Watch What you Eat: The World's Greatest Restaurant

As my closest friends well know one of my life goals is to open the world's most successful pop culture inspired restaurant. As you all now know, I don't do a very good job of setting reasonable/productive/rational goals.

In order to bring me one step closer towards having my only idea of any reasonable value stolen, I have compiled a preliminary menu for the world's greatest restaurant of the future: "Watch What You Eat."

(In the interest of not having the entirety of my idea stolen, I have provided a list of Alternate Names that you can feel free to steal for your own pop culture restaurant: New Grill, Wok And Roll/Hard Wok Cafe, Once Upon a Tyme In Mexico. Hey Food, A-Nom Maniacs.)

This menu is not to be confused with the food offerings at my future world famous seafood restaurant located in Steveston: "The Seaward."

Breakfast Menu: 

Game of Scones: Choose your favorite scones from a massively complex and difficult to differentiate cast.

Perks of Being a Waffle Hour

Planet of the Crepes: "It was really delicious all along!"

Lox, Stock and Two Smoking Bagels



Act Fast! There is No Telling How Long These Scones Will Last Before They're Brutally Murdered.

Appetizers:

Lord Of the Onion Rings:
Fowlty Tower of Chicken Wings: Much better than anything american tv has to offer.
B for Baguette-a: Served with "Certified Fresh" tomato juice and jam from local strawberry field "Forever."
Butterfly Shrimpsons

I Bet This Gets Your Appetite Going

Sandwiches:

Heroes Sandwhich: The First Bite is Delicious, but things get a bit confusing after that.
The AV-Club: "We Give This Sandwhich a B-"

Hail to the Beef
Steak Me Home Tonight Sandwich: Credit to Dave

Asian:

Of Rice and Men

Sesame Street Chicken: Brought to you by the letter D, for delicious. (Not Actually Street Chicken.)

Pad Thai-tanic
Citizen (Chow) Mein: (Editor's Note: This is a bit of a stretch.)
Ong Bak Choy

Happy Endings (Desserts):

The Walking Bread Pudding: Suprisingly enjoyable despite it's lack of consistency.
Pie Hard
The Piano Flan
Sun Tsu's Tart of War: Great to eat, or to leave on your desk so that people think you are an intense strategic thinker.
Undeclaired
Almost Famousse
C.R.E.A.M. Puffs: Protect ya Neck from sub-par snacks.

"Move swift as the Wind and closely-formed As The Wood. Attack like the Fire and be still as the Mountain."

Spirited Away

Port-landia: Put a Bird on It with this Pacific Northwest favourite.

True Blood-y Mary

Wish you were Beer

Coffee Anan
Pineapple Espresso
Young Juicetice
Clockwork Orange Juice

Pub Fare:

Mariah Curry (With Nicholas Sage)

Silence of the Lamb Chops (Served with Rick Rolls)

Bangers and M*A*S*H

Vegetarian Options

Weeds: An upper middle class single green salad with a dark secret. Also, no discernable plot.

Soy Story
My Big Fat Greek Salad

"30 Days Without An Accident" -- An Abstract

TWD-04-01//10-13-2013-80%

This episode was commissioned in order to provide a table setting, macro-lens analysis of the West Georgia Correctional Facility (hitherto referred to as “The Prison”) in the months following the conclusion of the third season of The Walking Dead. In addition, this episode endeavours to jointly examine the complex psychological state of main character Rick Grimes as well as offer a brief short story outlining the desperation of those who exist outside of stable communities during a zombie apocalypse. This episode will analyze these themes primarily through an isolated B-plot vignette and a CGI-buoyed physics-defying zombie battle.

Gimple et al. endeavour to introduce complex themes of community, alienation, emotional detachment and kick-assitude of zombie smashing that, with any luck, will prove as pervading themes throughout at least the first half of this season.

Also, Rick Starts a Gun Farm

This new episode will work on the assumption that a television program about the dangers of a zombie apocalypse stagnates in an eco-system bereft of “cannon fodder” and recognize the rapidly stagnating nature of previously examined themes such as “humanity is the real enemy” and “sitting on a farm for an entire god-damn year is boring.”

In order to examine the complex and multi-dimensional impact of “community” this episode will provide the following points of analysis:

-          The desensitization and loss of innocence in the youth community in a violent and unstable post apocalyptic environment as evidenced by the seeming emotional callousness of that cute blonde girl to her boyfriend getting chomped.

Looks Legit

-          A comparison of the effects of loss and bereavement on the psyche of the individual between a square-jawed immaculately bearded former sheriff living within a community setting and a dirty swamp-monster ladie living without.

-          The fragile nature (and indeed added dangers) of human communities as analyzed through the lens of a crazy eye-bleeding mega-ebola virus.

-          Daryl is a universally beloved badass. Just...he is. It’s science.

-          Renouncing alcohol will almost certainly be the death of you.

"30 Days Without An Accident" is necessary in order to provide a narrative foundation upon which new showrunner Scott Gimple can introduce us to the world of The Walking Dead as he envisions it. Each new season demands an original driving force in order to propel the series’ cardboard cutouts masquerading as characters between seemingly random instances of horrible violence. In addition, this episode provides brief nods to the stylistic changes he intends to bring to the series including Michonne learning to smile, vaguely meta nods to the breakaway stardom of Norman Reedus and even more nonsensical action sequences.  

Providing a generally positive foundation for future drama, this episode provides no small amount of hope for cautiously optimistic viewers of the breakaway hit. Whether this episode will stand as another example of Lucy pulling the proverbial football out from under our stupid, stupid legs is yet to be seen but there is certainly reason to have faith moving forward. 

Still Not Sure Who (Or Why) This Guy is Though

Sauron, Base Master of Treachery, Furious at Depictions of Torture in "Fellowship Of the Ring."

Describing the film as misleading and "grossly inaccurate"  a representative of Sauron, The Necromancer, Lord of Barad-dûr and Base Master of Treachery has lashed out at the producers of the controversial film, "The Lord of The Rings: Fellowship of The Ring." 

