...EXILE IN BLOGVILLE.

Type-Uh-Oh's!

2008-07-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

I had to write a commercial today for a herbal sleep remedy which apparently helps cure restless leg syndrome, insomnia, anxiety - even migraine headaches.
The product is called Natural Calm - the inventors of the product were going to appear on our station to discuss said product.
My job is to write the short and simple little promos for it - which air one week in advance to let everyone know about the show and to remind everyone to call in with their questions at which point the experts of said product will give answers, take their name and number and hopefully sell some of their product.
So I wrote the short, 15 second script - very basic - who/what/where/when/why etc...
and I submit it to production.
Standard procedure, no creativity involved - easy-peasy.
Twenty five minutes later our producer calls me with a question.
"Dan," he asks, a smile in his voice. "Um...what's the name of the product in this promo..?"
Puzzled, I answer him: "Natural Calm...why..?"
He laughs.
"That's not what your script says,"
I swallow.
"What does my script say?"
He tells me to stop by his studio and he'll show me.
I shake my head, confused as I make my way down, wondering what the hell I could have possiblly written that would warrant a trip to the studio because he couldn't just tell me over the phone.
I walk into the recording studio and he's there, chuckling - and hands me the script.
It reads as follows:

"Suffer from insomnia? Restless leg syndrome? Migraine? Tune in this Saturday at 11am! Derek and Susan will be taking your calls and discussing their exciting and revolutionary new herbal product - Natural Cock - and how it can help YOU RECLAIM your LIFE!"

Yes.
Natural COCK. Not Natural Calm. Natural COCK.

"Gee, where was YOUR brain today, Dan?" He asks me.
Sure I was embarassed - but hey...a guy's brain can wander, right?
"So..it's supposed to be...Natural Calm?"
"Yes..." I reply. "Natural Calm...rhymes with ...palm."

Insert mental image of hand job here.

So yeah. That was my lovely type-o for the day.

I guess it pays to proof read.

CIRCUS, CIRCUS!

2008-07-10T12:18:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy, busy week!!

WAAG pickets Shrine Circus in Windsor
Trevor Wilhelm, The Windsor Star
Published: Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Giant elephants and other wild beasts have come to Windsor, bringing with them the annual debate about whether the circus animals are tortured and tethered victims, or overgrown "house pets."

A dozen protesters with the Windsor Animal Action Group (WAAG) stood outside Windsor Arena Tuesday evening, braving rain and the odd insult to fight "animal abuse," as hundreds of families walked past to see the annual Shrine Circus.

"We get people who generally are concerned and had no idea," said WAAG spokesman Dan MacDonald. "They take a pamphlet, they still go in, but it's in their head. Then you get catcalls. You get people telling you to get a life. But since when is standing up for something you believe in not having a life? We just want to raise awareness that animals in the circus are not having fun. They don't have a voice, so we're being the voice for them."

This is the circus's 23rd year in Windsor. Chairman Terry McKay said the event, which includes motorcycle riders speeding upside down inside a giant ball, high wire acts, elephants and a dog show, raises money for the Shrine hospital in Montreal.

McKay said the circus will likely raise between $10,000 and $15,000 in Windsor this year.

"Every year it's getting a little harder and a little harder," he said. "There's a lot of unemployment in this area right now. It's pretty tough."

He said he didn't think WAAG, which protests the circus every year, has had any effect on falling attendance numbers.

MacDonald said he believes WAAG is educating people and getting many to avoid the circus. But he couldn't deny the hundreds of people walking past him to go inside Tuesday night. McKay said 789 people attended Tuesday's afternoon show, which WAAG also protested. Organizers were hoping to get up to 1,300 at the final evening show.

"It's disappointing a little bit," said MacDonald. "But at the same time it's more opportunity to get the word out."

Protesters held posters depicting elephants tethered to walls and tigers biting at their cages, with slogans including "The Slave Trade is Alive and Kicking" and "Cruelty is Not Entertainment."

MacDonald said WAAG wasn't there to protest the Shriners, but the use of animals in the circus.

"Elephants are known to be travelling in small cramped conditions for up to 23 hours," he said. "The majority of their time is spent in chains. They're motivated by fear. It's not natural for an elephant to balance a ball on his head or a tiger to jump through a ring of fire. These are frightening things and they're fear-motivated. You're not seeing animals acting naturally."

McKay took issue with some of WAAG's claims.

"A lot of their information, I don't know where they get it," he said. "They stand there and yell about the elephants being tethered. They're not tethered. They have a compound they walk in free. These animals are basically house pets. They're well taken care of. We have no problems with the humane society. They're checked three times a day."

But some people were listening to WAAG's arguments.

"It breaks my heart to see animals mistreated," said Sharlotte Long, who brought her three young children. "The only reason I'm bringing them is so they have one shot in life to see the circus, then they can choose for themselves."

Get up, stand up
Protesters enrich democracy
Published: Thursday, July 10, 2008
Whether you believe circus animals are tortured victims or coddled performers, you can't help but admire the spirit of the protesters who braved apathy, the elements and "the odd insult" outside Windsor Arena Tuesday as hundreds of happy families filed in for the annual Shrine Circus.

By forcing people to confront the morality of keeping majestic elephants in captivity and making them do tricks for human amusement, the protesters, who numbered only about a dozen in all, opened themselves up to abuse and ridicule. People don't like to think about such things on their way into the circus any more than they want to think about the morality of killing animals when they walk into a steak house or shoe store. It can be quite the buzz killer.

"You get catcalls. You get people telling you to get a life. But since when is standing up for something you believe in not having a life?" said Dan MacDonald, spokesman for the Windsor Animal Action Group. "We just want to raise awareness that animals in the circus are not having fun."

Terry McKay, chairman of the circus, which raises thousands of dollars for the Shriners hospital in Montreal, disputed the protesters' claims that elephants are tethered and motivated by fear, insisting they were treated more like "house pets" and that the circus passed daily inspections conducted by the humane society.

The hundreds of Windsor residents who breezed by the gaggle of protesters, ignoring them or chastising them, either felt the same way or chose not to bother themselves with uncomfortable thoughts about the ethics of animal circus acts. MacDonald said their apathy was "disappointing a little bit" but remained optimistic such protests would ultimately make a difference.

A thousand years from now, people might well regard us as barbaric for killing sentient beings for meat and clothing and for enslaving them in zoos and circuses for our own entertainment. Until then, though, these protesters are a minority in a meat-eating, leather-wearing world where everybody loves a circus. They deserve credit for taking an unpopular stand and forcing us to confront uncomfortable questions.

*I'll be on AM 800 CKLW tomorrow at 9am to talk more about this.
Listen live HERE - tune in tomorrow or feel free to call in and add your two cents.

Studio Lines
519-792-2559 in Windsor
800-263-2559 in Southwestern Ontario
*800 on your Rogers Wireless cell phone
#800 on your Bell Mobility cell phone
*800 on your Telus Mobility cell phone

KICK ASS POSTERS!!!

2008-07-08T09:52:00.000-07:00

Seriously...I think the posters for The Dark Night are HANDS DOWN the COOOOOLEST fucking movie posters since...I don't know...maybe Natural Born Killers. Remember those?
But these...holy moly.
Pure adrenaline excitement.
I'm not even a GIGANTIC Batman fan, by an means, but these posters...I have to admit...hook line and sinker, I'm SOLD!

Is it me, or are these not works of art?!?!? For real - this is a collector's dream come TRUE!
STUNNING!!

Hearts and bats,

daniel.

Another Live Television "oops" Moment...

2008-07-07T06:50:00.001-07:00

I'm sorry I haven't written in a while.
It's the whole "time is going by fast" thing...a billion and one thigns going on...I'll write more this week.
But for now...a good ole fashioned "live television disaster", courtesy of You Tube.
Enjoy!

Could Time Move ANY Faster!?!??!!

