Wednesday, April 20, 2016

no you can't have a house now shut the fuck up

We get it you want a house and you can’t afford it. Guess what I want a lot of things i can’t afford. A new Jeep Cherokee with a hellcat engine, a big ass boat… well anysize of boat really but only as long as she’s seaworthy… why is it that when we talk about boats they’re always girls but when you talk about the size of your penis you reference a boat for the metaphor… is my dick a girl? Or is it directly relative to the motion in ocean? Whatever the fuck it means you still don’t get to buy property in Vancouver and that’s a good thing.
Yes Chinese people are buying houses, condos and properties all around Vancouver and yes some of these buildings are remaining empty but the shit is still selling and their money is still coming over here. I’m not sure if you guys realize how big of a shit show the economy in BC was in the 80’s but dat sweet Yuan pouring in from China is the only reason we’re not still living in the shadow of resource rich Alberta.
A recent article in the ‘The Walrus’ titled the highest bidder riled up all the Canadian kids who just really want to buy a house and “like be an adult man” and don’t get them started on how they’re totally sick of having to pay rent dude. The article details some click bait level facts that really show how fucked we’d be if the rich Asians weren’t parking their money here while China financially crumbles. “The business of buying, building, and selling houses in Vancouver is worth more to the province than its mining, natural gas, and forestry industries combined. Last year, detached-house sales throughout the region totalled $38.6 billion, and residential construction added up to $21.6 billion.”
The author Kerry Gold further goes to explain in the too long didn’t read article of over 6,000 words that our own government at all levels actually embarked on trade missions and envoys to secure Asian investment as a fix for our shrinking economy in the 80s. “Vancouver—where, in 1981, house prices had dropped by 40 percent—worked hard to publicize the city’s fine geography and standard of living during Expo 86.” Gold explains the real reason for our cities global pavillion 30 years ago—yeah it wasn’t just to make sweet shirts that hipsters could buy from a thrift store and wear around telling everyone they actually ate at the floating McDonald’s when they were a wee tot… that’s just a sweet sweet ancillary benefit.
Vancouver has become so tight with Asia that Destination Canada (the corporation in charge of marketing Canadian tourism) has offices in Vancouver, China and Japan—they also have an office in the UK but since that isn’t really relevant to my point we’ll just forget i brought it up. If we tell these people they can’t come buy a piece of paradise because we would like to stack the deck in our favor and make rules against foreign ownership because we have young hot professionals who want to buy a house downtown instead of doing the smart thing and living in the suburbs we’ll be doing irreparable harm to our financial stability.
I was digging around on the BC gov tourism data website mostly because I’m a huge stat nerd and i figure if i throw some money numbers at you, you’re going to be more likely to agree with me. In 2014 BC made 14.58 Billion dollars from tourism revenue. The “Vancouver, Coast & Mountains” region employed 79,500 people in that same year. Now i don’t have the exact break down on numbers to tell which foreigners are dumping all this cash into our GDP but i’d be willing to wager a fair chunk of that money is coming from China. It would explain why Destination Canada has one of just four offices in China. According to the City of Vancouver website 17% of Vancouver residents speak Chinese and it’s not a huge leap of faith to come to end up at the conclusion that if there are that many residents we could asume they would be a draw for tourists.
We’re only 60 years clear of the practice of not allowing asians or even their DESCENDANTS to buy houses in Shaughnessy and the British Properties neighbourhoods. I mean we should still be butt hurt those rich white fucks denied the very people who built our cross country railway the ability to fully settle into the country they built. We for sure should not be calling for thinly veiled racist “foreign ownership control” measures. I don’t even know why you bigots are so hot and bothered to be house poor in the first place.
Instead of leaving a swear filled offensive taste in your ear holes i’ll close with a quote from the City of Vancouver website. “Our laws give everyone equal rights and equal access, regardless of origin, religion, race, gender, sexual orientation, ability, or politics. Vancouver is a city for everyone.” so quit being selfish you fucks.