The All Seeing Evil Eye of Sauron,
Furious at allegations it endorses torture

The spokesperson, known only as "The Mouth of Sauron" wanted to vocalize the extreme outrage of the forces of the Dark Lord at depictions of torture presented in the film. They're concerned that viewers across Middle Earth will believe  a series of extended scenes  featuring the torture of one "Gollum" to be fact. In the scenes, torture of Gollum leads to the discovery of the One Ring of Power which had been hidden in "The Shire" a remote hilly region in the west of Middle-Earth. 

Executive Director of the Armies of The Dread Abomination, and Cheftain of the Ring-wraiths, The Witch-King of Angmar has insisted that the torture of Gollum provided no information that was crucial in the discovery in the One Ring of Power. When asked for comment he responded: "In fact, it provided no information whatsoever. We were mostly just bored, and wanted to see how long he could hold his breath." 

Pictured: Peter Jackson,
the Controversial Director

In a letter to the Council of Elrond, The Nameless Enemy said that the "use of torture in the pursuit of The One Ring of Power did severe damage to the reputation of The Legions  of The Abhorred Dread that cannot be expunged. The film-makers and production studio responsible for this are perpetrating a morally reprehensible myth that torture is an effective means of extracting information and advancing the agenda of the Dark Lord. In truth, torture is merely an auxiliary tool for the extraction of information, often used as a tertiary mechanism for destroying the spirits of our enemies. In truth, the brutal occupation and systematic decimation of the local populations and rapine exploitation of its resources are our preferred method of making a population malleable."

Debate has been swirling of late about the responsibilities, or lack thereof, that are incumbent in being a storyteller. Many critics have pointed to the evident depiction of the efficacy of torture in the expedition of the discovery of the powerful artefact in the history of Middle-Earth. One film critic for the Barad-dûr Gazette  responded that "It just, makes us feel uncomfortable. There was a decade where nearly 80 percent of our population were vocal supporters of torture and the brutal annexation of our enemies. It makes us sad to think about that, so we would rather not see it all. If we do see it, it it would make our consciences feel much better if the storyteller changed history and presented it in a way that made it look like we were critically questioning the morality of our actions." 

Sorry, Wrong Movie

The producer of the film has remained quiet in the face of controversy only recently providing a statement: "I...but, you tortured him. Whether he said 'Bilbo,' 'Shire,' is surely non-substantive to that fact? Isn't it? Surely you aren't just using these complaints as a chance to absolve your guilt over a decade that resulted in the near complete moral and ethical degradation of Mordor? Because that would be a pretty shitty thing to do."

Rohan, or some other place. I can't keep track of this
metaphor any more. 

I Volunteer As Tribute: An Open Application to Mars One

Did you know that humanity is currently looking for volunteers, nay applicants, nay tributes to be our very first space colonists? That's right friends, the next frontier is upon us and I want to go to there.

Mars One, a company based in the Netherlands, has set up a very specific plans for humanities first Colony on our big red neighbour. They want 4 volunteers to engage in an arduous decade long training exercise/reality television show to prepare them for the settling of a land named after the Roman God of  War in September of 2022. Before The Situation, Kanye West, Hilary Clinton and Neil Degrasse Tyson call dibs on this opportunity to help shape human history I want to throw my name into the ring for formal consideration. I think that my family heritage, impeccable personal qualifications and general sunny demeanour would make me an exceptional candidate to help take the next giant leap for mankind.

A very little known fact about me is that my lucky number is actually September, 2022. When you're looking to put together a one way suicide mission to colonize a barren, nearly oxygenless, wasteland has to count for something.

But there is more to consider in my application than a simple numerological miracle. As a Canadian I come from a nation with a unique combination of frontier ruggedness and a lack of American "revolt against the motherland" history. Europeans have been softened by a millennia of living in real cities. Americans might have a colonial history but carry with them a certain innate proclivity for revolt. Both bring traits that could jeopardize the mission. Canadians are a unique mixture of frontier adaptability and resilience combined with a political herd mentality and almost puppy like obedience to confusing and often arbitrary governmental authority.

It might be reasonable to point out that I lack formal training in the sciences of medicine, engineering, aviation, geology, chemistry, physics, transfiguration or horticulture. I might point out that I also lack the liver damage that traditionally comes with an engineering degree, I'm not as boring as a geology or physics major, transfiguration is probably not even a real thing and doctors are overrated on a suicide mission. When we're all clearly going to die from an explosion, or all of our oxygen being sucked out of our space age hobbit holes, what use is someone trained in preventing infection or mending broken bones? For this mission we need people with a single minded passion for personal glory and nothing to lose, it's the kind of job that the Politics major was made for.

Much in the spirit of the above point, popular culture has taught us many invaluable lessons about the value of having a plucky, wildly under-qualified underdog play an important role in what would appear to be an impossible mission. When NASA sent Homer Simpson to space it was initially an ill considered publicity grab designed to secure enough funding to maintain a space program capable of making genuine advances in the eternal pursuit of knowledge. In the end, it was this wildly irresponsible, poorly trained moron that saved the mission from inevitable failure. What caused the problem he was forced to fix? We may never know, but if NASA had failed to send along the hero we never expected, but so sorely needed, who knows what kind of catastrophe could have befallen the crew? In short, I will take humanity to Mars, though I do not know the way.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I don't really have anything else on the go. Community, Happy Endings, and New Girl don't look like they're going to make it, Louie isn't on TV for the foreseeable future. Baby Boomers are currently squatting on all the good jobs, and I'm not handsome or gregarious enough to have any legitimate dating prospects in the near future. On the plus side, I'm just entertaining enough to make Mars One some spare cash by starring in their bizzaro "Survivor: Mars" reality show and I'm crazy enough to put my life in the hands of people who are willing to base their mission to launch humanity into the next stage of civilization by ripping off the plot of a Simpsons episode.

Also, if you let me go on this mission I will recreate this scene... IN SPACE:

The Never Going to Hunger Games

My funemployed status affords me the exceptional opportunity to consider some of the great issues of the day. I rarely consider them thoroughly, and even when I do I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I consider them well, but I certainly do consider them. As you’re all well aware, the issue du jour is the royal fetus, or more specifically, the possibility of there being royal fetuses.

