relative humidity

i've never needed a cold can of beer so badly.
i hate to be the type to complain about weather, but cripes man, it's stickier than a mousetrap covered in tree sap.
muggier than... a .. guy getting mugged.
it's humid.
and i am Count Sweatenstein.
the walk from mid-Quinpool to Smith St. is not a long one, but between the tepid, vaporous air, the exceptional dryness of the inside of my mouth and the fact that my clothes felt like microwaved cling-wrap, it was an ordeal.
around the halfway home point i could feel a small rock lodged in the grippy pattern on the underside of my sneaker.
when i tried to jostle it free i realized there was something else on the bottom of my sneaker.
something squishy that was now smeared on my right hand.
too uncomfortable to confirm what it was, i brushed it off on my jeans, assuming it was gum or a dropped piece of food.
a block or so later when scratching my nose i realised it was dogshit.
most non-triumphant.
i thought to myself, i hope this isn't one of those nights where i randomly bump into a mysterious stranger, or an old friend, or my future self having travelled back through time to give me an important message, because this menagerie of unpleasant odours radiating furiously from my body is repulsive.
i needed beer now more than ever.
more than that time i was at that bar.
and home was still six, seven minutes away.
when i reached the unusually quiet Robie St./Spring Garden Road intersection i stopped.
there i was.
midnight.
at the crossroads.
waiting for the Devil to appear.
my soul for an icy can of imported beer?
tit yeah. take my watch too.
i waited, but he never showed.
he probably doesn't like the smell of dogshit either.

c'mon, God'll never find us in here...

i detest the menial things in life.
chores and maintinence. things like laundry, clipping fingernails, feeding Bone Jovi, cooking delicious trukey dinners, etc. etc. etc.
the 'everyday' tasks bother me.
especially getting showers.
it's boring.
in an effort to alleviate the drudgery i've started listening to music while i shower, courtesy of my ghettoblaster (that i've had since i was seven), which is strategically placed on the back of Le Toilet right next to the shower.
for the first week and a half i listened to Def Leppard's 'Hysteria' album (which i also got when i was seven). i immediately found showering more enjoyable but quickly tired of the sickeningly overpolished vocal harmonies. so for the next week i relied on the twitchy pop genius of Elvis Costello (via 'Armed Forces').
it worked like gangbusters.
(better than Suicidal Tendencies, which only lasted a day or two.)
i look forward to showering now, and i think i'm actually getting cleaner because of my need to scrub rythmically with the music.
so i decided to make a special 'Shower Mix.'
(while making it i realized i haven't made a mixtape for myself since highschool. i've made dozens and dozens of tapes for other people, but none for me personally. so believe me when i say that this little bugger is a Rock and Roll Grizzly Bear of a tape.)
scrub wit me.

side A:
-Van Halen - eruption
-Van Halen - ain't talkin' bout love
-Stephen Malkmus - pencil rot
-The Hives - abra cadaver
-Public Enemy - war at 33 1/3
-Holiday Snaps - diamond ring
-Tenacious D - explosivo
-RHCP - if you want me to stay
-Butthole Surfers - LA
-Sonic Youth - hot wire my heart
-Iron Maiden - the solo from 'Powerslave'
-Miles Davis - excerpts from 'On The Corner'

side B:
-Beck - sexx laws (Malibu remix)
-Jon Spencer Blues Explosion - brenda
-MF Doom - kookies
-North of America - central port of equal times
-DFA 1979 - turn it out
-DFA 1979 - romantic rights
-Sleater-Kinney - entertain
-Sleater-Kinney - rollercoaster
-Burdocks - pop cult

carwash 2005

i'm tellin' ya, there's nothing quite like watching a man vomit into his own hands and angrily hurl it into rush hour traffic.
it's summertime in Halifax again.

the super happy pee explosion

thank you, little Asian girl, for taking the time to pee on the floor in the lobby of my workplace.
just a few hours earlier i was thinking, man! what a beautiful day.
i'd love to mop up a small golden puddle of fresh urine.
oops, watch your sandals ma'am... that's urine.
and your mother, who knew full well what you were doing, when i looked up at her and she smiled at me, that just made my day. really.
i'm glad you have a parent who allows you the freedom to spray piss wherever and whenever you feel like it.
i didn't have those opportunitites as a child; my parents would keep me in one of those little 'harnesses with the leash' deals when we went to public places.
but you, you're one happy little girl.
it's always superhappy-fun-pee-time for you!
your mommy was even nice enough to laugh at me on her way out.
hahaha. bye now. haha.
i need a fucking raise in salary.
and a Swiffer.
and maybe an assistant.

