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merry christmas xtreme!
or
"kill this goat instead, beeyotch!!!"
My two favourite items from Matthew Baldwin's 2004 Survival Guide For Slackers at The Morning News:
Remember that show where professional asshole Ashton Whatshisbucket would go up to Hilary Duff and be all, "Did you know that the third digit of pi is 7?" and Duff would be all, "Really?" and Ashton would be all, "NO YOU GOT PUNK'D, BEEYOTCH!!!" Do you? Man, Ashton totally stole that idea from God. God was always telling folks to kill their oldest son or whatever, and then, just before they'd do it, he'd be all, "DUDE YOU GOT YAHWEH'D KILL THIS GOAT INSTEAD, BEEYOTCH!!!" Now your child can role-play God's greatest Punk of all with the Job Biblical Action Figure. And when it gets run over by a car after your A.D.D.-addled twerp inadvertently leaves it in the street, you can chalk it up as faithful recreation of God's torment of his most devoted follower, rather than simply the result of an ungrateful child thoughtlessly destroying the toys you busted your hump to buy him.
* * *
In the eyes of today's jaded kids, everything in the world falls into two categories: things that are "Xtreme" and things that are worthless horseshit. Sadly, the traditional gift of an ant farm falls into the latter category. That's why you are obligated -- by law -- to purchase your nephew an Uncle Milton Ant Farm Xtreme! "Watch as live ants carve out rad tunnels... climb the radical rock climbing wall, challenge the ragin' street luge speedway and catch Big Air in the BMX biking arena," says the ad copy that I swear to God I am not fabricating. Ant Farm Xtreme! also features skate loops, a bungee ravine, and other "totally" "bitchin'" attractions that the old farts at Uncle Milton Incorporated imagine young people consider cool. And after watching his plucky band of Xtreme! ants toil endlessly for 10 straight days before abruptly dying for want of a Queen, perhaps your youngster will inadvertently learn an important lesson: When the cynical veneer of marketing hype is peeled away from our culture of consumerism, you are left with a society devoid of purpose, where "individuals" are little more than drones enslaved by the instinctual comfort of numbing conformity. It's antertainmentucational!
the rock bottom the sweet betrayal
How come no one told me there were streetcars in Toronto? I love streetcars! Are there other cities with streetcars that I don't know about? If so, you must tell me immediately. This is some crucial information I didn't realize I was lacking.
I feel this more and more. As though there is some knowledge that would make everything make sense. That would explain things I didn't know I needed to know. And I could figure it all out, if only I knew which question to ask. Or who to ask. Or how to formulate such a question. Just around the corner and out of reach there is something clear and beautiful; I can feel it.
two things i am going to do tomorrow for only the second time ever in my life
1. Take the train. Last time this happened: Age 12. My mother, 2 sisters and I took the train into Montreal to go to the Biodome. It was very exciting. The train is a great way to travel! Passenger trains no longer stop in my hometown, sadly. Whoever made that decision really sucks. Once upon a time the Boston-Maine stopped in my hometown. How cool would it be if that still ran? I could just take the train down to Boston for the weekend. Sadly, I do not have a window seat this time around, but I will do my best to enjoy the trip nonetheless.
2. Go to Toronto. Last time this happened: Age 4. We went to visit the Lapointes. My only memory of this trip is that I had to give Emilie a My Little Pony as a present for letting me sleep in her room. The My Little Pony had sparkles on it or something and I thought it was totally nicer than any of my My Little Ponies and I wanted to keep it for myself and I was so mad at my parents that they made me give it away. God, I remember that resentment like it was yesterday. As far as I know, Joey does not like My Little Ponies, so this won't be an issue this time around, and with any luck I will make some good memories of Toronto, to replace my bitter ones.
***
In other news, 17 years ago today my sister and I were lying awake in our bunk beds when we heard our next-door-neighbour, Joyce Parker, come over to tell our uncle that our dad had called her since he couldn't get through to us. (This was back in the days before the phone started beeping like crazy if you left it off the hook. I mean, we had a rotary phone and a party line, is how long ago this was. Remind me to tell you sometime about the party line.) We giddily ran downstairs in our pyjamas and rushed to the hospital to meet our new baby sister. She was very pink and wrinkly and small. Now she is taller than me. Seriously, being the oldest has no perks. Okay, except maybe how you get to see your baby sister on the day she is born. That was an exciting night.
two useful things i learned from co-workers today
1. The lights in light boxes, which are used to treat Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), are called "full spectrum" lights. Full spectrum lighting reproduces the wavelengths of sunlight and has a crazy number of benefits compared to other types of artificial lighting. It slows the aging of the retina and reduces the production of cortisol, the "stress hormone." Light boxes are really bright, but you can also buy plain old full spectrum lightbulbs to go in your regular light fixtures. They are not as effective as a light box, but they are still more beneficial than regular lightbulbs. They are not cheap (about 7 bucks a bulb), but they are way cheaper than a light box would be. The main obstacle to my getting them is that spending a hundred dollars on lightbulbs just sounds really foolish. But it would be worth it if it cured my depression, am I right? Now if only we could get these for the office, too.