Some folks have taken this opportunity to debate issues of trifling significance like the symbolic nature of a monarchy in what is nominally a meritocratic society . While I suppose the minor minds of our time can entertain themselves with questions of a strictly academic value I can’t help but feel that this question really missing the boat on what should be an issue of fundamental importance to all Canadians, what do we do if there are twins? More specifically, how excellently would that opportunity allow us to address the anti-meritocratic nature of constitutional monarchies?

I’ve heard rumour that in the instance of there being two royal fetuses that eventually become two royal babies the official heir would be the one that is born first. How much more arbitrary can we make the directing of God’s divine will than by depriving a potential monarch of their birthright over a few mere seconds?  I think that allowing a first past the cervix approach to the inheritance of entire British Empire is a sub-par method for choosing God’s chosen. In lieu of this antiquated method I have a perfectly reasonable—and undeniably meritocratic—ways to determine the future heir to the crown of Great Britain and its Commonwealth. 

The Hunger Games Method

Having recently watched the movie with my family, however, I can safely say that I am a PhD level mind in the universe of…whatever universe the Hunger Games is in. With that in mind, I feel like I am most ably positioned to provide guidance in the uniquely challenging instance of the royal uterus “doubling down” on the whole provision on an heir thing.

In essence, method one is built around the notion that the monarch most able to guide the British Empire back to prominence is the one willing to fight for it, literally. Before you turn up your nose I would point out that we basically use the royal family as a multinational reality television show already, and NFL/UFC/Vice-Presidential Debate ratings more or less disprove your “violence is bad and socially unacceptable” objection. As we all know, might is right and popularity is tantamount to moral legitimacy, that’s why Kanye West and Drake are more or less the modern day Popes.

My proposal is that in year 2031—assuming the world isn’t a nuclear wasteland where we have kids fighting each other for fun anyway— we have the two royal snotty teenagers fight each other to the death in a needlessly elaborate, televised, grudge match. Admittedly, this is a difficult to stomach option for our soft 2012 eyes and ears, but I suspect that the population that suffers through the impending octuple-dip recession will be a much hardier folk with a greater preference for pragmatism in lieu of mollycoddling weakness .

It will certainly be difficult for the anti-monarchists among us to argue that the crown was passed on to the next generation unearned. We also have almost 15 years of documented proof that the winners of reality tv events are veritable living Gods in the arena of public opinion. Who doesn’t remember Richard Hatch, Boston Rob, whoever won one of the Big Brothers?

Truly, we would have the leader we need, and deserve.

Community 101: The Locomotive That Runs On Us

Any of you that follow me on Twitter or are friends with me on Facebook (which, given what I know about the demographics of my readers means approximately %115 of you) might have noticed that I'm pretty upset by the recent string of decisions by NBC to try and destroy my spirits--I mean delay the return of Community. In the interest of full disclosure, and linguistic clarity, I've decided to offer you a lexicon of the major terms, phrases and call signs of the Community Memedom.

#SixSeasonsAndAMovie

The primary identifier of Greendale Human Beings, aside from being middle to high earners between the ages of 18-35 who are willing to do anything to save a show beside actually watch it while it's being shown on television, (that's a television demographics joke, for those of you keeping track at home) is this charming little slogan. While it comes from humble origins, as a throwaway sight gag during a clip episode, it has become a mantra for people whose biggest problem is the withholding of a television program for marketing purposes. 

This is, actually, one of the easiest to understand terms in the bizarre lexicographic menagerie of the Community world: it means we want Six Seasons and a Movie worth of Community, preferably  uninterrupted by hiatuses prompted by NBC's attempt to promote a buddy cop show starring a St.Bernard named Bernie O'Brien who talks with a heavy Boston accent. Given that Community is a multiple award winner and emmy nominated show it seems reasonable for fans to suggest that it shouldn't have to be in a fight for its life against a monkey in scrubs and the reanimated corpse of "The Office," but here we are. 

Proper Usage: "Watching The Office is about as funny as being told you have Chlamydia. Bring back Community! #SixSeasonsAndAMovie."

#TheDarkestTimeline

One of my personal favorites. The slogan that launched a thousand ships and a million mediocre photoshop attempts. Contrary to popular belief, The Darkest Timeline is not exclusively a potential piece of prophecy referring to a future Romney Presidency. The Darkest Timeline is a closing credits gag from  Emmy nominated episode, named after the patented NBC show selection methodology,"Remedial Chaos Theory." The meme is invoked whenever the show is put into jeopardy and references the fact that as we enter into a universe without Community we must be departing into an alternate timeline where everything is horrible and all hope is lost. As we drive a path into this dark and pointless existence, the fact that there is a perfect alternate timeline where we have eliminated system racism, elected Jon Stewart president and returned to a regular weekly airing of Community is comforting to people like me. 

This meme even comes with a convenient symbol, a black goatee. Now you too can wear the standing symbol of evil twins everywhere to signify your lack of faith in a loving God and passion for pop culture references in your relationship driven network comedies. To be completely honest, and particularly selfish, this is actually pretty good for me. Movember is coming up and, as I've mentioned, I'm completely unable to grow a proper beard for myself so now I have a plausible excuse to wear a fake one all month. 

Proper Usage: Community has been canceled, forget "The Road," this is clearly #TheDarkestTimeline.

Annie's Boobs

This one is a little bit more disappointing than our previous entries. In an episode of Community where the Gang create a Goodellas inspired chicken finger smuggling operation Troy buys a monkey and calls it Annie's Boobs.  Being that Annie is a character with boobs, as well as a monkey, hilarity ensued. While the premise of the gag is absolute comedic genius, I understand the utility of this particular term is probably limited. It's helpful for the uninitiated to understand that Annie's Boobs can be a useful designator anatomically  OR zoologically,  if you find it difficult to differentiate between a monkey and female breasts during a conversation you're doing one or both of them horribly wrong. In spite of this, an explanation gives me a great opportunity to shoehorn an Alison Brie gif into this blog post which, based on polling, is the single greatest way to drive traffic in the history of the internet. 