Friday + Jager = carnage!

i love it when a seemingly normal Friday night spirals out of control and mutates into a full blown orgy of blood and hilarity.
things were fine at the bar, everything you'd come to expect from an evening on the town; punk rock, babes, Jagermeister, pushing.
it's what transpired the moment we left the bar that made it such a memorable night.
i don't remember exactly how it started, but an exchange of profanities began between Graeme and some hoods across the street. it escalated until one of them decided to run over and confront us. turns out this man was far too intoxicated to be running. about halfway across the street he tripped over his own feet, was airborn for about half a second, and did a high speed nosedive into the road. i've never seen a human face hit pavement with such velocity in all my life. his face was literally flattened. mangled. i will never be able to erase this image from my head.
and the noise it made.
gives me the fucking willies.
on to happier, yet no less bloody, terrain.
shortly after that incident we moved right along to (what's left of) the old infirmary. i know now that it is impossible for me to walk past an abandoned building while drunk without tresspassing.
over the fence we go.
into the hospital we go.
the usual wandering and hurling bricks at windows ensues.
as most of you know, abandoned, half torn down buildings are dangerous places to be, especially while drunk. but what's even more dangerous are the massive feilds of debris and twisted scrap metal that surround such buildings.
walking was treacherous.
especially for Graeme, who kept falling down on sharp things.
a lot.
by the time we decided to retreat he had suffered a twisted ankle, a head wound, torn jeans and massive hand lacerations. his right hand was bleeding profusely all over his jeans and shoes. (and since the blood was mostly concentrated to the area of his jeans that was badly ripped, it gave his leg the appearance of having been hacked with a machette.)
it was around this time that a friendly Security Guard cautioned us that the Police had been called because of the disturbance at the old hospital (ie: us). he gave us a hand getting a bloodied Graeme over the fence, and since the authorities had been called, now was as good a time as any to duck into ye olde pizza shoppe.
upon entering we were greeted with gasps and cries of concern. this made sense, because once he was in the light Graeme looked as if he'd been mauled by a cranky, robotic Grizzly Bear.
a slice of The Works would surely help.
at home, exhausted, we passed out watching Harvey Birdman outwit the insidious Vulturo in a dazzling display of legal agility and courtroom know-how.
fast forward to the next afternoon.
our superintendant gives a knock knock on the door. he's with two young ladies here to view the apartment for September.
i immediately apologize for the mess, as there are beer cans and potato chips strewn about the livingroom.
they're only in our place for a few minutes before leaving.
i wonder if they liked it?
probably not.
it wasn't until after they left that we realized some of our walls and doorways had inadvertantly been decorated with large smears and spatters of fresh blood.
poor girls.
i can assure you that we're good, sensible people.
just not on weekends.

this is the last fucking time...

..that i rename my fish.
i do it far too often and i have to buck up and just finalize it before he goes and dies of starvation.
he's approximately one year old and it's time to settle on something.
if he actually had a mind and a memory, and if i actually talked to him, he'd probably have a complex by now.
some of his previous monikers were:
-Neil Young
-Doctor Spock
-Rasputin
-F Dot
-Cats Pee Pee
-The Juggernaut
-Delicious Thanksgiving Turkey
but no more of that nonsense.
i've come to a decision.
his final and official name is Bone Jovi.
say hello everyone.
but don't you touch him, or i swear...

infiltration

that's right Daryl, i'd say between the two of us we probably inhaled about four or five pounds of delicious, airborn Asbestos particles.
ah, these old buildings.
i've alwas wanted a layer of poisonous carpet inside my lungs.
was it worth it?
for a free mini-flashlight with a half dead battery you better believe it was worth it.

i'm Charles Darwin, bitch. (a brief yet helpful study in Bus Survivalism)

mass transit has always seemed very strange to me. basically you're crammed into a very small space with a completely random array of strangers with absolutely nothing in common except for the fact that you're going somewhere. i think this is why people always act distraced on buses, being surrounded by strangers makes them a tad uncomfortable. also, even if you are feeling friendly, there's not much reason to be chatting up your neighbor since either you or them will be getting off the bus in a relatively short amount of time. and since there's no one to talk to, i have to rely on my imagination for bus entertainment. and nine out of ten times i think about the exact same thing: if something terrible were to happen and the bus was somehow stranded from the rest of the world, all of it's passengers thrust into a survival type situation, what kind of mini-society would this paticular busload yeild.

i know this is the premise of literally millions of terrible movies, books, television programs, etc. and maybe that's why i always think about it. from the moment i get on i'm scanning the crowd, trying to decide who my allies would be. who would panic? who would try to take control and lead the group to safety? that pouty brunette two seats ahead with the glasses and the Argyle sweater (let's call her Cecile), she looks pretty smart. i bet she knows first-aid. and probably how build a rabbit snare. it's good to get a feel for your busmates early on, just in case. but you wouldn't really know how anyone would behave in an emergency situation until it actually happened. and i'm confident that in the end, i would be the one to bring whoever's left alive at the end of our ordeal to safety.

i wouldn't stand up and try to take the lead at first. that would be stupid because you don't know what kind of people you're dealing with right away. that loud middle-aged fucker with the two cellphones, let him stick his neck out. i'm sure he'd be at least halfway competent. "c'mon everyone, don't panic. follow me into this snow cave, it the only shelter we've got." and that would be fine for the time being. i'd just follow along, giving the other passengers the impression that i'm compassionate, helpful and suprisingly level-headed. don't want to rock the boat too early.