vegetariansim schism

Paul Mc Cartney claims “If slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be vegetarian”. Even though old Pauly was easily the best beatle and Wings had far better songs then said Beatles, I have to insist he’s completely wrong here. If slaughterhouses had glass walls we’d all stop being such giant pussies and realize where our delicious meat comes from. Sure once we knew the truth we’d fake outrage maybe even swear off meat temporarily. Then we’d remember what meat tastes like and we’d get over it.
Really though i can only speak for myself here and as a person who’s raised farm animals from birth–fed them, cared for them and watched them grow into beautiful specimens–the one through line I’ve noticed with all these animals is that when I finally get to eat them they are FUCKING DELICIOUS.
Just imagine if you went to the keg and ordered that too-big-which-immediately-ups-your-blood-pressure-by-however-many-points-is-equal-to-hair-growing-on-your-chest-steak and with the meat you got a detailed list of the food that animal ate. If there was a written sworn affidavit accompanying your slab that painstakingly covered had it ever been sick the beef on your plate was looked after by a qualified dedicated professional caregiver who was on hand around the clock to make sure that your meal had stayed happy while on the farm, that meat would melt in your mouth more savory than anything you have ever eaten before. Growing up a farmer who was on of said caregivers I can assure that it would and does.
I understand that there are people who insist vegetarians can lead fulfilling lives and with just a few minor dietary changes the differences are negligible. So in honor of these proud plant chewers i propose we do a 30 year scientific study. We take a city of moderate size in some moderate climate at some moderate location and split it in two. One side vegetarian and one side omnivore. (Pescatarians are stuck on the omnivore side because i’m counting all meat as meat for this study.) We leave these two halves of one city seperate and after thirty years we look at the strapping handsome people with giant buildings and cars that are too fast and we give these beautiful citizens a slow clap. The vegetarian side we look at their shitty one story bungalos and dirt colored everything and we laugh in their grey faces because their stupid arms that are the thickest at the elbow couldn’t build anything.
I know, I know, all you non-meat eaters have some example of a particular person who with only 6 hours of food preparation everyday is actually pretty muscular and can actually lift heavy things just like the barbarians in the better half of our hilarious hypothetical city. Well my retort is with an accumulated loss of daylight of 5 hours per day (meat eaters i’m guessing would need about an hour a day to make those beautiful delicious steaks) they are already living a terrible life and don’t deserve to have me pile on. Doesn’t mean I won’t though because i’ve gotta fill up those extra 5 hours some way. Writing hilariously unscientific and ill informed column/blog posts about their shitty lifestyle choices is my favorite way to pile on. The remainder of the 5 hours i’ve been completely wasting all my life and it’s been glorious. Sure i’ve been told watching TV and movies is a dumb way to spend too much of my free time on but why then do all these blowhards get in a fever pitch of snobby excitement every time the golden globes or oscars are on?
I also had lethargic vegetarians tell me that consuming animal products is unnatural and our bodies aren’t built for it. Spouting their bullet proof logic with quotes like “We’re the only animal to drink the milk of another species”. We’re also the only animal that wears clothes, drives cars and lights off fireworks. What kind of a fucking idiot wants to walk around naked without fireworks? Certainly not this idiot and while we’re on it could you throw some pregnant female horsepiss we use to make birth control in the mix? I definitely don’t want to get anyone pregnant while i’m HAVING THE TIME OF MY FUCKING LIFE ENJOYING ALL THE SWEET DOPE AWESOME SHIT ONLY HUMANS GET TO DO. Oh also can we add “fix ourselves” to the “Dale is right” list I don’t really see those pregnant horses setting their own broken legs. It’s why we shoot them when they get a proverbial flat tire, because they’re stupid and they won’t ever not stand on their fucking broken leg and let it heal.
So horses are stupid, maybe a smarter animal will fair better you say? Let’s look at whales they’re smart as fuck. I love whales, I have a whale tattoo right on my fat guy calf but even the most intelligent creature next to man can’t cut itself out of a random net it stupidly swam into. I’ve seen the youtube videos of those seamen being approached by a whale in trouble. The person pulls out a knife cuts the majestic giant free and sends it on it’s way. Yes it’s a beautiful testament to the interspecies kindness we love to see videotaped and yes i do get a little teary when the whale comes back around to give a gesture of thanks some people claim is a handshake
(pilfered from
but as inspiringly majestic as that whale is it’s still stupid for swimming into a shitty fishing net. Can’t they see underwater?
Did i mention humans are also the only animal to get sweet flip out pocket knives? Sorry lions and tigers and bears (equal parts my spirit animals ladies) you’re going to have to do all your killing and eating with JUST YOUR STUPID FACE! Idiot.

