My hero, Bruce Campbell

He kills zombies, he's Elvis, he made Xena watchable, he has a boomstick, and apparently, he can do all this and smell nice at the same time.



Oh, Bruce. Is there anything you can't do?

Gimme some sugar baby.

What I wouldn't give for some decent cheese curd right now

Ick...rain. Nasty, spitty, cold rain - the kind that stings.

And, of course, everyone in the City of Toronto forgets how to drive the second the first speck of rain hits the ground. Not that they were particularly stellar in this department before. (Of course, this observation coming from an as of yet not fully licensed drive herself - but still...) And don't even get me started on Toronto drivers come wintertime...

As a former Montréaler myself, I tend to get a serious hate-on for my adopted home of Toronto if I go to long without a little sojourn back home.

Lets do a little comparison.

Toronto: Hey look, a huge slab of rock fell off of the tallest office building in the city. Lets close one of the busiest streets in the downtown core for the next week. (This latest coming after this winter's 'hey look, ice is falling off of buildings. In the winter. Ohhh...shocker. Lets close the main highway into downtown Toronto for 3 days.')

((OK...Yes, ice falling off of the CN Tower is, perhaps, fairly alarming, but calm down people. The Gardner is pretty far away from the Tower.))

(((why am I so bracket-happy today?)))

Montréal: Hey look, concrete is falling off of the roof of the Big O (aka. former home of the Expos. Also aka. (for those who have already let my dear Expos fade from their memories) big stadium.) Cool. Let's get another beer.

Toronto: Well, it's just about mid-July now, I guess it's warm enough to put away my $400 North Face down jacket. Careful, though. It's almost August. Don't let it get too far away.

Montréal: I wear running shoes all winter.

Toronto: You'd like poutine, you say? Lovely choice, tonight we have a lovely variation fashioned from the rare Tibetan purple potato with a beef-cheek gravy and soy cheese reduction. The potatoes were peeled by vestal virgins. Only $120 per portion!

Montréal: You fuck with my poutine, I drown you in the St. Lawrence River.

(And with just cause.)

Toronto: Well, just because we haven't won the Cup since 1967 doesn't mean this isn't the year. Oh, wait, yes it does...

Montréal: Umm...I think 1993 is a little more recent than 1967...yes?

(And learn how to spell Toronto! L-E-A-V-E-S, say it with me people.)

Yes, there's stuff about Montréal that sucks too. Not as much as the TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) though. Who builds a subway that runs outside in Canada? Ummm...I think it snows here in the winter. Subway+snow and ice = bad.

This all stems from the hour and forty-five minutes that it took me to travel the maybe two clicks (click=kilometre, for any American readers out there. Kilometre=oh, nevermind, go look it up) from work back home today. Not only was I foiled by the closure of King Street due to the aforementioned falling rock incident, but there was also a traffic accident caused by the incredibly inept 'driving' of Torontonians. Then my streetcar decided to short turn, so I got to go stand in the rain and wait for another one...ARGH

What did I do in a past life that was so evil that I've come to deserve an apparent lifetime dependence on public transportation?

I want poutine :(

And Spruce Beer. And smoked meat. And bagels. Oh, sigh, Montréal bagels...yummy. And to be hit on by a dirty middle aged drunken francophone. Oh, wait - I don't miss that part.

Who am I kidding, yes I do.

So THIS is what 7:30 in the morning looks like

OK - something's wrong. It's 7:33 in the morning, and I'm awake. Not only awake, but coherent as well (look, I'm blogging!). I could almost be tempted to do dishes.

This is not normal.

I've started taking that melatonin stuff. It's probably some crazy psychosomatic thing, but it actually seems to be working. Look at me - awake more that 10 minutes before I have to leave for work, just like a normal human being. I think I'm actually going to book that driving test that I've been avoiding for months.

Interesting. However, if this stuff is actually working, then it's got to have some horrible side effect. I'll probably have gills by tomorrow.

But hey, if I do, at least maybe I'll actually have the energy to go swimming!

Boys in dresses are hot

I think that everyone should be exposed to the fabulousness of Eddie Izzard. Not only is he the star of the very excellent show The Riches, but he’s also a fantastically hysterical stand up.

Also, he’s sexy as hell. Granted, I have a touch of a transvestite fetish. (Of course, I’m pretty sure that all started with Tim Curry’s fantastic portrayal of the lovely transgalactic Transalvanian transvestite in the cinematic masterpiece Rocky Horror Picture Show). Mix that in with the British accent, and I’m just done. DONE, I say.

Anyway, why should I go on and on, when I could just give you this to watch instead:

poke

Everyone keeps poking me!!!

Granted, I bring it on myself. Someone started a global poke war against on of my friends, and I seized upon it with a vengeance. Poking people is fun.

But now, it's just getting ridiculous. Random guys that I made out with once at a wedding, that girl that I was tight with for about 2 weeks back in grade 6, people I'm not even sure I've ever met...

Fuck you Facebook! I'm covered in virtual bruises from all of this digital poking. I feel like the pixels are getting poked right off of me.

But I just can't help myself - I need to keep poking back. I WILL outpoke everyone!

