it’s part of my job to follow current events. This actually means I read respected, legitimate publications featuring important and far-reaching news. LOLCats isn’t my home page. Shocking.

So, if I actually want to watch the game and not have the outcome spoiled by jerks like YOU before I leave work, drastic measures will be taken. I’ll spend the whole day sitting in front of a computer. A beautiful computer with infinite informational tentacles, and not be able to use any of its resources. In other words….I’ll be in hell.

My talent for trolling the Interwebz might screw me tomorrow. I will do whatever I can to NOT know the score of the game. I will stay off of Facebook, Twitter, Google Reader, FriendFeed, The Globe and Mail, Tao of Steib and all Sports Pages. Being so plugged is a curse. A beautiful curse.
Without my nerdy skills, you might have gone your whole life without seeing THAT photo.

This doesn’t mean I will stay off of the Internet completely. Pretty sure LOLCats is safe territory.

But guys....I'm scared. Me trying to avoid my Internet friends for a day = dweeb FAIL.

Time for a random Doha insult story.
Dude #1 is driving along the street.
He cuts Dude #2 off.
Dude #2 gets out of his car, approaches the window of Dude #1 and screams,
“You’re a very,very bad driver. And your Mother’s a Catholic!”

For serious.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Stop messing in my ward.

Ughhhhhh. Don’t you hate it when someone on your ‘I want to bone’ list enters the hall of douchebags?

Cue Adam Giambrone.

The baby-faced city councillor (and my former imaginary boyfriend) landed in hot water this week after a series of “threatening” emails he wrote to another councillor were leaked to the public. Here’s an example of said threats:

Stop messing in my ward or there will be problems. I generally ignore your actions, but I am going to start looking for ways to cause trouble for you and when I start you're not going to appreciate it."

First, let’s thank Mr. Giambrone for giving Torontonians a hilarious catchphrase to use. Please, try and use STOP MESSING IN MY WARD in a sentence today. Imagine the hilarity and timelieness of a well placed STOP MESSING IN MY WARD. You’ll be the most popular kid in Toronto.Okay, next. He actually said, “when I start you’re not going to appreciate it.” Real tough Giamweenie. I can’t believe I googled you on six separate occasions.

Allow me to whine a little about Giambrone’s fall from my bone list grace. Why do all the cute ones have to be losers?! This is just like the time I found out my favourite Backstreet Boy (Brian -- the poor man’s Nick Carter) was a Christian fundamentalist. A clean cut, good role model is not even sexy to a twelve year-old. Don't get me started on the Jonas Brothers. Kids these days....friggen losers.

So the next step for me? Find a new political figure to admire. I've got athletes, actors and musicians covered. That's easy. It's a lot harder to fall in love with politicians. Am I right, ladies?

Okay my hunt is on to replace Giambrone. Here's hoping I don't settle for Mayor Miller or something. Fuck.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Visit

Oh hello. Remember me? Yes, I'm still around.

Apologies for not posting this week. I had better things to do. Sixty or so hours of work and absolutely no time to post menial doo dah on the Interwebz. To butter you up, here's a site called Awkward Family Photos. Not enough time wasteage for you? Then please, enter the Hall of Douchebags for hilariously terrible band photos. Someone posted this on facebook ages ago and it still haunts my memory.


And because I know you love them, here's another hilarious cat video.

Weekend Highlights
Thursday evening, all I wanted to do was drink and sleep. SO I got drunk by myself and watched the Laws of Attraction with Pierce Brosnan and Julianne Moore while DKM watched the Jays game. I actually picked a romantic comedy made for old people over a night with Roy Halladay. I was truly gone. Laws of Attraction was absolutely perfect for my non-functioning brain.

SIDENOTE! Speaking of Roy Halladay and the BJs, I would like to officially announce my change of allegiance in Blue Jays blogging. I've been reading the Tao of Steib for ages, but never gave it as much credit as Drunk Jays Fans. But since the DJF guys became uberpopular, the quality of their original site has gone to shit. Success is a wicked drug, my friends, may you never wish it upon anyone. So yea, read Tao of Steib and Sports and the City (for someone who earnestly likes Toronto teams...I didn't think people like this existed anymore). You'll be happy you did.

Highlight -- I might have seen Rihanna naked. Google that. If the photos are real, she's probably dying of embarrassment today for being so careless as to take nudie shots with a cell phone camera. On the other hand, she probably doesn't care because she's Rihanna and she's 20 and she's hot as balls.

Moving on.

Highlight -- I finally concinved DKM to watch Friday Night Lights with me. I found season one and he let me buy it, providing I also buy him some documentary on Tupac
and Death Row Records. I said I'd watch it with him, but that was a lie.

Highlight -- Listening to Nature Boy by Nat King Cole far too many times. Watch and listen. Feel love.

I could go on but I've been beckoned to join my mates at the pool. Being an Internet geek or swimming and sunning? Tough choice. KBAI....

Friday, May 1, 2009

And now for something completely different

This photo is already present on Facebook and Twitter (don't call me a nerd, I'm the future), but I will post again here because it is awesome and I dreamt about it last night.

My experience with the documentation of this very photo went a little something like this:

Oh hey, look at that....a cute dog sticking its head out the window! We never see dogs in Doha. Let's catch up and wave...oh wait...wait....it's a FUCKING CHEETAH!! I am going to social media the shit out of this....snap snap snap
CHEETAH!!

The possibility exists that this may be a leopard. However, I shouted CHEETAH CHEETAH so many times yesterday, that the mystery cat will forever be a cheetah to me. Oh, and if you're wondering, which I know you are, it was having a good time in the car. Bad ass, wind in my hair type fun.

In Doha, cheetahs are prized pets, but not as valued as a mothaeffin falcon. They are really expensive and deadly. I held one once. Lookie here. It probably wanted to eat my heart, but rigorous training prevented that.

So I'm off to the Ritz-Carlton this morning to partake in a favourite spoiled ex-pat tradition in Doha - the champagne brunch. It is the greatest exercise in gluttony ever. If any one comes to visit me (no one is visiting, I hate you all....my mom will come, I don't need you) I will take them to the brunch. Even if my guest isn't thrilled with Doha, they will promptly forget any sour sentiment on ingestion of bubbly and tiny tarts.

But seriously, all you can eat and drink buffet in one of the nicest hotels in town? Civilized day drinking!? Lobster tail and chocolate fountains (not together)!?!? What else haven't you told me Doha???

So that'll be Friday. Perhaps I will try my hand at drunk blogging later. Then again, I may prefer to roll around on the floor all afternoon. Only truth and time will tell. kthxbai.