Sunday, March 06, 2016

a little dab will do ya

I'll admit I've had a lot of trouble bearing down on one activity in the present. Actually let’s just say I haven't put enough effort into doing one thing instead of splintering my attention forever always.

I like to call myself a dabbler, mostly since that term is a lot more romantic than admitting i most likely have ADD. Besides that syndrome has been way over diagnosed, especially now that social media has divided everyone’s attention into a million apps. Why the fuck is Snapchat coming back didn't we all download that only to never get enough pictures of self deleting breasts and then uninstall that app three years ago? Is it just me? ARE YOU GUYS GETTING PICTURES OF BREASTS?!

I have been dabbling in Photography, writing and design since college knowing full well that if i dedicated myself to any of those 100% I’d have a high chance of being great at one them. Maybe even financially successful. From how often people tell me about people getting paid a ridiculous amounts to take wedding photos, write ad copy or however people make a shitload of money being a graphic designer, i should probably be driving a Lamborghini right now… at the very least some scrub ferrari.

I’m telling you guys you don’t have to be great. I know that’s not really the trend right now. It seems everything from cola commercials to facebook brag posts are telling you that if you’re not a superstar in something now you will and be soon. Guess what you won’t and you shouldn’t. I’m not trying to make you feel bad about yourself (that’s just a delicious side effect) but would you even be happy being great? Be real honest with yourself. One of my best epiphanies was realising that i won’t be the best at anything and that I am ok with that.

The thing is a long time ago i realized that i would rather keep my hobbies as hobbies and my day job as what it is supposed to be, the thing that pays for your hobbies. My last post outlined how i feel about not loving your job and how you’re not supposed to so I won’t get too deep into that since if you didn’t read all of my past posts your suspect as a person and i probably don’t like you.

The best reason to dable is to keep it fresh. All hobbies really should be is an activity to serve you in a cathartic process. The dictionary description of cathartic is: “providing psychological relief through the open expression of strong emotions.” Which is exactly what you’re supposed to do, make something, pour your emotions all over it with a big feely bucket and get all that stuff out of you. Then after you’ve made your piece of art, writing or macaroni glued to a piece of paper you show it to a girl and try to get laid. It’s how we as humans have done it since we discovered the wheel and then made bigger and better wheels just to show women and impress them… or dudes. I mean i don’t want to short sell any cavewomen trying to get their freak on. I don’t want to responsible for hindering a thick skulled neanderthal betty trying to get her rocks off. Get it “rocks off” while talking about the first wheels man this comedy gold pretty much writes itself.

What the cathartic process should never involve is trying to make money by doing your art in a way you don’t really like but at least it gets you paid and you can pay your bills and at least you are doing something you love as a job right? I mean you still love it don’t you? Your job is still as magical and awesome as it used to be? Wrong it’s your job and you hate it go home and dabble in some stuff you actually do love for no other reason than you love it. Well that you love it and that after you’re done you can feel like you did something today and then just fart around the house watching tv and singing to yourself and not feeling guilty about it. I mean could i be writing as a job and then just insert a paragraph about cave people trying to fuck each other for no other reason than i think it’s hilarious? The answer is no my friend.

Don’t even worry if you don’t finish whatever project you undertake it’s about the process. Treat yourself to some dabbling do something for a few hours or even minutes i don’t judge… actually i do so if you do only go a few minutes just lie to me.

Sure I have a picture of a triceratops that’s taking me three weeks to draw and is nowhere near complete but i’m writing this instead of finishing that and you know what i might move onto something else before this is don

Sunday, December 13, 2015

dream job

My dream job is not working.