2. Identity thieves usually wait about a year after getting your personal information before they try to use it. I don't know exactly why this is, but it would explain why, ten months after I lost my wallet, my calling card was suddenly used to make $50 worth of calls to Libya. The calling card was the only thing that I didn't bother to report stolen at the time, since I had never used it, and I figured since it hadn't been used, it wasn't a big deal. Oh wait, I also didn't report my SOCIAL INSURANCE CARD, because I didn't want to have to file a police report. Oops. It's just that I kind of do not like the police very much, you know? Nor do I really enjoy having a government file number.
But I guess I really need to either request a new number, or file a report, ASAP, before the Libyans rack up a trillion dollars worth of credit card debt in my name. (The bright side of this is that my credit is fairly poor, so a trillion would probably be closer to, like, 500. But, you know, with interest -- and the interest rate will be high since my credit sucks -- that could add up fast.) The down side of filing a police report is having to be nice to the police. And I guess then they would have my name and information on file. The downside of getting a new SIN is that it would cost me money, and I already have this one memorized. That would be five years of memory training down the drain! Either way I lose. Thanks a lot bureaucracy!
So, I am kind of on the fence. Which would you do?
my memory is muddy what's this river that i'm in
The day before I left New Orleans, my sister and I were walking down a street along Jackson Square when a grisly and disheveled old man with a painted clown face approached us. I forget what his line was, but he basically offered to make us balloon figures for free if we didn't tell anyone. This is a pretty good line, by the way. You offer to do someone a special free favour, you chat them up and make them sympathetic to you, then you hit them up. We did not want balloon flowers, but we let the clown-faced man make them for us anyway. I guess because he seemed to want to so badly. And we are so naive.
So the clown-faced man is chatting us up while he makes us orange and blue balloon flowers. He asks us where we are from, what we do, whether we are related, who is older, etc. My sister tells him that she is a student and he asks her major. It's psychology. "Oh!" exclaims the clown-man, "That was my major too! I did a double major in psychology and political philosophy!" Once again, proving my theory that everyone and their mother is a psychology major. My sister: "Well, I guess I'll be joining you in a couple years." The man then handed us our balloons and asked for any money we could spare. Man, I bet he regrets all the tuition he paid. Go higher education! Woo!
Later, my sister gave her balloon to this cute Chinese girl who was staring at it and that little girl's smile was maybe the most beautiful thing I saw in all of New Orleans.
on a more sobering note...
Happy (?) Montreal Massacre Memorial Day AKA National Day of Rememberance and Action on Violence Against Women
spamusement!
Poorly-drawn cartoons inspired by actual spam subject lines! Awesome.
this anecdote both bemuses and horrifies me
(For anyone in the world who doesn't already know it, Nora is Mimi's adopted Chinese daughter. Also, Mimi is the coolest mother EVER. Also also, in the same entry as the excerpt below she discusses her single handed efforts to make the porn section of the video store she assistant managed in high school specialize in anal. How can you not love her?)
"Nora (pointing to letters on a sign): W! X! D! A!
Coworker: Oh my god, what a smartypants! How old is she again?
[Mimi]: Twenty-one months. W and X are the only letters she can consistently identify. I'm not sure why she likes those in particular.
Coworker: Probably because they are the closest to Chinese letters!
Um, no. Chinese doesn't even have an alphabet. Also, Nora was eight months old at adoption---it's not like she was sitting in her crib in China reading the newspaper or anything."
Okay, so, sometimes ignorance is hilarious. I often forget that most people know next to nothing about linguistics and I'm just astounded when they come out with stuff like this. I guess it's good to be reminded that there is a lot of work to do in the information dissemination department, but man. It's also mind-bogglingly frustrating.
a fotolog after my own postcard-collecting heart
The postcards of the Keown-Boyd Family 1898-1922
I like to imagine that one day someone will do this with my postcard collection. Whatever would they make of XXX? Or of those cards sent by an anonymous Norweigian with handwriting very similar to Heather's? God, I miss Heather and her postcards. Now I'm sad.
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