2008-07-01T06:31:00.000-07:00

Wow. So...it's July.
Weird. Hard to believe September is only a few months away.
Eight weeks. That's depressing.
But why focus on the negative? It's just weird though, the way time is moving so unbelievably fast lately.
A shitload of crap has happened since my last blog. All of it like, unbelievably orgasmically good.
Saw Liz Phair in Chicago. It was brilliantly amazingly. I can't even gush enough, so I won't.
Saw Chicago! Fucking kick ass city. Beautiful too.
If you find yourself there - go on the touristy architecture boat tour. Worth every penny, for real! I was against the idea...but I'm so glad I was convinced otherwise!
I also got an on-air job on 939 The River - which is a triple A station! I'm just doing vacation fill-in at the moment, but it's a great gig.
Super fun music, really cool people. It's just nice being on the air again, it's been a long time and I have to admit, I've missed it.
It's a good fit. We'll see where it goes...

A few years back (although it feels like a few minutes ago!) Kerri, Life Partner and I ...well...were having some "really deep thoughts" about "time" in general.
I know, it sounds pretentious, but it was a great conversation.
I forget who said it - Kerri or Life Partner - but one of them suggested that time speeds up - or at least has the illusion of speeding up, because the percentage of time we have spent alive and conscious gets bigger each year.
When we were seven or eight years old, summer vacation - that blessed two months when we got to stay home from school - seemed to go on and on forever.
That's because two months was a bigger percentage of our life back then. I mean, the average joe or jill, while we are conscious from day one - really only has coherent, linear memory from the time we are like, 4 or 5 - and even then we only remember key moments.
Amazing how so much of our life is lost to natural amnesia. Anyway, I'm drifting.
Two months, when we are 5 or 6 - seems like a longer amount of time because frankly, we haven't been around that long yet when we are that young.
When we are five years old - we've only been around for about 60 months.
So two of them...that's a big chunk of time.
But...being 31... two months, while still definitely significant, isn't necessarily as huge in the long scheme of things.
A friend's father once told me: "Dan...it speeds up. It ONLY speeds up. You think it's flying by now? You won't even BELIEVE IT when you are my age. It WILL NOT SLOW DOWN!"
And he said it with this...seriousness in his voice. This ..."amazement". I could only believe him.
It's only going to get faster. That's liberating and ...kind of terrifying.
Who knows where the time goes?
I guess it's going - right now.
*sigh*

Happy first of July, brothers and sisters.

Hearts and farts,

Dan

Bang! Bang! ooh! aahh!

2008-06-23T05:20:00.000-07:00

They're the biggest fireworks display in ALL of North America and they're happening in our backyard, tonight at Windsor's Riverfront, overlooking the Detroit river.
I'm majorly excited because for the very first time - I get to view them completely obstruction free.
For the first 15 years of my life, I would watch them from a 5th floor apartment balconey at my grandmother's place. Her apartment is just North of Ottawa street.
For people who don't know the area...it's kind of far from the River. Really far.
Sure you get a view of the river...but, from that distance, they look more like mini-explosions in the sky. Farts in the wind, if you will.
Poofs of colour, much of if sheilded by trees and other buildings.
Five floors is, afterall, not that high, but it was always more of a "party atmosphere"...my aunt and cousins would come over. We'd eat cheesies. We'd drink pop. We got to stay up late. And it always happened on the final day of school...so it was very much a "It's SUUUUMMMMER" type of vibe. A party. A big summer celebration.
When I was a teenager I started sneaking peach schnappes in my water bottle and heading down to the river with my pot-smoking hippy friends. We always got there late.
We'd ride a few rides at the Freedom Fest and then find a tree to park our drunk asses under just in time for the big Boom-Booms.
Turns out - the tree we always parked our asses under covered the whole show.
So yeah - the banging and booming was loud. The sky would light up with colour...but the fireworks themselves?
THey were just sparks, trails from the big colourful ka-booms, which sadly, we couldn't see.
Last year, when we were living in Victoria Parkplace (then the tallest building in Windsor) I was delighted to see that the building was hosting a ROOFTOP party on Fireworks night.
I was extremely excited. Vicotira Parkplace overlooked the River...just a few short blocks from it.
Being 33 floors up in the air - basically dead center to the launching point...it was an exciting idea.
Prime seats.
Well...we ended up going camping that weekend, which was far more fun...but a little part of me wept.
It was my first year not seeing the fireworks.
This year however, seeing as everything else is pretty much happening in technicolor, we get to experience this show in an entirely NEW way...and I have this little gut feeling in my belly (where else would you get a gut feeling?) that it's gearing up to be the best yet.
Life Partner's work is having a big dinner at the Clearly Auditorium (St.Clair Centre for the Arts) - and get this: The building is ON Riverside Drive - and has one wall which is a GIGANTIC WINDOW over-looking what is basically ground zero for the fireworks explosions!!
How effing COOL is that?
So, tonight - it will be me, Life Partner, julie and people from their work - all soiree-ing it up, eating yummy food, drinking fun summer drinks - with FRONT ROW box seats (probably the best seats in Windsor!) to the largest fireworks display in North America!
I'm sooo bloody excited.
I'm seriously worrying about stupid things like "What am I gonna wear? I have to look GOOD for the Fireworks!"
In truth, I'll probably slap on my usual shirt that I wear to ANY and ALL public functions and I'll be half in the bag after 1 wildberry cooler, but hey!
What the fuck?
It's firework night.

Hearts and colourful, explosive farts..

KA-BANG!

dan

The Second Coming.

2008-06-21T07:59:00.000-07:00

The Longest Day

2008-06-20T11:42:00.000-07:00

Happy Summer Folks.

Tonight is the night is the night is the night is the night is the night.
Summer Solstice.
And it's good to be home. Everything I love about summer is in full bloom this year, because we missed all of it last year.
This time last year we were stuck inside an apartment.
Tonight, we'll be in the backyard while the sun makes that final, slow journey over the tropic of cancer to hang there like a big, motionless ball of fire a few seconds longer than normal.
So - Cheers! To Johnny Hornyak, my old neighbour who taught me all about the longest day of the year 20-something years ago when we got drunk on his porch.
Him with straight whiskey - me on Orange Crush.
"We're getting drunk!" He said. "For the longest day of summer!"
After this...all the days start getting shorter.
Tonight - it doesn't get any more SUMMER than this.
It's a celebration...and a goodbye. The longest day of the year...and tomorrow...second by second...night time starts creeping up again, inching us reluctantly towards Fall.
It's both thrilling and depressing.
But, call for a party either way.

Summer's here kids.

Dan

Living the Dream...solo.