Since the whole staying at home doing nothing thing isn't really at all financially feasible I sacrifice my time and body to get money from a job that truth fully isn't all that exciting. Like we all do. None of us want to get up early and waste most of our day punching a clock but the annoying thing is we have to. Somehow our brains are addicted to work and when we are jobless we can't even enjoy how beautiful being unemployed really is.

Recently I was "laid off" from a job. We'll just say it was all their fault and none of it mine. That way I don't have to think about all my possible shortcomings or work ethic lapses and launch myself into a shame spiral. I like to save all my pity party self loathing action for when I obsess about my failed dating life. As for romance we'll just treat that like the aforementioned "lay off" it's all their fault and none of mine... I can just deal with the denial in 20 years when it's manifested itself into a life crippling mental illness. Like I said though that's a problem for two decades from now lets get back to the not having a job thing.

By the end of the second week off I was having mini panic attacks and convinced my life was over. I was doubting my life decision to get into welding in the first place and I started to ask myself some big questions. Should I go back to my old passion career of Graphic Design? Could I even get a job as a Graphic Designer again? Would I be happier than I am welding? Should I have stayed in Calgary? Was simply having a artistically fulfilling career worth the monetary drawbacks? The inevitable answer to all of these and many more self doubt riddled inquiries was and is a resounding NO.

See the problem that people never consider when the pie eyed romantic talk about dream jobs and even your dreams in general is what happens after you achieve them? For your life's fairy tale how long is ever after?

How long can Snow White be married to prince charming before the bliss starts to fade. Before they both get fat and constantly argue about the annoyingness of each other's personality traits. How long can Mr. Charming really let the whole "exactly how long were you living with seven short hairy dudes in the forest?" question go unasked. How long can miss White ignore the fact that Charming basically mouth raped her while she was asleep as the aforementioned gaggle of dwarves watched? What would have happened if she never woke up?

My point is this: we're constantly striving to achieve our dreams. We have our minds set on getting to that point, reaching our goals. What happens when we actually obtain them? All I wanted was to be a professional Graphic Designer I never really thought about what would happen after 8 years at it when i grew tired of the meager pay and sitting in front of a computer all day. Yes it was artistically rewarding and yes I was doing fine... but why didn't i realize earlier on that i would eventually want to do finer.

The most annoying thing I keep hearing bitter old people tell the young generation of worker bees is "if you do something you love it doesn't feel like work." Well bullshit on that. If you HAVE to do something you love you fall out of love with it pretty quick. Just the fact you have to do your passion a certain way or by a certain time makes it inevitably feel like work awfully quick.

Now if you're one of those rare people who actually gets to do what they want whenever they want and are still able to make a living, then fuck you! Go be fulfilled somewhere else. This is a blog, you know that thing people pretend they're a totally super literate author on but more often than not turns into a whiny journal entry written like it's being told out loud in terrible conversation English... but with all the "like"s, "uhhh"s and "ahhh"s removed? Also apparently totally full of run on sentences.

Furthermore if you are living your bliss why are you even on the internet? Online is the great happiness ruiner. It's why everyone on social media complains about wasting their time with social media. Everyone seems to point out how much better their life would be if they just got back to nature... instead of getting in their car and actually going to nature. Personally I find nature highly over rated and can appreciate the battle humans have undergone since cave man days to distance themselves from it and all it's dark, cold and empty discomforts.

I know it's my own naivete to blame the people who filled my head with sugar plumbs and visions of a strife free life... doesn't mean I like it or even have to accept it graciously because there should have been some wisend old person who could have advised me that sometimes a romantic thought of what is going to make you happy is short sighted and fleeting. Although I guess now that I've learned my lesson I'll get the ultimate ego stroke of becoming the sage who gets to warn others to think long term multiple level goals and not just immediate ones.

The true key to work happiness is not finding a job that is easy or doesn't even feel like work the best job is one that feels like hard work and thus makes you feel satisfied at the end of the day because you actually had to put in effort to finish what had to be done. You need the strife so you can over come it then go to the bathroom and pat yourself on the back and tell the mirror that you're a fucking rockstar and totally better than other people trying to do the same job as you because Jerry doesn't know what he's doing and would have totally shit the bed where you conquered and now deserve to be showered in dump trucks worth of five dollar bills.