October 19th

Our final entry in the list of things that the Internet is going to be yelling at you about also continues the trend of Community fans bizarre temporality fetish, October 19th. I'm going to offer this up as advanced warning, sometime in January when all of your cool friends start tweeting and Facebook posting about how January 17th is suddenly October 19th you'll thank me. The origins of this particular meme stem from the above video, where the Community gang offer an uplifting message that, no matter when the show comes back, it will be October 19th. 

A cute, hopeful, and funny message presented in a vaguely stockholm syndrome-y way. I can hardly imagine a better way to explain the relationship between Community and it's fans. 

And that, ladies and gentleman, is my brief introductory course in some of Community's more popular memes. Now, go watch the show and, for the love of God, when it comes back on television watch it. Us middle-class, college educated tv snobs have life hard enough without our favorite show being pulled out from under us.

Why I Need A Dog: The Jed Chronicles Volume 1

You cannot even begin to fathom how badly I want a dog. I know you think you want a dog (unless you want a cat, in which case you need to give your head a shake) but before you strap your big kid pants on and bring yourself into this equation you need to ask yourself a few important questions:

Take A long hard look at the light blue lips
of madness and consider that answer again.

1. Are you willing to fight me for a dog? My math skills aren't exactly streets ahead, but I've calculated my odds of trying to bully you into giving up on your doggy dreams at 100%. I'm going to find some way to force you to drop it, and I won't remove physical intimidation from my list of possible strategies. The reason is simple, there is a finite number of dogs in the world and every one you take lowers my odds of getting my dog. I know it only lowers those odds infinitesimally, but that won't stop me. Doubt it? Before you answer that you need to decide if you're willing to push a man who thinks Ke$ha qualifies as great music? Are You?




2. I already know exactly what kind of dog I want and we belong together. When the stars align and I get my Golden English Labrador-Retriever named after the greatest imaginary president in American History, Jed, the world will be, quite simply, a more correct place. One of the world's many tragedies is that I have been forced to live 22 years apart from my spirit animal. Another? That the world has been deprived of seeing me frolic around with an English Labrador Retriever. They're like a slightly lazier version of the smartest, cutest, most awesomest animal on the planet. It's like they genetically engineered a dog version of me. How does your piddly little "want" compare to a compulsion on the part of the entire world to right this current, perverse, anti-equilibrium?

3. I'm really lonely, and I probably need this more than you. (Imagine that being said in a tough/manly voice.)

I cannot impress upon you how adorable the world would be if I had a little/big/old/really-any-sort-at-all Golden English Labrador-Retriever. This is the kind of cute that gets hard-lined directly into your system. The kind of cute that hooks you so badly that the only way your sweet addiction can end is butt naked, covered in glitter and sugar in a ditch on the side of the 401 trying to recover from a 72 hour Nyan Cat and puppy picture bender of Hangover-ian proportions.



To make a long story short, I need a dog. I might not get one today, hell I might not even get one tomorrow. However, one day you will look over the horizon and spot a shining golden beacon of canine magnificence and you'll already know its name, Jed.

High Five From Myself

I sometimes receive high fives from past versions of myself when I feel like I'm doing something that a younger version of myself would think is cool.

Bending the space-time continuum to ensure that present versions of myself feel adequately psyched up is a challenging exercise, but one always worth the effort. I should explain.

As a young man I made the decision to supply future versions of myself with mementos of my brilliance. It was, at first, difficult to discern the most effective way to do this. I'm not very photogenic, so pictures of myself giving me a thumbs up would have been more mortifying than encouraging. I never really understood the mail system, so mailing myself letters of encouraging would have been very challenging. Even if I had been psychic the fact that Canada Post can't find my address to save their damn lives (I live at a 1/2 address...in unit A) would have a Back to the Future-esque letter to future me completely inconceivable.

Hence my decision to send forward high fives..the most righteous of fives.

Awesome pun? High five

To better explain how this works, if I did something awesome and unexpected as a younger man...for example, managing to speak to a girl without sweating too much on my palms and saying something extremely stupid and mildly offensive I would send myself a high five. Scored the game winning basket? Send myself  a high five. Scored perfect on a test? Send myself a high five. Go on a swing-set without getting so nauseous that I puke? You get the idea.

A particularly good "Your Mom" joke... high five

While all of those examples seem rather pedestrian (minus the girls one...did I ever mention how bad I was with girls?) the sum of the events that shaped your late childhood and adolescence add up to a pretty decent stable of high fiveable moments.

Why did this matter? Why do the delusions of a pretty weird little kid still translate into an ego boost for a 21 year old, soon to be graduate and real human? Partially because I'm now a deluded 21 year old rather than a deluded child...but also because receiving high fives from a less complicated version of yourself is, actually, a genuine pick me up.

I didn't think this through when I was a child, but looking back on it as a (slightly) wiser young man I think that acting in a way that younger you would be proud of is actually pretty cool. If I am being entirely frank, most of the time I like the younger version of myself more than I like the current version of myself. He may have been a bit rounder, completely incapable of playing sports, lacking all ambition that didn't involve the high score on a video game and completely incapable of communicating with children his own age but he was still a pretty legit character.

The younger version of myself tended to call things how it was. He went out of his way to do things that were nice (most of the time) because that was what the good people in the cartoons taught him to do. He also treated absolutely every person with the kind of respect they deserved without having to prompt himself. He rarely, if ever, made pre-judgments of the people around him and accepted absolutely anybody and everybody as a friend. (Maybe he did that last one because he was in sorry need of more friends, so not quite as legit.)

I say that because life is like this. 

I'm watching a lot of my friends post about their graduation this week, and have had a lot of chats with them about how they think going out and being a real person is going to be. My impression from those conversations is that being a real person is tough. It takes a lot out of you to be a responsible and functioning individual in a society where banks are out to screw you for the rest of your life because you looked at them funny and the only people that know you in the city you have to relocate too because that was the only place that offered a job is the student loan representative that is half-threatening to break your knees with a bat. These challenges can wear people down physically, emotionally, and morally, and it can sometimes be cool to look back at a younger version of yourself, even if they were covered in goobers, and receive a high five that tells you that things are going alright.