I just have one thing to say about all of this:


Pokepokepoke
Poke…………….poke
Poke………………poke
Poke……………….poke
Poke………………poke
Poke……………..poke
Poke poke poke
Poke
Poke
Poke
Poke

……….Pokepoke
….Poke…………Poke
Poke……………….Poke
Poke……………….Poke
Poke……………….Poke
Poke……………….Poke
Poke……………….Poke
Poke……………….Poke
Poke……………….Poke
….Poke………….Poke
……….Pokepoke

Poke……………..Poke
Poke…………..Poke
Poke………. Poke
Poke…….Poke
Poke…Poke
Pokepoke
Poke…Poke
Poke……Poke
Poke………Poke
Poke………….Poke
Poke……………..Poke

Pokepokepokepokepoke
Pokepokepokepokepoke
Poke
Poke
Pokepokepoke
Pokepokepoke
Poke
Poke
Pokepokepokepokepoke
Pokepokepokepokepoke

Umm..Paper. No, wait. Rock!

Yes kids, I think I've found it...my destiny.

I will be the World Rock Paper Scissors Champion!

It's fate. The World Championships are in Toronto, my very own hometown. It's meant to be.

I was actually a moderately serious athlete back in the day. I coulda been a contender, all that business. That sport, wrestling, required quite a bit of physical exertion - not really my style. Then we have the next echelon, bowling, darts, pool and whatnot. All 'sports' that you can participate in while drinking. Which works for me. Unfortunately, these things all require some degree of aim, physical dexterity, concentration and/or practice. So while I may enjoy them, I really suck at them. (except for bumper bowling, but even I admit that's way too pussy to be seen participating in). Now this Rock Paper Scissors thing - that I think I can handle.

Maybe once I conquer the Rock Paper Scissors (shit, why is scissors so hard to spell? Stupid silent c.) world, I'll start the World Call-it-Heads-or-Tails Championship.

Forwarding - like Spandex, a right, not a privilege

Ok, seriously – who taught Grandpa how to forward? Really…

It’s cute and all how he prints out the schedule of the hockey games on TV and whatnot for the other denizens of the nursing home. He dug up some cool pics of me from when I was a kid, managed to scan them and email them to me (and hells no, I’m not posting them), awesome.

But – whoever taught him what the forward button does must be punished.

Mostly, I get stuff that’s just lame, which is fine. Mildly aggravating, but whatever. Pictures of puppy dogs or stupid poems and shit like that.

At one point, during the proliferation of all those birthday alarm & photosharing/networking dealies, I decided that it would be a good idea to sign up for one (and then of course proceeded to never again touch the stupid thing). And you know, after the sign up thing, there’s the inevitable ‘Invite your friends!’ plea. So, I think, hey, why not invite Grandpa. It’ll make him feel special, right? Apparently not, because what I get instead is a scolding email, from my 84 year old grandfather patiently explaining that he chooses not to register for such things because they will proceed to sell his email address which will then result in him getting spam. OK – fine, fuck you grandpa, I’m just trying to stay connected…but whatever.

I’m getting tips on cyber-safety from an 84 year old. I am a 21^st century digital girl. This does not make me happy.

But then – I get this great forward from Gramps, extolling the dangers of forwarding.

Did we all catch the irony there? You just FORWARDED me and email warning me not to FORWARD things!!!

The email, which was completely ridiculous, (big bold red text, ‘This is from an RCMP officer!’. Well shit, it’s red text, it must be true, right?), was going on about how when you sign a petition your email address will get eaten be spammers, etc. (marginally true, but they have much better & more effective ways to get your info than by pretending to care about saving spotted owls).

Of course, this prompted me to shoot off a quick, sarcastic note pointing this out to my Grandfather.

I just punked off Grandpa. By email. I’m sooo going to hell.

Look who's evil now!

Yea for Evil Dead the Musical! Or, woop woop, as we say in the Evil Dead Facebook Group.

Everyone should come to Toronto to see this theatrical masterpiece. Especially all you Americans who let it close after like 2 week in New York. Y'alls don't know what's good for you. What, everyone had to see Cats or fucking Phantom for the 37th time?

The talking moose is my favorite. :)

I'm still doing the Necronomicon!

mmm...turkey

I'm for some reason thinking that deep-frying a turkey for our annual Canada Day camping trip would be a pleasant and interesting diversion...yeah...this is bad.

But damn...deep fried turkey.

Yeah...this thought is gonna end up with me setting myself on fire.

Ha ha, Google, very funny

I just looked at my Google ads, at the bottom of the page. The 'relevant ads' that the Google Gods have deemed pertinent to my humble little blog are all about Procrastination!

Oh, Google, how do you know me so well!

Let there be lips!

Yea! I got to wear my fishnets and my boa!

Canstage is doing a production of Rocky Horror this season. Woooooooo! I just saw it for the 2^nd time. Ten times better the 2^nd time around. The first time I went, it was opening night, which is awesome and all, but not so much with the rest of the people there. Since it was subscriber night, there were far more little old ladies than one should ever see in the same room as half-clad transvestite aliens. This sweet little grandma-looking lady sitting right in front of us walked out ten minutes into the show. Not that I have any sympathy for that. Seriously, think about where you’re going for a second: if it involves half naked sluts, leave grandma at home. But whatever.

This time though, excellent crowd. It was an eleven pm show, and the crowd was totally into it.

Where else do you get to scream ‘Slut’ at the top of your lungs during a live musical?

Well, I'm an idiot

In an ironic twist of fate, I bought a parka today.

You'll notice some disparaging comments towards the purchasing parkas in the spring 2 posts down.

I couldn't help it. It was a sample sale.