Fuck I'm so smart!

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

The boy who whined wolf

There is a reason we kept our preteen diary entries secret: they’re fucking embarrassing. So as a presumably almost well adjusted adult don’t make similar entries via a public forum.
Social media in it’s current form has been around for nearly a decade. Which is just long enough for us to perfect our communications over said medium. Everyone is letting everyone else know what is going on in every facet of their rarely exciting but for the most part all too regular everyday life. While this is a great way to keep up with friends and family, more than a handful of people have been regaling us with in depth tales on just how shitty and bleak their lives are. Or more correctly how shitty and bleak they want everyone to believe their lives are when actually it’s just mundane and for the most part they are trying to illicit attention and sympathy.
Our computers and smart phones are littered with posts, tweets, updates and, whatever the hell you do with LinkdIn, about feelingsie stuff from people who are totes sad. Here’s the problem we’ve all had minor upsets in life and we’ve all come out the other side relatively unscathed. Some, myself included, have gotten a teensy bit jaded but for the most part all right.
As a friend so ellegantly put it. “Everyone deals with shit. Relationships not working out. Suck it up and suffer silently like the rest of us.” they further went on to add “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t HATE attention. But if I tweet about crying all the time because someone dumped me… Hunt me down and kill me. Please.”
You pointing out how hard a time your having is only proving one thing: you’re not coping with things in a mature manner. Believe me I don’t feel comfortable calling people out on maturity levels either. I’m 35 and still the funniest thing imaginable to me is someone splitting their pants in public. I could teach a university level course on immaturity. Perhaps this is more of an emotional maturity subject matter. Like something you should have matured past in high school or at the latest your early 20’s. Right about the time we got over writing terrible poetry is about the time we should have gotten over compelling strangers with your tales of not really anguish.
For our real anguish we’ve all built up a group of people we trust to support us when we need them. (This is where my Aesop’s Fable title reference comes into play.) What if when you’re really torn up inside about actual tragedy, and all you need for your blubbering face is a friendly shoulder to cry on, your support group ignores your incessant texts and is perennially “busy running around” or “drying their hair” like a girl who says she wants a second date with me but is stricken with the malady of a forever dirty scalp.
Your support group are all sick of getting soaked shirts from your leaking eyes every time one of your week long relationships you jump into head first fall apart or your boss was mean to you at work when you were slacking off or these fucking girls on Plenty Of Fish won’t message me back.
Help will not come when you need it most. No one will take your emotional pain seriously because you’ve whined wolf one to many times and now the wolves are eating all your teary eyed sheep.