I think the best feeling in the world would be to know that a younger version of myself would look up to me and think I was cool. I'm starting, however preliminarily, to look at the rest of my life. I'm frantically trying to make connections, foster closer relationships, evaluate where I want to be, what I want to be doing, who I want around me. When I'm doing this, it is sometimes helpful to remember that the people I used to look up to when I was a pretentious, snotty, little 8 year-old were all going through something similar and managed to carry themselves, not only with grace and respect, but in a way that I thought was unbelievably cool.

It helps me to believe that I might be doing the same thing, however imperfectly, and that is why I covet those high fives from a younger, stickier, stupider, but much more together version of myself.

/endpreaching

Why Men Don't Belong in Clubs

I've been talking something through with a dear friend and we reached an irreproachable stance on a defining issue of our times.

I hate you

Men do not belong in clubs.

Allow me to walk you through the logical processes behind this genius deduction. First, we should analyze the reasons why people would actually want to go to a club. By my count, you can go because you like the music, you can go because you like to dance, you can go in search of companionship, you can go because you like the atmosphere, or you can go because you literally hate money and are trying to find the most efficient ways to waste it. Absolutely none of these things appeal to me, and I would be much obliged if you were to let  me elucidate in excruciating detail why.

First, websites such as Grooveshark, Youtube, and Pandora have made access to music free, convenient, and even added a phenomenal you-can-control-the-volume-so-that-your-eardrums-dont-explode-and-bleed-all-over-your-friends-option should you desire it. Not only is music easy to access, you are also able to choose it at your leisure. With the click of your mouse you can do what, in clubs, is traditionally reserved  for drunken valley girls/Canadian Jersey Shore wannabees with no filter who are willing to scream ridiculous things at DJ's just trying to do their damn jobs. 

Second, I can't dance. I have never been able to dance. I am a self-conscious person by nature, and the thought of flailing my arms, legs, and hips around like an idiot reminds me so much of my childhood attempts to run, play sports, and talk to girls (all of which I sucked at) that the thought of doing it literally makes my brain want to crawl out of my ears, find a baseball bat and hit me in the legs until I will stop doing it.  I wish I could explain to you how bad I am at dancing but the sheer number of characters I would need to sacrifice at the ruined alter of my dignity to sufficiently explain how atrociously, even nauseatingly, bad I am would warrant a feature length independent project. I would add that I am not the only person that feels this way (I hope) and if at any given time you were to compile a list of the 50 worst dancers at any given club, all 50 of them would be awkward males like myself. In short, unless you are in the rare group of men that can actually dance, or are in possession of the Herculean amounts of self-confidence it takes to just dance anyway, this option doesn't really appeal.

Third, the regulars at an average night clubs are unapologetic douche-lords and I hate their faces. By no means does this extend to everyone at a club. Most of my best friends love to go out and I respect their decisions, but they are normal people that happen to be at clubs. The "regulars" to which I am referring are the sorts of people that almost certainly live at the club. You never see them during the day, they are freakishly tanned for people that you know have not seen real sunlight since their 17th birthday and the only thing more confusing than how they manage to spend so much money on drinks is how they manage to spend so much money on hair products. If you are going to a club to scam on a member of the opposite sex these are the people you are invariably going to end up running into.

Fourth, the atmosphere. I'll keep this one short. If I wanted to spend what seems like an eternity jostling around in a dark, unventilated, underground hell-hole that reeks of overpriced, watered-down rum and Axe body spray I would have accepted that offer to go hang out with Charlie Sheen. In short, I hate the atmosphere in clubs more than GHG's hate the atmosphere of the Earth.

If you want to go a level deeper, the only thing worse than being a Man at a club is being a Man in a relationship at a club. This is the definition of a no-win scenario.

I literally dance like that...but worse

Option 1: You leave your girlfriend alone and hang out awkwardly, maybe with a friend, near the side of the club. Within 5 minutes you are going to realize that by standing at the side of a club staring blankly at the surroundings you could not look weirder. The only logical things that any person that happens to look at you while you haunt the outside of a dance floor could conclude are a) you are leering at every woman in the club and are worthy of extreme contempt, or b) you are so crippingly socially awkward that you can't dance and have therefore relegated yourself to timeout like an overgrown pathetic child. (I realize option b) is probably the truth, but nobody wants people to think that about them)

Option 2: You dance with your significant other. Bear in mind that there are only two ways this can go.

A) You give your significant other space and just sort of dance nearby but not too close. In this situation you look like someone who is trying to pick but are such a bad dancer your advances are being continuously thwarted for the duration of a full evening. Everyone has seen the guy that awkwardly tries to get close to a girl while she shimmies away using her friends like human shields until the awkward butt-face takes a hint and now you look like that guy.

B) You dance with your significant other like a normal person at a club dances with another person and you look like one of the aforementioned J-Shore rejects scamming on a random. This is also an unappealing judgment to have thrust upon you. 

In short, going to the club is like a Catch 22 mailed by express post from Satan himself. Given a million years, and an infinite amount of resources I don't think I could find a thing that better preys on my childhood insecurities and effectively overloads my senses with things that offend me.

I wish I could say there was some moral to this story. I wish there was some way I could wrap up this rant with a pithy statement or clever zinger but, in truth, all I really wanted to do was to talk about how much I hated clubs.The answer? More than you could ever imagine.

Angry Bird Edition

I just punched a bird.

First, I want to make something absolutely clear, I hate birds. However, punching this particular bird had very little to do with any predisposition I may, or may not, have towards the avian menace.

Dear Birds:

I punched that bird because it punched me with its terrifying claws in the back of my head. It foot-punched me first.

I am not an advocate of violence. I do not believe in committing violent acts against animals, I don't believe committing violence against people, I don't believe against committing violence against television (which is why I hate the Slice network). I'm also not smart enough to premeditate violence against flying critters. I actually just spent the last 20 minutes sitting around spreading silly putty on my hand in order to give myself a second, sillier, epidermis.

No, ladies and gentleman, this was a primal response to a crow swooping down and accosting my brain cage.