2008-06-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

I’ve always fantasized about living alone.
Ever since I was a child.
If I lived alone, I thought, I’d blare my music as loud as I want.
I’d watch whatever I wanted on television…rent any movie in the world – the weirder the better! I’d cook myself ANYTHING I damn well pleased for dinner.
Stay up as late as I want!
Go to the bathroom with the door WIDE OPEN!
Take a 4 hour bath and finish an entire novel, completely uninterrupted.
Ah, freedom.
This is not to say I was raised in a strict home by parents who wouldn’t let me do any of this – nor does it mean Life Partner keeps me tied up in a closet upstairs – only allowing me out from 9 to 5 to work,
and then: “Back in your closet with you!”
No.
I can do whatever I want and come and go as I please…but…there’s something about being alone that makes it different.
Something about not having to ask to blare the music. Something about not having to worry that someone might not like barbecued tofu, marinated in Thai peanut sauce.
Something about deciding to up and go for a one hour walk and stop at a café and have a glass of wine – solo – and then go home to an empty house…
Something.
The last four days – I got to live that fantasy.
Life Partner went away to Niagara Falls for work and I stayed home. I know, silly me for staying home.
The first 3 hours were awesome!
I did a few loads of laundry.
I baked my dad a round of Father’s Day cupcakes.
I cranked up the B-52’s and played all the annoying songs on repeat.
It was great.
Then – boredom set in.
I realized hours went by – and I hadn’t uttered a single word out loud.
“I guess I’ll have dinner now,” I said to an empty room.
Even Pluto the Cat was nowhere to be found.
“Yes,” I said aloud again, startled by my own voice. “Dinner. Dinner sounds good.”
I ate the most lonesome dinner in the Universe.
Brown rice with peas, a Tofurky sausage and lima beans. On the side.
I ate in silence. Alone. The sound of my fork scraping the plate irritated me.
The clicking and sucking of me chewing filling the room. I lost my appetite
I turned the TV on.
I flipped, mercilessly.
Fifty-seven channels and nothing on.
Fifty-seven channels and nothing on.
I turned the TV off and put my plate in the dish washer.
Quiet. A fan humming. The fridge running.
I stared at the empty house and the empty house stared back.
I went for a walk.
My second walk that day.
It was a quiet walk. I had to cut it short because I had to pee. I went home and peed with the door open.
It was nothing special.
I poured myself a Margarita and drank it.
I called random friends and left messages on all their machines.
I poured another Margarita.
There’s something hopelessly pathetic about drinking all by your lonesome.
I played on the internet. Scrabble.
I shut the computer off.
Fifty-seven channels and nothing on.
“I guess I’ll go to bed now,” I said, again – startling myself.
And something in the house snapped.
A click.
Could be shifting. Could be a serial killer wearing a frightening mask and armed with a blow torch coming to kill me.
My heart was pounding.
I was wide awake. Unable to sleep.
Pluto started mewing.
What was she seeing?? An intruder? A ghost? A fire?
Dear god, what if there is a fire?
I got up out of bed and walked downstairs, and looked out the windows, expecting to see a masked face staring back at me.
Nothing.
Then - a skunk sprayed. A first in months.
It was putrid. Burned rubber mixed with rotten onions. It filled the house. It was horrifying.
Me – alone – basting in skunk oil – scared, frightened, wishing Life Partner would call his trip short and come home.
It was 10:45pm. Three more nights to go.
I sat by the window and stared.
The hours and minutes dripped by agonizingly slow.
I tried to spend as little time in the house as possible.
I slept with the lights on – full on paranoia and phobia of the dark (which I’ve nursed since I was a child) came back full-force.
I rented a few movies to help lighten the mood. A Fish Called Wanda and Serial Mom with Kathleen Turner.
The DVD player broke.
I was abandoned.
I hated living alone.
I like to think I’d be one of those fiercely independent people who would thrive on his own.
But I’m not.
I need people. I need to have someone else in the house, and while Pluto is fantastic company, Pluto will only give me the time of day when she feels like it.
I am dead to her for 23 hours out of the day. I realize that now, even though I ravish her with affection, treats and cat-nip stuffed toys.
I maintained a steady diet of Margarita’s and semi-sweet chocolate chips the entire time.
I spent a few hours at the Gourmet Emporium. I walked down by the river.
It was all great. Freeing, sure. But – living alone and not talking – not saying a word – eating alone, going to bed alone – even watching a comedy alone…I hated it.
I didn’t laugh. Not once. Even at the funny parts in a movie. I acknowledged that it was funny, but didn’t laugh aloud.
Why is that?
Maybe I’m just one of “those people”.
The ones that do better WITH people.
My hat is off to all the people who live alone…sure there is something to be said about peeing with the door wide open…but I just can't justify the act if there’s no one around to get pissed off at me for it.
I'll forever be the kid who needs someone around to keep me out of trouble...and make sure the creeks and cracks of invisible masked killers don't come and kill me with a blow torch.

Movie Review: The Happening

2008-06-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

Ever since I saw the EXTREMELY powerful trailer for this movie, I was convinced it would be the panic movie to end all panic movies.
Perhaps a re-telling of the book of Revelation?
A gigantic bio-terrorist attack on North America?
A UFO causing chaos and disorder on planet earth?
Who knew? I was just dying to see it.
Turns out - M. Night Shyamalan made what is possibly the worst film I have ever seen. This is not to say it is "bad".
It joins the ranks of other "so bad it's ridiculous" movies like Poetic Justice, Higher Learning and Stephen King's Dream Catchers.
It's bad in a "They can't REALLY be fucking SERIOUS, can they??" kind of way.
It's bad in a "Seriously...who green lit this movie..?" kind of way.
In fact - it was so bad - it almost makes me wonder if M. Night Shyamalan did it on purpose, bitter at the progressively shittier reviews all his movies have been getting and finally decided to give us all something to SERIOUSLY bitch about.
This flick is a big "Fuck you" of a film, in fact - several times - you can almost HEAR the actors dying.

Basically - it's scene after scene after scene of groups of people doing normal, everyday things. All of a sudden, they start talking nonsensical...but with the horrific dialogue, it is seriously hard to decipher when this is - and then they look for the most convenient way to off themselves - like, say - allowing yourself to be attacked by a lion.
Laying down in path of a lawn mower.
Or just flat out bashing your head through the wall.
The zany adventure follows the travels of two wacky scientists - Mark Wahlberg and John Leguizamo and one really annoying twit played by a usually cute and charming Zooey Deschanel, who kept going on and on about how she ate ice cream with some guy.
Looking back - this is pretty much ALL she does through the entire movie.
Her role is almost completely pointless, she doesn't really do much of anything at all.
John Leguizamo doesn't shut up about math equasions the entire movie (even his final moment before offing himself is spent trying to figure out one of those annoying word problems from grade 7) and the most notable aspect about his on screen presence is his noticeably yellow front tooth. Why?
Fuck it - why not?
Mark Wahlberg on the other hand, is constantly telling everyone: "It's okay...I'm a teacher. I'm a teacher!" and sorting through formulas and theories, conjuring up ridiculously off-the-wall hypotheticals and calculating out what X would equal if Y was the square root of bullshit.
His facial expressions alone are priceless - the direction is MORE than noticeably bad - and the attempts at humour are so pathetic - that they actually end up being FUNNY!
Oh..and the mass panic? There is none.
Oh sure - the news is out that the world is ending, more or less, but that's it.
School is let out - but it's just like any other day. "Cool...we get to go home! SWEEET!"
There's no looting. No rioting. No end of days DISASTER.
It's like the public thinks "Huh. Weird."
I know M. Night Shyamalan is known for his scooby-doo endings - where he dupes the entire audience by pulling out some random "surprise" in the final moments of the movie and tying everything together, even if it is a loosely tied knot (see The Village, Unbreakable and Lady in the Water).
This time - it was almost as if he couldn't think of a witty ending, so he just said: "Fuck it, roll the credits!" and it ends.
When the cast is NOT running through a field in fierce winds - or searching for creative ways to kill themselves, they are talking about useless jibberish - including "hot dogs", tiramisu, high school boys with pretty faces and mood rings.
Yes, Mark Wahlberg wears a mood ring.
Why? Doesn't really matter and they don't explain it. But they point it out a few times that yes - he is in fact wearing a mood ring.
While I can't say it was the best 6 dollar movie ticket I ever spent - I do plan on renting this one again, even if only to laugh at it, scratching my head...wondering if a movie this stupid wasn't made on purpose...

Hmm...

My rating - as a thought-provoking end-of-days panic movie the trailer promised - I give this movie a ZERO out of Five.
As an excercise in shittiness - this movie deserves a 10 out of 10. A tour de force on the director's part. An example of a shitty idea made even SHITTIER through bad direction and zero imagination.

Summer-Size Me: Random Summer-Wonderfulness!

2008-06-14T14:23:00.000-07:00

Well - first off - a great big gracious thank-you to Matt for a VERY cool prize.
Looks like Exile in Blogville won this week's Pageant of the Transmundane, which is an ongoing, weekly contest he holds on his blog, Culture Kills.
Tres cool! We went to high school together - and as you will read on his blog - we once did a Family Ties skit together.
I was Steven Keaton.
He was none other than "Jennifer".
And if I recall, we were both VERY bang-on in our performances.
But a big thank you to him and his fab blog!
Check it out - here's my award:

It's gearing up to be a really cool summer so far, and it's not even summer yet! I always feel energized around this time of year - I think because we are approaching our longest days of the year. Something about the sun hanging up in the sky longer and longer each day...it's empowering.
But more on that later this month.
This past Wednesday Life Partner, my sister, Jeff and myself went to the True Colors tour in Detroit.
Playing was White Tie Affair, the Clicks, Tegan & Sara, Rosie O'Donnell, The B-52's and Cyndi Lauper.
We had lawn seats, which bummed me out - because it's so far back from the stage - but the weather was gorgeous so I sucked it up.
Anyway, before Rosie O'Donell's stand-up set, Cyndi Lauper comes out to surprise everyone and tells all the lawn people to come down and hang out in the Pavillion.
"Just come in...come on! It's okay. I asked. COME ON!"
Um...yeah - we scored fuckin' FOURTH ROW!
FOURTH ROW!