so you're friendzoned... now what

In opening I want to say this blog post is intended for male friendzoned victims only. Sorry women I know it hurts to be ignored but I am, as you may know, not actually female and if I had any idea what makes you ladies tick or how you feel about things or anything girl related in general, I probably wouldn’t be on the express shuttle to die aloneville. I can understand you might be loosing your shit because some guy you’re crazy in love with won’t do you I can’t really help you out but i guess if you need a piece of advice from me maybe just go sleep with a different guy to get over it… maybe someone a little heavier who will pay you the attention you deserve while lovemaking. I’m usually at the Morrissey Friday night and I like vodka tonics.
Now lets get back to obsessing about not having sex, because nothing gets you laid more than crying about not getting laid.
So a fair lady has told you she is not interested in putting your mostly perfectly good penis in or about her body. This does not mean she is a terrible person or even that your bent little boner is anything less than magnificent. What it does mean is she is just a girl who doesn’t want to fuck you. You might recognize her, she looks just like all the other girls who don’t want to fuck you.
I know it is a crippling realization that there aren’t actually that many women who want you to see them naked and and even less who want to see you naked. Maybe in a perfect world all the girls want your greasy little dink all over their body but for now lets just deal with this shitty reality and the awkward predicament you’ve landed yourself in.
I have actually been friend-zoned in the past. In my defense it usually only happens like once a year, it’s always drawn out and it never goes smoothly. I can usually piece together why a woman might choose to miss out on a very fulfilling night of just above average love making but i am always lost as to why she want to pursue a friendship with me. I guess dick and fart humor really is a girls best friend… well it must be judging by how many woman are constantly lining up to be my part of the super fun always awesome Dale toilet humor exchange.
The first thing you need to do is let her know exactly how you feel. Write it down or thumb it into that smart phone you keep checking every five minutes to see if there is a notification that has to do with her and not some shitty game you downloaded and played twice. Since your phone is the only thing you’re going to be finger blasting in the near future make sure you jam every stupid emotion you have right now into it.
Write about that moment you knew you liked her. Maybe it was the way she ate a mango and smiled at you with juice dripping down her chin while her eye caught the light just perfectly enough to make it look like her beautiful face actually contained a piece of the sun, or what ever dumb shit you’ve overly romanticized that convinced you the world wouldn’t be right unless she was pumped full of your babies. Point is let her know everything make it as sappy as you can with all those annoying feelings you have for her and then send the message. No actually send it, trust me. She’ll read it and tell you how nice it was, how deeply it moved her, how good it made her feel and it won’t change anything.
That’s right you’re not going to change her mind she still wants no part of your genitals or you doing anything to hers. This part of the process is purely for you. You need to let all your crazy out and not have it bouncing around in your head. You don’t want to be absent minded at work and let your soul eater boss see you pacing around muttering to yourself. You have to stay level headed when you drive, I mean what if you’re not paying attention and you miss the chance to flip another driver the bird just because you head was on planet “if only she knew how much i love it when she draws circles in the grass with her toes while we sit in the park and argue over which baby animal is the cutest”.
Just back the “here’s how i feel about you” dump truck to her door and bury her whole goddamn house. She chose to be your friend and she should have known all your dickhead annoyance comes with that. I’m not saying make her regret her decision to be your friend that will come naturally over time. This is more of a you using your free pass to show exactly who you are situation. So just turn the dial all the way up and be you at 11. Use this friendship to express yourself. Share all your inner thoughts and dreams, you know all the lame shit you can’t tell all your old friends about because they  would make fun of you for.
Most importantly tell her instead of whining about it to anyone else ESPECIALLY on the internet in general. We should have learned as a four year old that just wanting something really really badly doesn’t necessarily mean we get to have it. Complaining about being in the friendzone just looks like a kid having a nice long lay down scream in the toy isle at Walmart.
If you so much as tweet about how bunk it is you got put in the friendzone the entire internet will take turns calling you a pussy. It’s what we do. We get over the exact same pain you’re feeling by making fun of you for going through it. Don’t worry soon enough you will get to lambaste some other poor bastard who can’t figure out how to diddle the girl he likes.
Oh as for the actual advice on being friendzoned: Just keep your head down, don’t stare at her tits too much, don’t laugh too loud at her unfunny girl jokes and don’t agree to everything she wants to do right away anymore. Now that you’ve lost your “i’m trying to fuck you” filter you might actually get to hangout somewhere you want to. You’ll notice it will start hurt a little less everyday when you think about your sexless future alone. After a while you’ll have a good friend and then you can brag about how popular you are. Use it as a pickup line at the bar, who knows maybe girls will be impressed by your maturity and ability to have a female friend and touch your penis in the parking lot but I doubt it.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