You may have all heard about the "angry birds" incident at Queen's University. I'll keep the story brief, a bunch of green pigs tricked a bunch of birds and, in the resulting confusion of their dastardly trick, the green pigs stole the bird's eggs and fled. Now the birds are foot-punching me in the head for no reason and I'm pissed right off.

Does that make any sense? No, none of this makes sense and I'm furious.

None of this makes sense...

I can hardly even call what I did to that bird a punch. To put my actions into angry bird terms my fist was like a single blue bird trying to break a concrete block. My fist didn't punch so much as gently suggest that the crow get the hell out of my hair before it gives me bubonic bird lice. In short, I struck no great blow to this menace. Like a dwarfish kiln on the magical gold of Sauron's ring I did not but earn this great evil's ire. 

I'm not sure what needs to be done to stop these birds from dive bombing pedestrians, but if all they want is the pigs to give their eggs back then I am going to eat nothing but bacon sandwiches until they are returned (including the golden ones.) If that doesn't work I would appreciate my University getting rid of them. We don't have enough space for our students to live next year, it doesn't do us any good to further overcrowd our campus with these hell-spawn.

/endrant

I'm Not Very Cool

When I was 6 I broke my father's heart.

Allow me to set the scene: 

Enter Kevin:

A slightly overweight, overly-precocious, smug-as-hell first grader  is sitting on his kitchen counter. You feel an unconscious urge to punch his annoying little face. It is unclear what he is doing, or why your fist remains divorced from his smug little face. One would suspect, upon reflection, that the mega-maniacal cogs of his puny little child brain are frantically searching for the best way to ruin the sometimes strained relationship he has with his father. Suddenly, inspiration hits.

Enter Father:

He is a long suffering man. His patience, and hair, worn thin by over half a decade of dealing with what is, in all likelihood  the single most annoying child in existence. His relation to the hateful creature on the kitchen counter is, aesthetically, doubtful but a brief confrontation reveals that they share a particular, and impossible to replicate, sense of self-righteous stubbornheadedness. He is holding a registration form for the coming year of child hockey. 


Father: Kevin, I have your hockey registration. Would you like to fill it out with me?


Kevin: Umm, sure.


Father: Kevin. You don't sound very excited. You want to play hockey this year right? ...right?


Kevin: I don't know, Dad. I think I would rather try bowling.


Enter 16 years of awkwardly trying to repair the damage caused by this decision.

An alternative dramatic recreation

To clarify, this is indeed a dramatization of one of the more embarrassing moments of my childhood and the one that most troubled my father. The time I quit hockey to try bowling.

It wasn't like I was ending a potential Art Ross worthy NHL career. I was a chubby, awkward, athletically stunted ham-sandwich on skates. I had no killer instinct, (my most vivid memory is being scared of playing a girls team from a nearby town because they were older and "mean") I didn't have a nose for goals, (I didn't score a single goal...) and I clearly didn't understand the game (I spent more time picking up other players and brushing snow off them than actually playing the game.)

I might have qualified for the Lady Byng, but everyone knows that trophy is for wusses.

In retrospect, all of those above attributes would certainly make it seem as though I was better suited to bowling than hockey, however, I was my father's first born son and heir to his hockey legacy. Choosing bowling was a real smack in the face to his hockey legacy.

My father was not a bowler. He was in the rodeo, he was a goalie/defenceman who spent more time slashing players than legitimately trying to prevent goals. In short, he was the kind of kid that would have beat me up on the regular.

It goes without saying that my complete inability to play hockey would have been a disappointment to my father.  My decision to quit it altogether in favor of bowling would have been a nearly insurmountable obstacle in the formation of a healthy father/son relationship. Going forward, the fact that girls do not like me (a story for another day), my bookishness. general status as a social pariah and  inclination for "back talk," would all combine with this seminal moment to create a perfect storm of confusion and lack of understanding between my Dad and me.

Why the confession? I forgot to get my Dad a Father's Day gift (to be honest I don't even know when Father's Day is) and I figure that showing sympathy, if not empathy, for what most have been the most frustrating moment of his life was a pretty good replacement.

Also, the Canucks are in the Stanley Cup Finals and, thanks to the undying patience of my Father, I have developed enough as a man to appreciate and celebrate this wonderful event.

It also doesn't hurt that I can still be a smug-as-hell know-it-all that needs a good face punching and sharing this kind of story helps to keep me (more)  humble.

Political Strategy 205: Listen to your Elders

http://www.cbc.ca/news/yourcommunity/2011/05/party-leaders-do-they-wield-too-much-power.html

Yes, yes they do. The real travesty is when you compare the amount of power wielded by Pary Leaders and compare that to the amount of power wielded by those who would be willing to use it on behalf of the public good in accordance with the primary assumptions of Canadian democracy.

In short, I don't like the centralization of power in the hyper-partisan party politics system. According to that CBC poll neither do 92% of Canadians.

Why? For one, people like Peter Milliken who intimitely understand the history and processes that define an effective democratic system traditionally do not end up in those roles. What we tend to see is a House of Commons that looks more like Spy vs. Spy or a hockey game than a house of debate and representation.

The only difference is that in the House of Commons there would only be white spies....

Over the last year I have had two of the people who I respect most in Canadian Politics, the Rt. Hon. John Turner and the Hon. Peter Milliken, address me on a topic. You might not be surprised to hear that the topic was over-centralization of power in the hands of Party Leaders, and the marginalization of the MP in the current party system. These are not men who lack an understanding of our parliamentary system.

 John Turner is a Rhode Scholar who won his first election in 1962, served as an MP in 3 provinces, served in 5 of Canada's most important Departments and sat as Leader of the Opposition for 6 years. In short, he knows a thing or two about being a Party Leader and how parties operate.

Peter Milliken is Peter-God-Damn-Milliken. If you don't know his resume then you can just look it right the hell up.

The problems that these men have identified are pervasive, and strike at the very fundamentals of an effective system of representation. They argue that whipped votes, extreme party discipline, a marginalization of Private Member Bills and the prevalence of wedge issues such as the Long-Gun debate all damage the ability of Members of Parliament to effectively voice the opinions and needs of their constituents. This, in turn, makes it nearly impossible for the average Canadian to have a say in the management of our political system.