my goal over the first few days in the snow cave would be to gain the trust of the passengers that i feel would be the most helpful in planning my rise to becoming the New Leader. stay upbeat and positive and they'll gravitate towards you. they'll notice your innate leadership skills and also your skills with a Bo staff.
"hey Cecile, who's your favorite stranded passenger?"
"i'm not sure Josephine, i really like Mike. he's so helpful and positive all the time, he just fills me with so much hope. and he's so deliciously scruffy."

now is the time to strike. human nature dictates that someone, for whatever reason, will question the current leader's capacity to govern over us. let this happen, don't get in the way of ugly politics. you know who your friends are. start quietly spreading the seeds of dissent amongst them. "i'm just not sure i'm comfortable with Hector being the leader. he's been so erratic and angry lately. i don't know if we can trust him."

stay in close contact with those who agree with you. a few clandestine meetings wouldn't hurt. "i'm thinking of leaving the group. Hector's gone mad. there's not enough food in this snow cave for all of us. we have to make a break for it. Walter, you're strong and good at carrying stuff, will you join us? and Cecile, we can't make it without you. you're the only one who knows how to make crude medicines. we need you with us Cecile."

then, under the cover of night, i'd lead my little group out of the cave and back to civilization, leaving Hector and his minions to quarrel and starve in their icy tomb. my week-and-a-half of scheming and manipulation will have worked perfectly and these people will see me as a Hero. a Savior. a Mighty Lover. and our story would be told a million times all over the world, a transmission of unrelenting hope.

sometimes on the bus i just listen to my discman.

clash of the (post-modern rock) titans

it's happening.
McRorie is opening for Beck.
they're going on tour.
on the West coast of America.
also set to open are Le Tigre, The Decemberists and various other painfully un-McRorie acts.
i can see it now, McRorie storming the stage to join Beck for an extended jam of 'Get Real Paid' or 'Beercan'.
this is the stuff of legends people.
today i start my Selling Rocks to Buy Tickets campaign.
tomorrow i hit the road.
see you in the fall.

the unmistakable taste of irrepressible logic

it's taken me years.
this 'balance' business just might work.
"it's not always a race to the finish line."
yes it is.
it's always a race to the fucking finish line.
you've just got to realize that you don't have to come in first place to win a prize.
there's a time and place to run headfirst and screaming.
look up, man.
survey.
react.
take names.
power roll.
keep mental collapse and physical collapse on separate shoulders and don't worry if they get a little sunburned.

endless conquest!!

since i'm bored, and brain has not functioning been well lately, i've decided to compile a list of my Favorite Villains of all time.
note: Darth Vader will not be on this list because, after seeing Episode III, i've realized Darth Vader is not really a villain at all. he's actually a misunderstood whiner who got chopped up by his best friend.
on to the list.

• the Nihilists from 'The Big Lebowski' - combine greed, red jumpsuits, threats of castration, a fiesty marmot and a girlfriends' toe and i'd say those are some serious villains. also: German.

• that guy from 'Pray For Death' - i forget his name, but this motherfucker is ruthless. he wanted that diamond necklace so bad he beat up the Black Ninja's wife. and her five year old son! and he snuck into the hospital to finish her off! pray for death indeed.

• the gargantuan egg-laying Queen Alien from 'Aliens' - biggest, scariest puppet ever. this thing is a Jabberwocky from hell.

• Bill from 'Kill Bill' - this one was easy.

• the Teenage Vixens from 'Revenge of the Teenage Vixens From Outer-Space' - all they wanted was some teenage lovin' from the students of Mayfeild High, but because of conniving Stephanie's jealousy over a Vixen's fling with Mr. Moreli, they had to go on a rampage instead. and by rampage i mean morphing into cats and turning drunken students into papier-mache vegetables.

• Luther from 'The Warriors' - the only villain i know with absolultely no motive or reason for severely fucking things up for everyone.
he just likes doing things like that.

• Heaven and Earth from 'Fearless Hyena 2' - they are two hyper-powered ninga gods who terrorize Jackie Chan and his village for some reason. mostly they just looked cool.

• the Flying Monkeys from 'The Wizard of Oz' - this is evil in it's purest form. and why i always keep my windows locked at night.

• Orc # 286 from 'Return of the King' - you know, the ugly one with the teeth and the sword. he was pretty evil.

• the evil History Teacher from 'Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure' - he was going to flunk Bill and Ted if they didn't pass their final project, thus putting the future of Wyld Stallyns in jeopardy.

cuttin' back

today i present to you a list of words and phrases that i use far too often. it is my goal over the next few weeks to exorcise these words from my life. let's begin:
exorcise
right on
booyaka
sketchy
totally
skeetskeetskeet
whasky
the N word
combosis
i didn't do shit
owned!
please
the T word
mangina
bulbous
for real
shit witch
mulligan
Beastman
alt-rock
ecclesiastical
whiney vaginey
splooge
anything with an "-izzle"
cromulent
cromulence
playa
tatties
from now on my lexicon will be quite limited. 'rad' will mean good, 'bunk' will mean bad and 'goo' will mean undecided.
end transmission.