Seeing the B-52's up close like that...was mind-blowing.
That's one band who SERIOUSLY deserves props. They've FOR REAL been doing their own thing for over 30 years now - and so many bands owe SO MUCH to the sound they creating.
It's punk but it's pop. It's electro but it's riffy. It's INSANELY original and creative and HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY..it was just a great night.
Cyndi Lauper rocked as well. NO one can sing like Cyndi.
The night ended with a GIGANTIC balloon drop, EVERYONE out on stage singing Sly & The Family Stone's Everyday People - and finally - closing with True Colors.
It was energetic and exhausting. A star-studded FESTIVAL show that SERIOUSLY delivered.
Legends. Pure legends.
Last week we went and saw The Strangers.
Again - a TRUE horror movie that DELIVERED. It didn't rely on gore, it didn't have a hollywood ending - it just genuinely TERRIFIED and for once - the "villians" weren't some typical, stereotype.
A fucking SUPERMODEL - Gemma Ward - played the main villian...and she SERIOUSLY terrified.
TERRIFIED.
It used all those good old fashioned scare tactics like moving shadows, creaking doors, unknown territory.
The kind of stuff that gives children nightmares!
Sure Rob Zombie knows a lot about visualization and style...and while he can deliver a wallop packed with the kind of gore that hellish nightmares are made of - he can't come CLOSE to delivering the kind of tense, suspense-filled terror that a movie like The Strangers can.
A very well done, simple, lay-it-on-the-table horror movie.
Remember this? Becuase I've missed them!
Yesterday, I took the day off work, just cuz.
I went out to lunch at the Gourmet Emporium by myself, which I love doing.
I had a grilled-tofu salad which was deliciously spicey, 3 Corona's and I read my book in peace.
Fabulous.
After the three Corono's wore off, I went for a walk and hit Dr. Disc and picked up 4CD's - all which were on for like, 10 bucks!
Traveling Wilbury's Vol.1 (why I didn't have this album is beyond me - it's a pure classic), Goldfrapp's Felt Mountain (I've been so hooked on her latest Seventh Tree album that I just needed a FIX!), Imperial Teen's The Hair, The TV, The Baby & The Band album - which I only had downloaded (I know, bad me!) so I decided, since I am such a fan of the band - I owed it to them and myself to buy it..and finally - Of Montreal's The Bird Who Continues to Eat the Rabbit's Flower.
Of Montreal is just one of those bands who I kick myself for not getting into immediately. They are extremely prolific songwriters and they've pumped out quite a collection of recordings in a relatively short period of time...I'm overwhelmed! This is the third album I've picked up from them, and I they have yet to disappoint me.
And tonight? Well...tonight myself and some friends are going to check out that FREAKY new movie The Happening - which I really know NOTHING about.
I love mass panic, chaos "end of our days" type of movies - and this looks like exactly that. I hope it delivers.
All this - and the fireworks next week to look forward to. Life Partner, Julie and myself have a fancy-schmancy dinner that night, which happens in a pretty gorgeous building that OVERLOOKS the Detroit City skyline!!!
BOX SEATS to the biggest fireworks display in North America! how cool is that?
The VERY NEXT DAY we leave for Chicago to go check out Liz Phair performing Exile in Guyville in its entirety on the 15th Anniversary of the album's release!!
Then when we get back - we hit Detroit to check out Hayden at the Magic Bag - a teeny tiny little club! Our third time seeing him this year (I know, weird, it's not even like we are SUPERFANS!) but this will be our FIRST time seeing him with a FULL band - something I think will do his live performance some MAJOR justice.
All this...and it's not even REALLY summer yet...!
But so far, gearing up to be one of the best ones yet!!!

hearts and Summer splash-splash-splashes!

Dan

Crackin' a Bag-a-Chips

2008-06-10T07:34:00.000-07:00

Some farts smell like potato chips.
I've noticed this since I was a kid. I used to call them "potato chip farts".
Out of all types of farts, this is probably the least offensive. It's not a "bean burrito fart" or a "too much salsa" fart or an "oops, I over-did-it on the soy products again" foul fart.
It's just a generic, "I had to fart and I farted" type of fart.
I have a feeling that girls have potato chip farts more than guys, but I really have no evidence to back this up.
My first memory of the Potato Chip Fart was of my good friend Kelly, when I was about eight years old.
"Oh," I'd think to myself, after catching a wiff, "That's one of those potato-chip-smelling farts."
They aren't even BAD. Sure the notion that they were born out of someone's rectum is repulsive and make them bad by default - technically, they are really no more offensive then sniffing a big old bag of Humpty Dumpty regular salted chips.
Potato Chip Farts have pros and cons...one problem:
I'm not sure how in tune others are to the Potato chip fart...
This can cause "Fart Confusion".
See - I've cracked a bag of chips before - and instantly - I'm hit with an overwhelming smell of what I now associate with farts.
Instantly I raise an eyebrow, eyeing up whatever social function I am at - wondering which fucker had the audacity to let one rip and then just sit there, socializing, mingling - perhaps a glass of wine in hand - as if nothing ever happened, wafting in the cloud of their own fart, almost pleased with themselves that everyone else has to as well.
Then I glance down and I smile.
Of course! I just opened a bag of chips!
But then I'm worried.
What if someone near me has not made the correlation between farts and a freshly opened bag of chips?
What if someone else is secretly eyeing up the function, trying to locate the source of the fart - and they zero in on me???
"Look at that fucker, farting and stuffing his face with chips. No shame. No shame, I say!"
Fighting the urge to say "It wasn't me...it was the chips," I usually just walk away, quietly - resigned to the fact that I will be known as the guy who silent-farted the circle of friends at the party.
Of course - you can use "Fart Confusion" to your advantage. If you are at a party, and you have to let one rip - make a b-line for the snack area and crack a bag of chips.
The smell should absorb your real fart - and if anyone gives you any questionable looks, you can say: "Wow...have you ever noticed how much a bag of freshly opened chips smells like farts? SMELL THIS SHIT!" and then shove the bag in their face.
It's a great way to diffuse a stinky situation.
The other day, Life Partner - eyes slanted and enchanted from herbal self-medication - was going through a gigantic mound of snack foods like a hurricane. Suddenly, he stopped, mid-crunch - looked me dead in the eye and said - with disgust in his voice: "Did you fuckin' FART?!?!"
"NO!" I immediately shot back, furious that he would suggest such a thing.
Yes - normally - I am the one who farts audibly in the house.
As a matter of fact, in our 8+ years together, I don't believe I have EVER even HEARD Life Partner so much as lightly break wind.
It is usually me. Ten out of ten times in fact.
But when I am innocent - damn it - I am INNOCENT!
Before the argument escalated into a full on domestic 911 call, Life Partner burst out laughing.
"What?" I asked, sniffing the air, angry now, realizing yes indeed - someone did fart, which would make my plea of not-guilty that much less convincing.
I instantly assumed this was one of those rare cases where he actually DID fart - and he was going to try to pin it on me. I was going to have NONE of it!
None.
But Life Partner was now giggling hysterically.
"Nevermind," He said, pointing to a bag of Ruffles. "It was the chips."
See? Even I got duped by that questionable smell emanating from a bag of dehydrated potatoes and salt.
I discovered I am not alone in making the connection between the Fart and the Chip about ten years back, while I was playing one of my favourite games.
One of the ways I used to torture my friends when we were out at the mall was to stand in line with them when they are waiting to buy something - and I fart.
As soon as the horrendous smell hits - I say to them "I"m gonna go wait outside," and I shine the biggest smile possible.
My shopping-buddy is then left in line, standing in the fog of it, red-faced and boiling mad while everyone else in line assumes it was them.
Most of the time, they drop their purchase and leave, cursing the day I was born, while I kill myself laughing.
One time, I was with two friends - and I gave my token "I'll be outside line," and giggled.
My friend Nancy turned to my friend Ken and asked "What's he so smug about?"
At the time, Ken's nick name for me was Slutta. Endearing, isn't it?
"Ugh," Ken said, rolling his eyes. "I think Slutta just opened a mother-fuckin' bag of chips!"
I was almost on the FLOOR! Never before had I heard anyone else refer to it that way. I had tears streaming down my face.
And yes - my friend Nancy - she opted OUT of her purchase.
The second Ken said "opened a mother-fuckin' bag of chips" - she knew exactly what he meant, and she aborted mission and left the store, saving herself embarassment.
It's good to be aware of the Potato Chip Fart...and now - you are too.
So the next time you're at a party, or you're home alone or with a few friends or family watching some movies, and you or someone near your cracks a bag of chips...take a whiff in the air.
And then ask, with a dead serious tone:
"Alright, seriously...which one of you fuckers just farted?"
It's one of those small, simple pleasures in life - and it makes snack time oh so much more fun!
Hopefully - you'll NEVER look at a bag of Lays or a tube of Pringles the same way again.
There really wasn't any point to this little rant today. But perhaps the next time you're in a convenience store, or grocery store and you're in the chip aisle, you'll see MORE than just chips.
You'll see weapons.
You'll think outside the box. Or in this case, outside the bag.
Or maybe...you'll just smile a wee little bit...and think of me.
Whichever works!