When the only Bills that can be passed through our Parliament need to come through the Prime Minister's Office the ability of individuals to affect change is minimized. Systems of governance where only the wealthy are able to develop policy become (even further) entrenched. There is no need for meaningful regional representation, there is no space for local issues, the only person the Prime Minister needs to listen to is himself and, on occasion, a massive and unwieldy Caucus in which no individual member carries enough weight to leverage for change.

This isn't only a Conservative problem either. Within the Liberal party under Jean Chretien and Paul Martin the only individual whose opinion mattered was the leader. Anyone that actively worked against a leader would risk being marginalized or even exiled from Caucus (Sorry John Manley).

The New Democratic Party may well provide an alternative, but given how important Ol Bon Jack is to the operations of the party, and the rapid and fundamental change in the look of the NDP Caucus nothing is guaranteed to be carried forward.

Or any other day for that matter

So, when all is said and done the only people left to speak out against a slowly developing system that gradually chokes the ability of Canadians to participate in their governance are those retiring from that system. The only ones that can speak without damning their own political futures is the longest serving Speaker of the House sitting on the twilight of a brilliant career in his "farewell interview" and an old man, gradually growing sicker, in an address to the House of Commons filled not by real representatives, but students.

As my friend Charmander once said: "Not a single (firetruck) was given to this fundamental shift in the nature of Canadian Democracy." (I might be paraphrasing). The really disgusting thing about all this is that if you were to ask the average Canadian if they believe that the most effective system of Governance is one where policy is determined not by the individuals who we choose to elect, but determined almost exclusively by the party leader they choose through a system of wheeling, dealing, and backstabbing at a Holiday Inn conference center somewhere in Oakville I am willing to bet they would disagree. But, of course, nobody informs themselves of how the system is changing and, as a result, there is not a single firetruck to be found.

I don't have any answers to this problem. If I'm being fair, there are plenty of people who would disagree that there is any problem at all. However, I'm a firm believer in the primary lesson of Political Strategy 205, listen to your elders. If two of the smartest, best informed people in Canada point to a phenomena and say this is a serious problem I'm fairly likely to at least give it a look.

In my opinion, a system that marginalizes the voices of the people it is meant to represent is a broken one. Unfortunately, there isn't much that either of us can do about it... we aren't Party Leaders.

Its the End of the World As We Know it? But I Feel Fine...

This is the way the World Ends -- Some Dude

The World is ending.

Canada has lost its soul.

Gay Marriage and Abortion are over.

With the collapse of the Liberal Party, and the electoral map of Canada looking more like the Firefox logo than a graphical representation of Canadian democracy, I've started to hear a number of outlandish claims like these.

Following Election 41 I could barely hear the sound of a million upper middle class elderly hearts breaking over the sound of political pundits screaming "WHAT" at their television screens. This upset me greatly, as my favorite sound is the sound of overprivileged and underinformed hearts shattering. The fact that I was kept up all night by journalists frantically hammering out under-considered conclusions to a very confusing evening only managed to frustrate me further.

In short, I'm pissed off. 

Haters Gon' Hate -- Sir John A. Macdonald

I wish I could explain to the heartbroken how ridiculous it is to suggest that Canada is no longer Canada because the Conservative Party won a majority. Our first Prime Minister lead a Conservative majority government. The largest majority in Canadian history, which passed some of its most meaningful legislation, was Conservative. To suggest that a win by today's Tories is an extension of under-informed voters, a failure of democracy, or a signal that Canada is no longer Canada is ridiculous. 

I'm not a Conservative, and I don't like their politics either, but I respect the process. This poor loser attitude that has permeated a very significant percentage of population is the real poor reflection on the health of democracy in Canada, and this accusatory and bitter rhetoric is considerably more "uncanadian" than any Conservative majority.

The sense of entitlement that permeates the Liberal Party of Canada and its supporters is, perhaps, the biggest challenge facing the party. The parties willingness to rest on the laurels of men that have been dead for decades--and stole most of their best ideas from the CCF/NDP--is unacceptable in the current political climate. Their inability to realize that running as a "Blue Liberal" is not simply being a blue blood running as a Liberal is crippling. That the Liberals could be so decimated by Stephen Harper, a man who is no doubt a brilliant strategist, but has the personality of a soggy blanket, is an embarrassment. 

Brian Mulroney Says: LOLZ

 I want to have faith in you people, I really do, but you make it so damn hard sometimes. If the Liberal Party wants to come out of this looking good, it needs a fundamental change of attitude. 

First, you need some policy. I don't mean "here is free money to students" policy. Nor do I mean "here is some free money to old people" policy. As you saw in the last election bribing the electorate with its own money isn't the answer. You need to take the right side on a serious issue, come up with a comprehensive plan for Mental Health, talk renewed national infrastructure, hammer the Conservatives on their ass backwards Public Safety policies, anything.

Second, get young, smart, talented Canadians to associate with your brand, and don't just tokenize them. If you want to be successful, and actually gain something positive out of riding the coat-tails of old dead Liberals use the allure of Pearson, Trudeau, King, St. Laurent and Laurier to attract the best and brightest and let them speak to the values of the party. If you had given a bigger voice to your best and brightest you wouldn't have lost so many of them in the last election. 

Finally, give us a reason to vote for you, not against someone else. The Liberal party has been playing the role of protest party for too long. If you want to be the big dog, then act like the big dog. You can't keep cowering behind your history and only venturing out to whine about the Government's mistakes. That was the sort of thing that kept the NDP from making up any serious ground, and used to draw ridicule from serious candidates. Look what happens when you show some personality and exhibit leadership. Ol' Bon Jack is over 100 seats.

The Liberal Party is a long way from coming back, but perhaps it needed a solid ass kicking. The Liberal Party that suffered massive defeat was stagnant, older, weak, and divided. Perhaps some time as third party will teach them a bit of humility, teach them how to focus, remind them how competitive the political process is. With any luck, the party that comes out of the desert will remember where it comes from, remember what Canadians want, and show the kind of leadership we have come to expect. But before it can do that, its supporters need to quit whining. 

You Were Always On My Mind

No Jokes. Just Mad Respect.

Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter are my new best friends. They don't know it yet, and neither do the Secret Service--I would be much obliged if you didn't tell the Secret Service...

If you don't know anything about Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter, all I can say is that they are the most successful couple in the United States. In fact, they are the only couple to surpass Ke$ha and Glitter in my esteem.

Mrs. Carter has devoted over 30 years of her life to research on Mental Health and the destigmatization of mental health around the world. Her, and her Carter Center Team of 100 journalists work tirelessly to ensure accurate and educated writing on the topic of mental illness and her many books on the topic are written with such a poignant combination of knowledge and care for her fellow humans that I will freely admit to tearing up while reading them. In short, she is the most brilliant, human individual I can imagine who is not named Jimmy Carter, and even then we have a tie.

Jimmy Carter has been, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the most successful former leader of a country.  His Carter Center fights treatable disease, oversees elections, and work's to bring to the world's attention human rights abuses committed by any and all nations.

In short, they are super cool and, as a couple, accomplished more last Thursday afternoon than I will in my entire life.

Why my obsession? Because I went down to Georgia and had the honor to meet them. It was cool

My Favorite U.S. State

I'm not going to drag on forever like I usually do. This isn't funny. I just wanted a chance to briefly share the Carter's story. I have a real interest in politics, and was generally aware of Carter's story. What I didn't know however, was the close connection between the Carters and Canada, and the Carter's work and issues that have taken center stage.

Carter shed tears at lunch while discussing Canada's contributions to protecting Iranian prisoners during his Presidency, and spoke passionately about his work as one of the leaders of the team that worked on the Chalk River Reactor. My Father was an American Citizen until 3 years ago, both of my parents were members of the American Military, when he spoke about the relationship between Canada and the United States as being not one of neighbors, or even friends, but in many ways a familial one. 

When we finally live in a world where mental illness is treated in a way not so dissimilar from physical illness. Where we offer support, acceptance, and encouragement rather than publish articles using pejorative and inaccurate language for highly prevalent disorders it will be the work of Rosalyn Carter that brought us there.

Finally, if we ever have a class of politicians that speak bravely on the topic of human decency, contemplate their action and devote themselves sincerely to public service they will be following in the footsteps of Jimmy Carter. To borrow from my friend Arthur Milnes, we'll be standing in his bright shadow.

I Shall Take The Ring To Mordor...Though I Do Not Know The Way

One Game To Rule Them All: "The Fellowship"

To plagiarize myself: The Fellowship is an elaborate drinking game set to all 3 of the Lord Of The Rings Extended Edition DVD's. It is an epic quest to vanquish one's dignity in the aching abyss of Mount Hangover set to a soundtrack of extreme nerdiness/epic cinema at its finest depending on how you view the fantasy genre.

Anyone That Brings Up The Animated Version Will Be Thrown into Mount Doom

I could easily just ask 8 of my friends to sit in my basement, but that isn't how I do things. This Fellowship will be worthy of the franchise that made it all possible. I'm looking to get as many of my fellow Kingston summerers together as possible for a weekend that will go down as the greatest party of the decade.

The plan is to get as many humans together as possible for one legendary saturday. Beer will be consumed, Pizza will be ordered, Jacket Bars will be earned. 

I have scoured the internet (how cool does that make me sound) to discover the best possible set of rules for this Fellowship. Here is what I came up with:  

"The Fellowship": Whenever the fellowship is mentioned everyone toasts the team.

The Party your Party Could Look Like

"Does This Rule Need A Name?":Every time someone drinks anything, take a drink. Careful during the Legolas/Gimli drinking game. 

"Really?": Every time someone eats anything, take a drink.

"Oh, Sam...": Every time Frodo says "Oh, Sam...," turn to the person beside you and do the same. Drink to make things less awkward. 

"The Killer": Every time someone looks mopey/angst-ridden recall that they have neither beer nor pizza. Sad Drink. 

"9 Riders of the Drinkpocalypse": Every time a Black Rider appears do your part to fight the impossible manifestation of evil. Drink. 

Rule 1 and Rule 2

"OmNomNom": Every time we see someone's filthy, chewed-up fingernails, take a shot.

"Home For A Rest": Every time someone sings a song, take a drink, try to sing along. If it is in elvish just mumble loudly and in an angsty tone. 

"Phallic Imagery": Every time someone draws a sword, take a drink. Its what a real man would do. 

"Fool Of A Took:": Every time Pippin acts like an idiot, take a drink. Think Gandalf is a bit of a grump, remember he dies and feel really guilty about it.

"OmNomNom #2": Every time Gollum hacks up a "gollum! gollum!" drink.

"Precious Is An Awful Movie": In an attempt to unsee the unsee-able, every time someone says "precious" try to drink the pain away. 

"Size Doesn't Matter": Drink whenever a reference to the hobbits size is made. Get bizarrely defensive 

"Is Peter Jackson A Sexist?": Take a drink whenever a female (who doesn't want to sleep with Aragorn) is seen outside the Shire. 

"A Ballad For Steve":Steve the Uruk-Hai (First Uruk-Hai that gets shot at Helms Deep) has been brutally murdered? Have a drink in memory of his life. 

"So Young": Sean the Cave-Troll Gets killed. Remember he probably had a wife and family somewhere. Drink to hide your shame. 

"This is Getting Old": Dwarf/Elf insult or vice versa? Drink. Wonder why Peter Jackson didn't mix up his dialog a bit. 

"Do Not Meddle in the Affairs of Wizards. They are Subtle And Quick to Anger": Gandalf says something wise? Drink. 

"He Who Shall Not Be Named": If Sauron mentioned by name you should drink. (Harry Potter nerds/Lord of the Rings Nerds simultaneously freak out that I misused that reference). 

"Royalties Anyone?" Bilbo's book is mentioned? Drink. 

"Are We There Yet?" Anytime there’s a false ending in “The Return of the King” drink and groan. 

And That's A Wrap: Hilarity Ensues

 Finished? Hardly. After going through a quest of that magnitude you can never truly be finished. You also have the hardest part of the whole journey to go through, next morning.

P.S. Ke$ha.

Looking forward to seeing everyone this summer.