sneakin' out the hospital

(ninja please)

Location: Montreal

Friday, December 29, 2006


New Year's Resolution for Myself:
- work hard, eat right, don't waste time or good ideas.

New Year's Resolution for Everyone Else:
- please, don't shit all over my heart.

Sunday, December 24, 2006

times are tough all around

the bored bone is connected to the Inter-bone and the Inter-bone is connected to reading random encyclopedia-type wikis.
because sometimes crawling deeper into the Wikipedia-hole is the only way to stave off the madness of naptime or actually doing something productive
so, here's a brief synopsis of the character Kelly Taylor from popular 90's smutfest Beverly Hills 90210.

Kelly Taylor: Brenda and Donna's best friend; Romantically linked to Steve, Brandon, Colin, Dylan, and later Matt and at the final show again: Dylan; Mother suffered from cocaine and alcohol abuse; Became David's stepsister; Had cocaine and pill problems; Was shot in a robbery at LAX and subsequently got amnesia; Was raped in an alley when attempting to locate Dylan; Was brainwashed and ended up joining a cult under the direction of a rogue university professor; Was severely burned during a fire that broke out at a house party filled with lesbians; Was on show for its entire 10-year run.

how delightful.
they sure don't make helpless blonde female role models like they used to.
so if you're feeling down or blue this holiday season, just think of our friend Kelly Taylor, and be glad that you weren't Brenda's best friend because Brenda was a total bitch.
also be glad you're not being raped by a cult of burning, cocaine addicted lesbians.
happy amnesia everyone!

Saturday, December 02, 2006

Teddy Facepuncher

I was fourteen. All my friends were fourteen except for one who was thirteen. Teddy Facepuncher was definintley not fourteen. He was only a few grades ahead of us in school but dude looked like he was twenty. Maybe he was. Impossible to tell. Not a lot was known about Teddy but these were the facts we had:
1 - He smoked. (We smoked sometimes too, but not the way Teddy smoked. He didn't use his hands, he just put the cigarette in his mouth, lit it and devoured the fumes, exhaling usually out of his nose. It wasn't dissimilar to how Cookie Monster ate cookies.)
2 - He was never more than a few feet away from his dirtbike, which was lime green, had crappily painted black lightning bolts on each side, looked a hundred years old and was louder than Satan's lawnmower chewing marble grass at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
3 - He was rarely at school (even though he lived exactly two blocks from the school.)
4 - He was always, always hanging out behind the corner store (which wasn't actually on a corner, but was called The Corner Store nonetheless.)
5 - He loved, loved punching people in the face.

I've personally witnessed Teddy punch seven people in the face. One was our gym teacher, who Teddy punched outside of a school dance. Most were just guys Teddy fought behind the store. One was my friend Marco, who Teddy punched for standing too close to his bike, (he cried). {Marco cried, not Teddy.} He was a bully and a villian in every sense. His games were intimidation and humiliation, and he played them with ease.

But by far the best/worst thing about Teddy was that his actual, real, honest to God last name was Facepuncher.
I shit you not.
It's in the yearbook.

This was the topic of many a weekend afternoon debate. Did he punch faces just because that was his namesake and he was trying to live up to it? Or was his ability to apply knuckles to the frontside of your head innate? Was he born punching? What if he were born Teddy Treeclimber? Or Teddy Sucksatnintendo? Or Teddy Highfives? Would that change anything?

The usual protocol for us anytime Teddy was near was to give him a wide berth. Cross the street, walk faster, keep your eyes down. It helped that you could hear his bike coming from several blocks away. I wasn't sure if I thought he was cool or scary or both or something else entirely. But that day in November, as we were leaving the store with comic books and matches and Jolt Cola, I became sure of one thing. I wanted Teddy to punch me in the face. I wanted Teddy to punch me in the face for four reasons:
1 - I'd never been punched in the face before, and figured if you're gonna go, go with the best.
2 - So I could prove to Marco that he really was a pussy for crying for so long after Teddy punched him in the face.
3 - Maybe getting punched by Teddy would transfer some of his cool scariness over to me and in turn..
4 - Impress Janine Miller/make Janine Miller feel sorry for me and let me put my hand up her shirt.

We weren't more than a few steps out of the store's entrance when we heard the familiar, mangled roar of Teddy's shitbike. I turned to Marco and asked him to hold my Jolt Cola. Why, he asked. Because I have something to say to Teddy, I replied. He gave me the same yeahwhatever look he gave me a hundred times a day, but he held my stuff for me regardless. Teddy had just zipped past us and was leaning his kickstandless bike against the front of the store. We were about ten feet away, far inside or usual sphere of Teddy avoidingness. I took a step toward him.
"Hey Teddy...", I yelled.
He turned and I assume he glared at me.
It was hard to tell through his sunglasses (that he was wearing despite it being gray and almost raining and November. He raised his arms from his sides slightly, striking a 'What the fuck, kid?' kind of pose.
I inhaled.
I exhaled.
"Eat shit, Teddy."