Hearts and Potato Chip Farts,

Dan.

Exile.

2008-06-04T16:50:00.000-07:00

Some music - I am convinced - you just carry with you, like a tattoo, for the rest of your life.
It was my favourite album in high school.
And university.
And college.
Hell - I'm not sure if a week in my life has EVER gone by that I haven't listened to this album from start to finish at least once since I picked up my copy waaaaaaay the hell back in the early nineties.
This album has been SUCH an influence on me - it is even the inspiration for the title of this very blog.
The first time I ever heard Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville - I was on my back, on my bed, in my room staring up at the ceiling and I stayed that way, frozen, for all 18 songs.
I don't think I exhaled until the CD stopped spinning.
This is just one of those examples of an artist "nailing it".
Liz Phair "nailed" something with this record.
She wasn't "cute girl with the guitar" and she wasn't spewing out bubble gum princess girly pop, which unfortunately - is what the critics usually focus on whenever any female musician decids to bang something out, especially back then.
Of course, if women weren't blessed with hot looks - but were still talented - critics labelled them a dyke or "ugly as sin", with talent being their one saving grace (read: Patti Smith, PJ Harvey).
When Exile in Guyville came out - it was something a little different.
It was a plain-jane girl with stoned blue eyes, that kick-ass Fender Duo-Sonic II and songs that just tell it like it is for people who don't want any bullshit with their music.
It was something about her voice.
She didn't give a shit. She didn't care.
At least that's what it sounded like.
She didn't ascribe to any particular scene.
She was - her own deal.
A true Exile, in Guyville.
She couldn't really sing...but...yet...she could..
She had this flat, "I don't give a fuck" delivery that made me melt.
It sounded effortless...it was deeply personal, yet I could apply EVERYTHING to my own life.
How a 17 year old kid can relate to a song called Divorce Song - well...it's beyond me, but I don't think there is a fan of Liz Phair out there who doesn't see themselves in that song. Somehow.
It was empowering and self-depricating.
It was hilarious and bitchy, tongue in cheek and spot on.
And it all rocked. Somehow, it all just smeared together into one big sound unto itself - a masterpiece with slow piano pulses - and then messy, chaotic, made up chords - all strung together with this flat, low, but mysteriously brave voice.
I've never heard anything remotely like it before - or again.
The cover of the record left so much to the imagination. I really didn't have any idea what she "looked" like.
I remember staring at the inlay for hours. It was collage style - a bunch of polaroid pictures - some of Liz Phair...some were other people...strange, musical weirdos - Brad Wood...Casey Rice...her incredible band and production team...but no clear picture of Liz Phair.
I pestered my friends day and night to play it.
I talked non-stop about it, it was all I bought anyone for any kind of Christmas or birthday gift.
They were 18 songs I could not, no matter how hard I tried - get out of my head.
I carried the album everywhere I went.
In my CD walkman.
To work, to play on repeat.
The inlay was with me, in the back of my pocket in 1998 when I was involved in a pelvis shattering car crash...on the way to see Liz Phair.
The crease in the inlay, where my waist bent the way it was not supposed to bend, is still there.
The inlay made its way into Liz Phair's hands in 2003, and she fingered the crease, and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Oh that," I said. "Yeah...I kind of got into a car crash on my way to see you a few years back...it wrecked the cover..."
"Jesus christ!" she replied, and gave me a "are you KIDDING??" look and scratched her signature directly over the wrinkle.
It's hard to believe the album came out 15 years ago.
It's being re-issued June 24th on ATO Records with a companion DVD about the making of the record - and 4 bonus tracks.
On the very same day - in Chicago - Liz Phair will be performing the entire album from start to finish at the Vic.
Exile in Guyville...live in Chicago...the very same area the album was written about so many years ago. Guyville...in guyville.
She's never performed it in its entirety before...
This is a historical show...but so far away...
It's amazing, the way time passes.
Fifteen years.
I was sixteen years old.
She was twenty six.
Now I'm thirty-one.
She's forty-one.
We grew up.
It's just one of those CDs...a CD I was obsessed with in my early teens - when I kind of started to discover my OWN music...and then I held on to it like a comforter blanket all through my twenties.
You can never let go of an album like that.
I remember back when I was teenager - people making fun of me for liking her.
"She's bland. She sucks. She's all shock."
And now - many of the same people have written her off based on the fluffier stuff she's recorded since Exile in Guyville.
I seriously feel though - that this is full circle here.
And the music is dateless.
It still speaks to me today as much as it did when I was a high school kid, laying on my bed, staring up at my light fixture, focusing on the music...
I relate to it so much, it's seriously hard to explain.
I know where it's coming from.
This is an album that I have spent hours upon hours listening to, alone - during some of the craziest, wildest times of my life and it's always helped me put it all into perspective.
It sounds stupid and obsessive and cheesy - but I put this record on and automatically..I just feel SUPER great, super confident about who I am...anything bothering me just falls away.
Out of all the CDs that line the south wall in our house - I like to consider this one the quirky guest at the party.
The one that doesn't quite fit in...
The one that stands out.
The Exile, if you will.

*sigh*

FUKKKKK RED BULL...(A rant about The Breeders)

2008-06-02T10:10:00.000-07:00

So. The Breeders haven't toured since 2002.
I had the chance to see them twice that year, and they were probably two of the greatest concerts I had ever seen. They sounded stellar, they played a set list from heaven - perfectly sequenced - and to top it off - they were sweet, kind, gracious and 100 percent "nice people".
They smiled, they joked, they hung out with the audience and they sat down on stage and signed autographs for every single fan after their amazing set...both times.
So...when they announced their string of dates in 2008 - I instantly snatched up two tickets.
One for their Toronto show and one for their Detroit show.
The Toronto Show...- which happened in March - was a disaster. Click here to read about it.
We missed the show because it just so happened to coincide with the storm of the fucking century - a big ole blizzard.
It was a mess and I was devastated - but hey...I had tickets to see them in Detroit in June, so all was well.
The show was yesterday.
And it just happened to coincide with the fucking Red Bull Air Races in Detroit.
Windsor, being a border city - which has its perks - means we were SWARMED with people - all either coming or going from the U.S...blocking up the border...just in time for the Breeders show.
We had been studying the border times all day...trying to figure out when the best time to cross would be.
The races ended at 4pm. Doors for the Breeders were at 9pm.
We figured, 7 - 7:30pm...should be good.
All should be clear.
And - so what? If there is an hour and a half wait - we get there at 9 - just in time for doors...but there wouldn't be...so we thought.
Um..well, there wasn't an hour and a half wait.
There was probably a three hour wait.
Not since September 11th have I seen the tunnel crossing THIS backed up.
It was backed up all the way to Walkerville area!
That's our HOUSE!!
It was disgusting. We circled the area for about 35 minutes, and cars were just backed up all over the city trying to cross.
After almost 45 minutes - it became clear:
This was not going to happen.
Cars were not budging. It was bumper to bumper chaos...the stuff road rage is made of. How guns were not fired...or car bombings did not take place is seriously a small miracle.
Row upon row of cars, packed with angry, flush-faced, sun-drenched Americans who waited, motionless in their cars, running idle, sucking up gas - wanting nothing else but to get home...growing more and more furious as each second ticked by.
If I had a hummer, I surely would have plowed over all the cars - on route to the Breeders show - Kim and Kelley Deal's pure, sonic, art-rock heaven beckoning me...but...we only have a Neon.
Not even a Neon. We have an SX 2.0.
Smashing cars to feed the rock and roll slave that lives inside us - not in the cards.
We decided we had no choice...we were missing the show.
"Well," Julie said when she saw the disappointed look on my face..."At least they're touring...they'll be back around."
Except...I'm not sure if they will.
They haven't been in town for about 6 years.
Before that - probably 9 years.

