Some idiot was shadowboxing in the kitchen and hit his head off the microwave door and knocked it off the microwave. I went on the Internet and some guy said he was a “physicist” and that it’d be fine to use as long as I put the door back on and didn’t stand in front of it. Actually he told me all about physics. So I put my popcorn in, turned it on and went to the other room. When I came back to enjoy my popcorn I realized it reset the clock on the stove and now it’s the year 2012? WTF?
This one time I ate some dog food on a dare. The dry kind of dog food, not the horrible mutant horse and penguin meat that comes in the can. It said it was supposed to taste like chicken, but it just tasted like the second worst cereal that I’ve ever eaten. Really dry and crunchy. I put forward a hypothesis at the time that maybe dogs have a different sense of taste than we do.
Anyways it made me fart and I swear to God it made my farts smell like the most delicious chicken I’ve ever smelled. My friend’s mom walked in and asked if someone cooked chicken, but we were only in high school and didn’t know how. So we just said it was a mystery smell and no questions were asked.
The beautiful thing about couches is all the treasure they provide. Like, just now I stuck my hand down the side of one, and I’m two dollars, forty-three cents and one small Hallowe’en-sized candy bar richer that I was a minute ago. It’s like a minimum wage dragon cave, but comfortable and with no deadly mythological reptiles.
Pitch for a reality show: combine the 90’s success Cops with the 00’s hit Punk’d for the greatest reality show ever — Celebrity Sting.
The fans think it’s their dreams come true when their favourite celebrities offer them a hit of illicit drugs, but they’re in for a surprise! The celebrities are working with the police —they’ve actually already been busted by police and have agreed to roll on their fans so as to avoid going to jail — Surprise!
I think my favourite one is episode four where Wesley Snipes tracks down a Blade fan and convinces him to launder dirty mafia money so that the IRS will cut Snipes a break.
Skagboys — This is the recently released prequel to Trainspotting, and I really liked it. It’s about how all the characters first got addicted to heroin back in the Thatcher era.
Trainspotting — I just read this for the first time. I preferred Skagboys. This was a bit too episodic.
Drama City: A Novel — It’s by George Pelecanos, a writer from The Wire. And it really feels like it could be a sixth season to The Wire, so much so that I picture each of the main characters being played by someone from that show. Cutty as the ex-con dog-catcher who’s being pulled back into the game, Alma Gutierres as the alcoholic parole officer, Chris Partlow as the murderous gangster, etc. Yeah, I’m the worst.
The Bishop’s Man — by Linden Macintyre. This is set in my home province, about a priest who’s struggling with the role he had in the abuse scandals back in the day, which mostly involved him disappearing pedo priests to places with less children, but also covering up the crime from the police.
The Crofter and The Laird — by John MacPhee. A non-fiction book about John MacPhee’s trip to Colonsay, Scotland, in which he tries to discover his roots. It’s pretty cool.
Reamde — It was okay but Neil Stephenson is still a wanker.
The Greatest Story Ever Told: Batman — It’s an anthology that collects 12 of the best Batman comics ever written, and it is pretty awesome. My favourites are Robin Dies at Dawn, The Secret Life of the Catwoman, Night of the Stalker, Wanted: Santa Claus — Dead or Alive! and The Joker’s Five Way Revenge.
This is going to sound weird but I’ll say it anyways because it’s late and why not. My favourite music is music that makes me feel that feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t even know what it is. Guilt? Anxiety? An unformed twin who attached himself to me when we were still fetuses (fetii?)? It’s probably the emotion I’ve felt the most, which, again, doesn’t make any sense. But it’s the music I like the best.
In the motion picture industry, it’s an OSCAR. To television, it’s an EMMY. But to the world of crime, it’s a TOMMY … the gold-covered submachine gun that is awarded once every year to the man or woman who has done the most for CRIME.
Mom: I was watching this [Oprah-related show, I don’t know what] about psychics and stuff. Doing seances with the audience.
Me: oh god.
Mom: well… they had one guy who was a skeptic who said he figured it out, and one real psychic.
Me: a ‘real’ one? I think they were both fake, Mom.
Mom: well, one of them said ‘do you have someone who died recently?’ and this woman raised her hand. And they spoke for a bit and he said it was her husband and that he loved to hunt. And he was right.
Me: that doesn’t prove anything. If you have a big enough audience and you ask the right questions —
Mom: well, the thing I was thinking is that maybe he could tell by her accent what county she was from. Like, maybe she was from somewhere rural and he could tell that by how she spoke and then guessed that her husband liked to hunt.
Me: So what’s your question? You don’t actually believe in people who do this kind of crap, do you?
Mom: Not in seances, no. But I was wondering about the accent thing. Do you think there are really people out there… who can tell where another person is from just by their accent?
She said it like the ability to guess an accent was on par with speaking to the dead. I don’t know. I burst out laughing.
“Renton asks the cop: ‘But what did ye say tae get him tae come back inside?’ The officer replies: ‘I just told him that no matter how bad it all seemed right now, it’s just part and parcel of being young. That it gets easier.’ ‘Does it?’ Renton asks, and the policeman shakes his head: ‘Does it fuck; it gets bleeding worse. All that happens is that the expectations you have of life fall. You just get used to all the shit.’ But what if you can’t get used to it? The officer shrugs: ‘Well, that window’s still gonna be there.’”—