I couldn't see or hear Marco and the others, but i assumed they had scattered. Jumped the ditch and scrambled a few feet into the woods, where they could watch the murder from a safe distance. I couldn't turn and see for sure because my eyes were fixed on the angrt denim juggernaut barreling towards me. This was it. A few steps more and he raised his fist and I swear to Metroid the second before he launched it he was wearing the only smile I'd ever seen cross his face.

Obviously I hit the ground. Tits up on the dirty pavement. I could taste blood and everything sounded weird, noise warping around my head in some kind of arc like that time i slipped and cranked my head on the ice in the third grade. Teddy was still standing above me. His fist had landed on my left cheekbone/side of my nose. He looked down at me, taking a drag of the cigarette I hadn't even noticed until I was on the ground. Victory smoke. It was then that I realized why he'd smiled right before flattening me. Because I was giving him what he wanted most. A face to punch. I was helping him continue to be what he had always been. Teddy Facepuncher. And it was during this moment of realization that I decided to swiftly and forcefully bury my Velcro-sneakered toe into his nutsack.

Obviously he hit the ground. I hastily but shakily got to my feet and began to stagger away. My faculties slightly dulled and blood dripping from my face. I half thought about kicking his bike over but decided against it. When a warrior hucks a spear at you, do you kill his horse? When a Care Bear touches you in a weird place do you destroy it's cloud car? No. And why turn certain beatings into a death sentence. As I wobbily marched home, collecting noseblood and brainjuice on my sleeve, I knew that I had perhaps set something dreadful into motion. I'd have to be driven to and from school in an armored vehicle from now on. And my friends would probably catch some fallout beatings as well. Maybe Teddy will try to kill me in my sleep. Maybe I was dying right now. Maybe I should go back and call Janine from the payphone so I can touch a boob before I slip into a coma and rot away. Everything was a question mark now. Except for one thing. One thing that would stand as legend in this town for generations. The day the mighty Teddy Facepuncher was defeated by a brave and noble young boy. A boy named Michael Bagcrusher.

Friday, December 01, 2006

2006: live-wise (music-wise)

Broken Social Scene - this show was in Halifax during the hooplah-cane of Canadian musicality that is known as Juno weekend. which meant that pretty much the entire BSS super team were on-hand to crowd the stage; even whatsher-Feist. they played a pretty long set, including just about every song from their latest album. about halfway through i started playing a little song-by-song tally game. (ok...3 guitars, 2 trumpets, 4 vocals, 2 drummers, etc.etc.etc.). it was a big show in every sense of the word. towards the end i really had to pee but was afraid i'd miss my song so i stayed and squirmed and prayed. this gave new meaning to the words "It's All Gonna Break".

Chad Vangaalen - the first time i saw CVG was at the Pop Explosion 2 years ago; which i assume i enjoyed but barely remember due to excessive consumption. this time i was a little more sensible and it was a slightly more intimate venue. this guy is fucking awesome. strumming and shreiking and harmonica-ing and foot pedal drumming his weirdly catchy little songs all by himself (towards the end he was joined by some other players, but it was his stage, his law). an excellent show with plenty of babes who wouldn't talk to me. (Warning!! to the shitbag scenekids who'd rather stand up front horsing around to get seen than actually watch this guy perform his songs...i remember your stupid haircuts and i will make our next meeting impossibly uncomfortable and morbidly embarrassing. for you.)

TV On The Radio - these guys were great. packed house, lots of energy, great musicianship, interesting banter, catchy songs and even a shout out to Hall and Oates. one of those shows where you leave feeling totally fucking juiced. A++.

the Freaky Blind Guy who was singing "Hard To Say I'm Sorry" by Chicago in the Guy-Concordia Metro station - absolutely mind blowing.

Dinosaur Jr. - i was half drunk, half running, and all the way stoked-as-hell; just minutes from the Marquee Club and Dinosaur Fucking Junior; when i reached in my pocket and realized that i forgot my fucking earplugs. i could see them, sitting on my desk (well not MY desk really because i was staying at someone's place because i was kind of in-between homes at the moment, but anyway). i stopped for a second and weighed my options. go to the show and guarantee myself semi-permanent ear damage? or not go to the show and wake up every morning in a sea of bile and spew and preventable self-hatred for the rest of my days. so i did the responsible thing and stood a foot and a half away from the stage and got my ears reamed by all the songs that my ears have been begging to get reamed by since before i could sprout facial hair. it was feirce. the noise was punching my organs. J looked like a cross between Gandalf the Grey and a guitar with legs. fucking perfect. also, the ringing is starting to fade a little.