They're probably 46 years old...not that this is old by any means...
But they aren't the most prolific song-writers - which is probably why the quality of their work is always so amazingly PERFECT...I could very well be 40 years old the next time I get the chance to see the Breeders.
And for what?
A blizzard and a fucking Red Bull Air Race?
Nascar in the sky.
Yuck.
I know, I know...a true fan would have sweated that shit out...but - it was bad.
We would have spent 3 hours at that border and got there JUST in time to see the roadie pack up the drum kit.
It was pointless.
So there we go.
"Rock and fuckin' roll, indeed."
*fart*
(no hearts)

Dan

PS - for the record - what kind of fucking tour manager schedules a show on a Sunday in a border city smack dab in the middle of the fucking Red Bull Air Races???
UGH!

Too annoyed to talk about this...but I'll gladly read your condolences.

Hold me.
Just hold me.

Tetris

2008-06-01T06:46:00.001-07:00

My parents recently gave me one of the greatest gifts ANY parent could EVER give a child.
My old Nintendo.
Ole NES.
Nintendo Entertainment System - and I am happy to say - Now, I really AM playing with power.
Last night Life Partner and I decided to throw in Tetris - and instantly - we were both hooked.
I forgot how much I loved this game.
Sure it's kind of the "geek game" of all Nintendo Games...hopelessly addictive, and I can't say it's MORE fun that say, Super Mario 3 or Contra (or even Metroid or Kid Icarus for that matter) - there is something about Tetris that is almost...meditative.
It relaxes me. Fitting in all the little pieces, stacking up a solid wall of blocks and then waiting for when the game graciously grants you one of those looong skinny pieces so you can slide it down and fit it in the tiny row you had waiting and get one of those big flashy "BLING BLING" double-whammy point-bonus things.
My brain and hands go into "auto pilot" mode when you put Tetris in front of me.
While my hands and eyes work on automation, manipulating the little pieces like they were putty - my brain goes other places.
I map out grocery lists.
I make plans to go to the record store the next day to buy such-and-such a CD.
I list songs that could make a good mix cd, and who I would give it to.
I write lines to use in poems.
Sometimes I even think of fun guitar chords.
Of course, this is all blown to hell when the game gets into the super high levels and the stress factor is kicked up 10 degrees and the music is blaring at break neck speed.
The - all my thoughts are blown to hell, and I'm snapped back into reality - I'm right there, with the game, scanning the screen desperately, clueless and oblivious to how in the WORLD I made it to the 12th or 13th level - but hellbent on finding a way to make it to the next one.
And it's over. Explosion.
The screen closes up.
Silence.
If I'm lucky, I'll get a rocket, blasting off into outer space - my congratulations for a game well played.
I remember once, when i was maybe 17 or so - I scored so high, I had this gigantic, ginormous rocket - it was huge - it took up half the screen...but only once.
Never again.
Usually I get the "middle of the road" sized rocket...the red one - it looks like a missle.
This is all gibberish, I am sure - to most anyway - those of you have never discovered or experienced the JOY that IS Tetris, regardless of it's terminally lame box and perpetual uncoolness when compared to the likes of Duck Hunt or Mike Tyson's Punch Out...but if you've ever been a Tetris obsessed nerd, I am sure you're nodding your head right now and you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.
Speaking of which...I can hear that Russian jig in my head right now, beckoning me to the television set, even though it's 9:55am on a beautiful Sunday morning, I'm fully bathed and I'm debating going for a walk.
But fuck it.
Tetris is THAT good.
And I also have The Legend of Zelda, it's gold cartridge glistening just as bright as it did when I got it on my 12th birthday, waiting for me to rediscover it's mythical and uber-hidden secrets...

*sigh*

hearts, farts and subscriptions to Nintendo Power Magazine...

Dan

STEEEAMMMY SUMMMER...MmmmmmmmmmMMMMmmmmm...oh yeah baby...Mmmmmmmm...HOT!

2008-05-31T15:46:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid I was TOTALLY obsessed with Robbie Robertson's video for Somewhere Down the Crazy River.
I'd just...stare at it. Totally amazed. A tiny bit disgusted too.
Something about him, sweaty, greasy, his bedroom eyes...his cheesy poetry - which was kind of cool...the weird red and blue lights...the strange bizarre mexican singer dude...it just hypnotized me.
I must have watched this video 10,000 times - it's one of those things, kind of like the Polka Dot Door - when they would like, show you what a crayon factory looked like...that I just had to stare at, I was unable to turn away.
While it is horrifically cheesy...something about it...resonates. Just a little.
Something works.
I used to love the part when he just flat out makes out with the chick at the end, if you don't watch the whole thing - at least fast-forward to the 3:08 second mark...i swear, it's the stuff soft-porn heaven is made of.
I remember thinking it was shockingly, unspeakably dirty...his big orgasmic "scream-sigh" as he starts like, sticking his tongue down the slutty juke box girl's throat...I had never seen ANYTHING like it.
I seriously thought it was the dirtiest porn ever.
And his delivery. His dead-in-the-eye stare at the camera while he lip syncs to his poem...and yes...that Mexican dude...who just keeps popping up...his strange, fragile stare at the camera...
And the whole black-magic thing...the voodoo mind-reading references...so unusual...I swear, this video and song left SUCH a mark on me.
I'm not even sure why it's on my mind so much today.
It's just spoken word glory, with zero bars up for shame.
Fucking great.
Oddly enough - You Tube does not allow the ENTIRE video to be embedded in blogs, so - here it is, with the intro cut off...
Enjoy it...just for old time's sake.
It's one of those "hidden gems" that is too good to be "bad" - and too fucking HORRIFIC to ever turn off.

PS - better turn on the A/C...we don't wantcha to get burned...
*sizzzzzle*
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

Night of the Vegan Cupcakes.

2008-05-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

Tonight I was antsy.
For my birthday last week, Anna bought me a really SA-WEET book.
It's called "Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World"!!
It's by these two kick ass chicks from Brooklyn, NY. Isa Chandra Moskowitz & Terry Hope Romera who claim to be "saving the world, one cupcake at a time".
Now, I'm not much of a baker. In fact, I've only baked a handful of things in my entire life - most of them under the age of 15 with my mom.
I was the helper. I got to crack the egg or lick the spoon.
That's it.
Anyway, I was bored tonight, so I decided to have a go at a delicious looking recipe that popped out and caught my eye.
Being vegan - most baked goods are pretty much out of the question.
This is not to say I haven't eaten them in the past.
Yeah. That's translation for "not a good vegan".
Or perhaps just "not a vegan".
But - for the most part - I don't eat that stuff.
At all. I've convinced myself I don't like it.
Truth is - I do. I just can't properly enjoy it knowing there are eggs and milk in it, so I don't eat it.
Tonight however...wow.
There are over 75 recipe variations in this book and if they are even HALF as tasty as the one I made tonight...well...you can count me back in as being an AVID member and resident of the baked goods department.
These puppies are 100% ZERO animal product but they are just as rich, fluffy, moist and decadent as anything ole Betty Crocker could ever whip up.
Ladies and gentlemen and all in betweens...I present: The Night of the Cupcake.
Or - La Nuit de la Petit Gâteau.
That's french. I think.
Start your drooling....now:

I made Peanut Butter Cupcakes. With chocolate. Oh yes.
Chocolate.
Do you know how long it's been since I've just flat out indulged in creamy, delicious, dripping, melty chocolate - tits to the wind, licking the spoon passionately, greedily - erotically?
A long, long time.
Tonight...it happened.
Oh yes.
It happened.
*insert sound of cigarette being lit*

A quarter cup of soy milk.
Two teaspoons apple cider vinegar.
Half a cup of NATURAL chunky peanut butter. The oily, sticky, messy, sloppy, delicious kind. Yeah - THAT stuff....