How I became Owen Wilson's eskimo brother

Recently I took a woman home from the bar for the first time. I don't see anything morally wrong with strangers having sex a couple hours after they met, it just usually takes more than one night for me to convince a lady to sample my wares. 
I initially said woman because she was ten years older than me. I don't have a problem with legal age difference and at most I would say it is icky. All illegal age difference on the other hand is beyond disgusting and is why a conscientious society can never accept polygamy. For what ever reason it seems like every polygamist sect de-evolves to child wifing.
Enough of that lets get back to the matter at hand.
Like what the fuck business would a 45 year old professional women, who's been married and lived an entire life already, have in coming home with a guy who's favorite shirt has the teenage mutant ninja turtles on it?
Turns out it was sexy business and business got done IF YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I don't like to discuss explicit sexual details--who the fuck am I kidding I pretty much enjoy discussing carnal acts as much as I like performing them. I am however going to self censor myself solely because I don't want to chase any possible fans of this blog off by talking about the drunkingly awkward activities of that night. 
Actually the reason i'm not going to go into it is because my memory of what happened is a bit spotty and the most important thing happened the next day.
Me and the aforementioned lady from the bar were sitting on the couch talking for at least three forevers. She was name dropping like a mother fucker and I was pretending it was making me hate her because I am a mother fucker, she has a child OVER THE AGE OF 20, and I didn't want to ruin my chances at an afternoon delight. Furthermore if you've lived in Vancouver for more than ten minutes you've already faced a deluge of pretentious twats. The more important thing I want to know is who the hell is impressed by a story of Pitbull being impressed by your off menu order at a restaurant the answer is someone who deserves a mouth punch that's who.
While name dropping she told many various suspicious events from her life. She partied with pitbull of course since he was so impressed by her ability to eat food, she knew Steven Spielberg personally and dated Owen Wilson. My number one concern upon hearing her brag about her totes awesome life was that she dated Owen Wilson.
Of course she would have some serious secret information on one of my favorite Hollywood stars and I couldn't wait to ask her the one thing that has been bugging me pretty much his whole career. So I asked her "what the fuck is up with his nose?" Apparently he had a child hood hockey nose break that was never set at the hospital so it didn't heal properly. The story is so mundane that it is probably true.
After we talked for what seemed like another forever I remembered I had to meet up with a friend I had planned a couple days before. Of course I "just" remembered out of the blue and the whole thing seemed very suspicious but it was 5pm and well past afternoon delight o'clock and I was annoyed to the point of apathy so i asked her to leave. Which she did and another thing she did was promptly ignore my future texts which is fine we had nothing in common anyway. Me and Owen Wilson DID have something in common because WE BOTH HAD SEX WITH THE SAME WOMAN.
I understand the irony of complaining about someone name dropping and then turning around and bragging about being eskimo brothers with Owen Wilson but come on eskimo brothers with Owen Wilson? It's kind of a big deal.
Also it is a pretty big claim to make and really no way for me to prove it. For better or worse I like to trust people and give them the benefit of the doubt and if I could just call up famous movie stars and ask who they have and haven't had sex with I'm pretty sure every second of my free time would be swallowed in just that activity.
For now lets just assume it's true because that way i feel more interesting. If it's not true and Owen Wilson wants to contact me to take down this blog post or hang out and high five each other for hours I will be very accommodating. 

Thursday, July 04, 2013

Why are there so many haters?

Well, there are so many haters, simply because it is easy.

I started writing music reviews my first year of college in the year 1999. Because like every other male in their early twenties I wanted to write for a music magazine. The only remotely unique part of my dream was I preferred Spin to rolling Stone. I earned my sea legs by covering concerts and doing album reviews for the then University College of the Cariboo student newspaper oMega. The school is now known as Thompson Rivers University and was actually where I also started this blog.

While critiquing cd's specifically I started to notice how much easier it was to write negative reviews. Not because the actual writing birthed itself out of my fingertips more easily but more that I could stay emotionally detached. That way I wouldn't be vulnerable if the album was universally panned and my view stood out.

I didn't want to be "the guy who liked that terrible (fill in the blank) band" but rather be "that guy who knows what he's talking about because he doesn't like that shitty new album from (fill in the blank) that everyone says they like because they are swayed by the record label".

This is often referred to as "drinking the kool-aid" because the negative people like you to think you were tricked into liking it and are crazy for adoring something that is obvioisly garbage. 

The term "drinking the kool-aid" is a referrence to the act of people's temple leader Jim Jones ordering his cult to drink cyanide laced grape Kool-Aid (also less expensive Flavor Aid) killing roughly 918 people in the Jonestown Massacre of 1978. (Babies and other people who couldn't drink were giving involuntary injections).

The metaphor simply means that if you were to give some critical thought and exploration you would never agree to drink a poison laced fruit drink no matter how delicious an idea it seemed at first. No matter how flashy the band's cover art or even how sexy the artists were you would never drink their juice by saying their music was good.

Now fast forward 14 years. Today with the proliferation of the internet everyone views themselves as a critic. Actually, frighteningly, with the spread of information in the global village, everyone has become a critic.

