Archive for March, 2013



“I know.”






I know. I’ve been busy working on one of those things – my applications for grad school. The first one is off, hooray! I’m now working on the second, which is an application for a Masters in Creative Writing. I have one week to finish writing a 35 page portfolio of fiction and a statement of intention and to organise academic letters of reference. I have about 15 pages to go and a shit tonne of editing. I’T IMPOSSIBLE. IT’S NOT LONG ENOUGH. YOU ARE GOING TO DIE. Shutup! I hate you cynical me! I know it’s impossible! I know I can’t shit gold! But I’ve got to try, goddamn it! I’m going to hand in 35 pages of something if it fucking kills me. Maybe it will be finger-painting but I’m going to do it.

So yeah. I’ve been spending every day in my salon, writing. I’ve been writing about this guy who wakes up in a room with no windows and no doors. I can’t recommend sitting in the same room every day and writing about a guy who goes mad because he can’t get out of a room.

Still got a bunch of posts planned as soon as this is over.

15 pages to go.

Wish me luck.


Read Full Post »

IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME BETWEEN AWESOMES. I got lazy and stopped writing these, but this inspired me to bring Awesome of the Week back, especially after the Most Bangable Princess guide I wrote a while back. My housemate found this video featured on Jezebel. Who is this kid? Here is the detailed biographical information I was able to mine from the internet: “Succeeding at YouTube. Failing at life.” You can read this exact text again on his Facebook. Anyway, this is awesome:

Read Full Post »

Robot boogers

ONE THING THAT I THINK IS AMAZINGLY UGLY is a septum piercing, especially this kind:


It looks like boogers. Like giant metal boogers coming out of your nose. Robot boogers.

Or like you had normal boogers, but they got really hard and you polished them.

Or like that ring that goes through a bull’s nose (which is why septum piercings are also called bull-ring piercings).

Why anyone would want these is a mystery to me. Look what it does to someone’s face. Here is a perfectly pretty girl:


Now here is that exact same girl with a septum piercing:


I’m still turned on. Yeah. But it feels . . . wrong.

I’ve seen a few OK ones. Example:


But basically this is a case of, she looks like she has boogers but she’s cute even with boogers.

Here is a worst case scenario:


Now I know I might have friends reading this with septum piercings. And I’m not trying to offend you. All I’m saying is . . . that in my opinion . . . which is totally subjective . . . You look like a cow with robot boogers.

OK. Bye.

Read Full Post »

Gym names


I wasn’t sure what to make of this advice. Did I need a gym name? Would it really help to motivate me? Did I actually want to be known as Kanye Chest at the gym? Tyrannosaurus Flex? “Grow some balls and just do it,” an inner voice told me. “Are you a man or a Claude Van DAYUM?”

tyrannosaurus-flex-23501-1289882712-5The advice came from a friend who was a personal trainer. These names were his examples. As Bruce Wayne had Batman, so everyone should have a gym name, a kind of alter-ego to push them to their limits. I was sceptical at first. But I had been pretty lazy at the gym. So I decided to try it.

It took me a long time to find my gym name. A lot of soul-searching. At first I contemplated the suggestions of friends: Hugh Jackedman. Rocky Buffboa. Harry Squatter. Flex Luthor. Lois Pain. Nothing really fit. It wasn’t me. Besides, a gym name is like a Jedi’s lightsaber: you have to make your own. For a while I considered Dumbelldore. But I’m not old enough. I don’t have a beard. It doesn’t make sense. And then it hit me.

Kanye Chest

Kanye Chest

I wanted something that captured the idea of strength, power and going against the odds. Something that would strike fear into people’s hearts. When inspiration came, it was like a voice speaking to me out of an anabolic steroid-infused whirlwind:


It said everything. It said yeah, I’m not the biggest guy at the gym, and yeah I really like breakfast, and second breakast . . . but I’ve got heart. Heart and hairy feet. It’s who I am. I have a fellowship around me, a fellowship of fellow gym goers, and I have determination and courage and an indomitable spirit. And I will slay the dragon of not going hard . . . I will drop the ring of weakness into the churning fires of Mount Do It . . . I will defeat the Sauron of Skipping Leg Day and gorge on the protein of my enemies . . . Nothing can hold me back, the Took in me is raging, I feel four feet five inches tall, like old Bullroarer, I’m going to smoke that pec-deck like it’s halfling’s leaf . . . You know why?

Because I’m fucking Bilbro Baggins, that’s why.

Read Full Post »


I PROMISED TO POST MY ATTEMPT AT A LOVE SONG, and I’m going to. My guitar, Tangle, is in guitar hospital, but should be discharged next week. In the meantime, here’s a disheartening conversation I had last night at work:


Hey! So let’s play a game. I name a country and whoever shouts out the capital first gets a shot!

Girl 1: What do you mean?

OK, well for example, if I said England, you would say . . .

Girl 1: Uuum.

Girl 2: Oh. I know this.

Girl 3: Isn’t it London?

I should have known something was wrong . . .

I should have known something was wrong . . .

. . . Well yeah. OK let’s stick to the easy ones. What is the capital . . . of the United States of America?

Girl 1: I don’t know. GIGGLE.

Girl 2: Is it . . . Ottawa?

Wait a second. You’re Canadian right.

Girl 2: Yes

And you think the capital of the United States is Ottawa.

Girl 2: I don’t know.

Girl 3: I think it’s Washington D.C.

OK. Wow. Thank God you girls have a friend who isn’t retarded.

Girl 1: We’re not retarded! We live in Quebec! We don’t know about the rest of the world.



Here is one for real now. If any one of you gets this, I will give you all a shot. And a car. I will buy you a car. What is the capital of Germany?

Girl 1: GIGGLE

Girl 2: Uuuum. Auschwitz?

That is a concentration camp in Poland.

Girl 2: Oh. GIGGLE.

Holy sweet Jesus.

Girl 1: It’s not our fault. It’s a problem with society.

You ARE the problem.





Is this real life?

Here’s a video:

Read Full Post »