Two tablespoons of molasses...
One teaspoon of vanilla extract...
2 teaspoons of ground up flaxseed (I couldn't find GROUND up flaxseed, so I yanked out my um... "coffee grinder" (which i definetely NEVER use to grind up ANYTHING except coffee...never ever - nothing but coffee..never pot) and it ground up that flaxseed like a charm!
One cup plus two tablespoons all-purpose flour (I use the non bleached)...
One teaspoon of baking powder...
Half a teaspoon of baking soda...
And 1 quarter teaspoon of salt.
The measuring took the longest. The mixing was fun.
The pouring into the muffin tin - even funner.
I baked those bitches on 350 degrees for 24 minutes...and the result...well...I mean, come on - tell me you're not salivating at these pics.
I'm rather pleased with myself.

Oh. The chocolate, you ask? Of course. It's vegan - quick melty Ganache - also in the book. It's just soy creamer and semi-sweet chocolate chips (the non-milk kind).
Melted together. Whipped up. Drizzled.
I topped them off with 2 cashews (sorry, didn't have any peanuts!) and in the centre...a dark (vegan) chocolate dipped coffee bean.
Just cuz.
Peanut butter and coffee...fuck it! Why not?
...Right?

RIGHT!!

Maybe it's the simple, easy to follow directions in this book.
Maybe...I was a chef in my last life.
Maybe i was just feeling a little antsy.
Maybe...it was all of the above.

Regardless...these cupcakes truly and honestly - kick some serious ass, vegan-style.

Anna - Thank you for turning me on to the hopelessly adorable world of cup-cake-love!

Hearts and fartcakes, I mean...um...cupcakes...the yummy ones.
From that book. Which ANYONE remotely interested in baked goods should buy...seriously...

um...yes.

Yes indeed.

Oh yes.

*cigarette being lit...and I don't even f-in SMOKE!*

...Dan.

Bye Bye May

2008-05-26T05:12:00.000-07:00

Is anyone else wondering where the heck the month of May disappeared to?
Seriously. June?? We're almost at June? Already? So...it's summer?
More or less?
Anyway, summer is gearing up to be one HELL of a wild ride.
Starting with what looks like some really kick-ass movies coming out.
Like this one:

and this one:

and this one:

and yes, this one:

So...the question remains:
Who wants to go to the movies w/ me this summer????

hearts and farts,

dan

Whine & Cheese - the wrap-up!

2008-05-25T07:09:00.000-07:00

Well...the night rocked. It really did.
The place was jam packed and the energy was sky-high. So many people came out - it was like...humbling. Empowering too, for sure - but there was something humbling about it.
It was like...the night was bigger than the book.
I almost forgot I even HAD a book out...it just felt so great to get up and read all those poems to a room filled up with such cool people. It's also freaky when a bar is FILLED with people who know you. I guess, it is like having a wedding - but on a smaller scale. But - the merge of worlds - work, family, friends - even sub-groups amongst friends...all of them under one roof - it is exciting and exhausting.
I made endless rounds but I don't feel like I really talked to anyone, because it was just such a breakneck speed, the way the night flew by.
By far and hands down - one of the COOLEST nights of my life.
I'll never, ever forget the feeling, at least I hope I won't.
Words can't describe. So here's a few pictures to do it for me.

This was from the TV Cogeco interview. That's Joe McParland interviewing me - a guy who has helped me so much, always hooking me up with kick-ass places to perform - places where I would NEVER think a "poet" would fit in - but it always works!

Here's me ...up on stage. You know...doing "up on stage things".

Okay...it's kinda weird, signing autographs for friends and family - and I have to give props to anyone who has ever done it..it's not easy. Especially if you want to personalize it and not repeat yourself. I kept trying to think of quick, witty things to write - but it's PAINFUL! Maybe it would be easier with a room full of strangers, but friends, families and co-workers...wow. That's tough.
And my penmanship kinda sucks too.

That's Steffie Loveless and her bass player Norm - from Detroit. Steffie is a cross between Marianne Faithful and David Bowie...raspy vocals fused with sprawling, psychotic acoustic guitar - which I might add - she is a fucking SURGEON on.
Probably one of the most brilliant guitar players I've ever seen - and her songs are so bloody amazing - they just deserve to be heard by the world. And I hope somehow, someday they can. She's a true gem.

And there we are...after the reading was done, it was just so great to kick back and watch Steffie. The night was a huge success - thanks BIG TIME to Life Partner and Julie for running the "book buying booth"...and to all the amazing people who came out and made me feel NOT like a lame-ass poetry geek - but more like a rock star.

*sigh*

Hearts and Farts,

Dan.

TONIGHT! 7pm @ Phog Lounge...Whine & Cheese Release Party!

2008-05-22T12:25:00.000-07:00

Well...tonight's the night.
Everything is in place and ready to go. Life Partner and I both did "mud masks" to celebrate the event. Which starts in just a few short hours.
EEEKS!
If anyone reads this and is in Windsor and has nothing to do on this fine Thursday evening - pop by Phog Lounge - 157 University West - at 7pm.
See you tonight...and if not...well...

Hearts and farts,

Dan.

Before the Party...

2008-05-21T17:47:00.000-07:00

Well...tomorrow night is the book release.
It's been an insane week.
First with turning 31 and all. Tuesday I had my first ever television appearance, which was nerve racking. I was terrified of flubbing, stuttering, saying stupid shit that would ruin everything and make me look like a bumbling idiot.
I really have no idea what I'm doing, it's true.
Today I had my radio spot, which wasn't as nerve-racking because I've been on the radio before, and awkward things like clenched fists, stiff shoulders and shakey hands don't show over the radio.
But it's freaky. The interviews I did to promote the book - I was more freaked out by doing those than the actual night!
I am hoping the actual night will take care of itself.
Julie and Life Partner are taking care of the book selling stuff.
The food comes delivered to us.
People will either come or they won't.
I get up on stage and read for 45 minutes. Simple. I do that twice a month anyway.
Hopefully I'm not plagued by the shits or the hiccups, or come down with a crazy ear infection or a gigantic fucking zit breaks out on the tip of my nose or worse even, my cheek. One of those painful, under the skin mini-boils that just CANNOT be broken no matter how hard you squeeze.
The interviews and promotion part was frightening, because I consider myself a loose canon with that kind of stuff.
Not that I am wild and reckless - but I don't trust myself. I don't often think befoer I speak, which is a serious flaw. Sure - it can result in me saying some stupid bonehead shit that can be funny once in a while - but it can also make me look really stupid, which it has in the past.
Sometimes - and I think this is a nervous thing - thoughts just enter my head and they fly out. And then, not wanting to look stupid - I am forced to "go with it" or at least "work with it" and back-pedal my way out of whatever mess I just vomitted out, on impulse.
That's what freaked me out.
Myself.
Luckily - everything went well. The TV spot turned out great, or so I was told. Since it was live (even more room for catastrophic error) I couldn't watch it - but it will air again at 9am on Saturday.
The radio spot I immediately downloaded from the archives and listened to.
It was cool. And it's weird...going on the number 1 station in Windsor to talk about my book.
I was talking about how the book uses a snotty soiree as an analogy for the Windsor ARt scene...and I said "Arty parties..." and then the announcer said - "Yeah..you mean artsy-fartsy parties..."
And I stopped and said: "YEAH! Artsy fartsy...you know, I wasn't sure I could say FART on the radio..."
My heart sank.
WHat the FUCK are you doing?!?! You just said FART! You just said FART. YOU JUST SAID FART!!!
*sigh*
It's what I do, I guess.
I say fart.
It's strange. And fun. And frightening.
All my life I've dreamed about "being a writer". I never thought of myself as a "writer".
I just wished and daydreamed and fantasized about "having a book out".
And now - tomorrow it happens. Weird.
I've always been scared to hand over a note book. I have no problem reading a poem to someone...but saying "Here's a collection...go nuts..." - I usually have to leave the room, or make them read it when they get home.
The idea of a bunch of people sitting in front of me - reading and flipping through the good bad and ugly of that book....it gives me the shivers.
Then I have to get up on stage after that!
It's freaky. It's a dream come true and a worst nightmare. Clearly more of a dream come true, but - it is something that freaks me out.
I'm seriously going to feel like my dick is hanging out of my pants.
Vulnerable.
But...maybe free too?
Freud fans - do with that info what you will.
Tonight - I'm focused on picking the poems I want to read, picking "mingle music" to play before the reading - and I'm going to do laundry.
Tons and tons of laundry.
And then - a luxury bath. Just because.
Then - maybe a joint and a movie.
Yeah.
Maybe a stiff drink too. Just because.
Just because I'm in that kind of mood.
And maybe I'll fart.
Just because.
Just because that's what writers do.