It takes mere minutes for someone to ham fist a review by stringing together a couple of paragraphs about their opinions on a movie, T.V. show, book, album, photo essay or even, heaven forbid, a spoken word showcase. Throw in some anecdotal side tracks about a mass suicide in Guyana (that's where the Jonestown Massacre took place) and you can throw a blog post together in barely any hours from anywhere.

I wrote this post on my galaxy s3 while sipping on an unsweetened cuppacino frappe outside of an un-airconditioned cafe named after a play on words with beans and zebras. I didn't like the drink at first because the unsweetend flavor seemed bitter and unrelenting but it did relent. My palat grew acustumed to the lack of sugar and revelled in the nuance of a drink made with nothing more than the flavors of esspresso and homo milk smashed together with ice.

With everyone being a critic how many percents of these semi-verbose people did you think would take the easy way out. Well an ill-proportionately large amount obviously judging from the vitriol seeping out of the internet.

I mean really who wouldn't go negative to finish an opinion piece faster and look cool on the internet where it's only ok to love something everyone else does and you can only love it for two weeks.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

6 months into my welding adventure

Well as some of you know i quit my not so lucrative career as a professional graphic designer in favor of gaining a more secure future.
I did the opposite of most people's life goals. I took my career and turned it into a hobby then i went and got a day job... Well more like the promise of a better day job.
It's been six months since i made the move to become a shop hand in july. I'm not a welder yet-actually not even an apprentice yet. I'm still basically a laborer who lifts heavy things, sweeps the floor and everything else anyone with more seniority doesn't want to do. I fucking love it.
I'll admit i was pretty convinced i would hate it before i started but watching the news paper crumble before my eyes over the last few years i knew i had to make a big change in my direction if i was ever going to eventually own a porsche.
Yeah that's right i want a porsche. It's in the five year plan. I will own a porsche 911 by july 2017 just in time for my birthday. I didn't say the year or relative value of said porsche because i'll have to wait and see how fat my toy fund is at a later date. Although owning a mid 80's rat bagged black rust buket with that big retarded porsche spoiler still gets my blood pumping.
It is a shallow goal, i understand and fully admit it but that doesn't mean it's a bad goal.
One thing i've learned over the years is you shouldn't lie. Specifically you shouldn't lie to yourself and that whole rhetoric of money wealth not mattering is the biggest false truth i had myself convinced of.
Sure in my mid 20s loving what i did for work was pretty important but as i'm nearing the end of my early 30's not having anything to show for my 7 years of work and dedication to the print design industry starting became a lot more important. Also depressing.
So now i'm doing the welding path thing and at first it was the promise of the aformentioned better future that fuelled my drive, that is until i realized i loved it.
Getting a good sweat on makes you feel good. Working in coveralla in late july provides me with all the sweaty workout i could ever ask for. Needless to say i quit going to the gym. Who needs and elliptical and some dead lifts when you've got a floor to sweep and a million billion assorted heavy things to put in a shelf.
The most surprising thing is how suck i was of a desk job. Wearing uncomfortable shirts and sitting down turns out to be more frustrating hard work theny labour ever was. A sweet added bonus is i get to hit shit with a hammer, which surprise surprise, is quite cathartic.
Some of the dudes at work (yes the shop is entirely men) are surprised when i tell them what i used to do and some are baffled i would ever give up the office job to become a welder. Especially whe as one guy put it i went to college. I didn't have the heart to tell him i basically only went to college because i didn't want to get a job and barely made it through graduating with a 2 point something i don't recall grade point average. It's hard to remember the specifics of a fact that's so embarassing.
This ties nicely into another aspect of why i quit graphic design. I actually have no schooling in it i just decided i liked it better than writing (i have a degree in jounalism) and started doing it instead. So in order to stay employable i would have to go back to school. Since i'm too old to party with college kids and it not be creepy i'm no hurry to go back.
Also i still have student loans from 8 years ago that i never paid off because i was too busy loving my work and not worrying about money. Another embarassing fact.
With my new path i get the experience i need while working and the two months schooling you need for every year the company pays for, win win.