Hearts and farts,

dan

PS - Lost 11 pounds on weight watchers since April 11th.

Portishead - Third

2008-05-19T07:10:00.000-07:00

Just
when
most
people
finally
gave
up
on the
notion
that
there
MIGHT
be a
new
Portishead album - the aptly titled Third drops on our innocent and unsuspecting ears.
I never thought of Portishead as an "easy listen". Sure - Beth Gibbons has the haunted-chaunteuse vocals down to a science and Geoff Barlow's beats are spot-on-tight...there just always seemed to be a wrinkle of..uneasiness, maybe even discomfort on any Portishead album.
Portishead does not make good party music. They do not make good background music.
I always find - when I throw a Portishead record on - I have to be in the mood to sit quietly and LISTEN...you can't talk over a Portishead record.
It will annoy you. At least it annoys me. But this is not to say they are an annoying band. I think they just carry a sound that requires your total, undivided attention.
The bonus: The songs were ALWAYS worth it.
The opening track - Silence - on their first release in over 11 years instantly had me worried. Whenever a great band carries a legend-like status based on early releases, then stays dormant for over a decade and then decides to release a new album - I always feel like they are jeopardizing that "legend" status by the possibility that they just might not have "it" any more.
This was my suspicion based on track one. Normally - Portishead track ones jump out and set the tone for the rest of the record by nailing the vibe so hard. A good track one can make an album. The flipside - it can also break it.
Luckily - this is not the case with Third.
While "Silence" is rather...uneventful, boring even - the rest of the album really makes up for any lost energy or nicked attention spans.
Track 3 - Nyolon - is when this starts to REALLY feel like a Portishead album. The relentless pulses, bittersweet moans and those unmistakeable beats...they burn slow and steady.
It doesn't sound like a "comeback gimmick" album. It sounds simply, like the album Portishead wanted to make. The logical next step, after the self-titled, even though there was a wee bit of a gap. I couldn't help but smile - listening to the song - thinking in my head "What the HELL took you two SO long?"
The song Nylon nails "that sound" so well - it's hard not to day dream about how much more effective the album would be if it were track one.
The Rip - heavier on strings and sounding frightening similiar to Beth Gibbons' solo work - is mellow, by far one of the most sedate moods the band has ever been in - but soon merges into a soft symphony of electrical beeps and bleeps - dream pop that flirts with electro and trip hop, but without being cheesy - even with lines like "White horses, they will take me away.."
The delivery sounds effortless, dreamy, nostalgic, comparable to the sound explosion of Asleep from Day by the Chemical Brothers with Hope Sandoval.
Plastic could have been a b-side from the band's self-titled 1997 release. Helicopter beats and scratches back-up Beth's ghostly wails with the perfect amount of buzz - and it fuses seamlessly with the epic, tone-heavy We Carry On - which contains one of the best musical breakdowns of 2008, so far anyway.
It could quite easily be a Massive Attack song...something from the Mezzanine era.
Deep Water is a broken down, mandolin strumming ditty - out of Portihead's usual realm and features a cracked and fragile Beth struggling with a few demons which obviously have NOT stopped menacing her after all these years. Borderline freak folk - CocoRosie style.
Of course, the lonely, whiskey-drenched torch song is accented with a deep, vocally enhanced set of backing vocals that sound like a juiced up barber shop quartet - and despite her shakey vocal delivery - she sounds 100 percent postive when she proclaims: "No matter how far I drift, deep waters won't scare me tonight."
Next is the schizophrenic first single - Machine Gun - which sounds like exactly that with its erratic beats and eerie riffs that make out like they were born during the Dummy sessions, but beefed up on a hearty injection of steroids for the new millennium.
Small is psychedelic and fuzzy with an organ for a heart beat and Magic Doors chills out like jazz on mushrooms - the calm before the electrical storm of the trippy finale Threads.
Portishead fans from days gone by should not be disappointed. This is a bold statement - but I'm going to say it:
This might very well be their strongest album.
Yes, stronger than Dummy.
There. I said it. And I mean it. I didn't expect to like this album. I didn't expect it to be innovative.
I expected it to be half-decent, a throw-back to 1994. Something to make me nod and think "Yup, not bad. Legacy - not ruined."
But it turned out to be so much more than that.
With all the hype this record has recieved - and with the incredible legacy (even though it was only 2 albums worth) this one had to live up to - Third proves these two creative sound mish-mashers are making music that is every bit as viable and important today as it was during the advent of British trip hop, way back in the day.
Third is their slow burning masterpiece, and it insists on flying under the radar - exactly where these two like to be.

Happy 31st to...Me!

2008-05-17T07:23:00.000-07:00

Well..it happens once a year, and it's happened again.
I'm one year older.
Thirty-one.
I am officially IN my thirties.
All last year, I enjoyed saying "I just turned 30".
I'd get big smiles - "WOW! New to thirty!! Uh oh! You're not in your twenties anymore!"
Now - I'm just in my thirties. Climbing.
Or falling, depending how you looking at it.
Thirty was a good year. That's strange.
Thirty.
As much as I truly don't HATE getting older, I still can't get used to saying I am thirty.
I still feel 25.
When I see people, I always think "Yeah...they're about my age."
But - they are probably 25 or so.
Not "about my age".
They're in a different age bracket.
The same way it took me a while to get used to it when we entered the year 2000 - to write the year starting with a 20-- instead of a 19--, it is very hard to write my age starting with a 3 instead of a 2.
And now I'm one of those people
One of those people who can say I'm "in my thirties".
One of those.
When I was 21, I remember this guy I used to see around was interested in me and he was super cute. I totally had the hots for him.
Then he told me his age:
"I turn thirty next week," he said, and kind of gave an embarassed smile.
Instantly: I dropped him.
Me? Dating a thirty year old?
NO THANKS! That's an old man, I thought.
Now, today - I'm older than he was at that time.
That's weird. I'm "that guy".
Of course, I don't think thirty is old anymore, (how could I?) but the twenty-somethings...I have no illusions about it - thirty sounds ancient.
Thirty sounds "established".
And while I am "established" in a sense - I have a house, a car, "Life Partner", a happy group of friends, a wonderful little kitty and a career that I'm having fun with, I still often find myself asking: "What do I wanna do when I grow up?"
I have no clue.
No idea.
My first book comes out next Thursday. It was far too long in the coming.
The second will not be as long a wait.
Career wise? I love writing for the radio stations.
It doesn't feel like work, which is a start - but it doesn't feel permanent. As much as I love it and as much as I could live with doing it forever without a problem - I still feel like there is something ELSE I should be doing...and I'm still waiting to figure it out.
It's taken me 31 years so far, and while I've definetely had no problem finding little projects to keep busy - in all honesty - I still have no CLUE what I want to do with my life.
If someone asked me: What do you want to be when you grow up - I'd answer honestly: "I don't know."
The same I answer I gave when I was 17, in my high school guidance office, sweating over the life-changing decision on whether or not to go to college or University...
And this is not to say I don't have any direction. I feel like I've always been travelling uphill - but in a good way. In a "things keep getting better" way.
People at work often say I was born with a horse shoe up my ass.
And sometimes it feels that way.
One of my favourite quotes - and it's kind of cliche, but fuck it - those are usually the best - is from Jim Morrison, his poem "The Movie".
Did you have a good world when you died?
Enough to base a movie on?
I think it's kind of an important question to ask ourselves. And it means nothing, really. It's not a validation of anything whether you do or do not have enough to base a movie on. I guess it's kind of a question of: "Are you satisfied? Are you happy? Did it go well? Did the plot hold your interest? Or do you feel like you've wasted your time?"
Define "wasted". I guess that's relative too, right?
Regardless - every year on this day I like to take a peek back and just kind of do a check-up on how the whole movie is playing out.
So far, I'm happy to say - I like it.
It might not win any academy awards, it may have a few slow parts - but - it's got a great soundtrack and ...well - I'm gonna say this without any ego: I think I'm really starting to like the main character.
In fact - I like all the characters. A lot.
So there we go.
Happy Birthday. To me.