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Thursday, December 25, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
I'll be damned if her new shit doesn't reach #1!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Death is one of them.
Paying taxes is another one (just ask any average working stiff about that).
Growing old is yet another one.
So I'm not shedding any tears for the demise of the "Trailer Park Boys" for the simple reason that the show has run its course.
I knew for the fact that one way or another, Ricky, Julian, Bubbles and company will grow up.
I knew that Season 7 would be the final one.
You could see the outcome in the last episode: the trio hardly smiled throughout the series, yet in the very last scene, they all found an epiphany, a closure, a new beginning.
It may also be because that final episode of that season featured one of the last appearances of Denny Doherty of the Mamas and Papas (and the "Theodore Tugboat" series, BTW).
There is something about the number 7 being the lucky number.
Maybe after 7 years of bad luck, the beleaguered denizens of Sunnyvale Trailer Park were just looking forward to moving on, beyond the bottle tossing, the dope growing, J-Roc's endless schemes and 'hood intentions, Lucy's fake boobs, stray kitties, Julian's ubiquitous rum'n'coke (check out the original "Trailer Park Boys" movie for the origin - it ain't that pretty), Randy's well-exposed cheeseburger-belly...
Maybe, it's because we all grew up, out and beyond.
We could all relate to the people at Sunnyvale: they were like us, with faults, shortcomings, dreams, ambitions.
But there could only be so many stories to create, tell, portray. Eventually, everything that had to be said and done, has been filmed, edited, released, syndicated, put out on DVD and shown again in edited reruns.
So, thanks and G-d Bless to all those who participated for one fucking hell of a good run.
TBP was part of the spirit of the age. Let's keep it that way.
Because, eventually, we'll soon get too old for that shit.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
When a candidate works hard to woo the middle, s/he would eventually be crowned.
Truth be told - everybody lost.
McCain lost because he refused to back up his policies with a sense of resolve and urgency. He never gotten around, let alone bothered, to explain why the policies proposed by Obama were doomed either to failure or to severe scrutiny. Nor did he ever explain why his policies were better and more cost-effective in the simplest, least technical, terms. He failed the middle.
Barack lost because right about now he'll have to fugure out how to pay for all the goodies promised to the electorate. Sure... he looks great in a suit. He talks smooth. Yet he is beholden to the ideals of the modern day Democratic Party and the new-age "Liberals" from which he draws his insprations. Now, he beholden to the masses who cast their votes for and against him. Worse, he will be forced to walk the tighrope above those ravenous for results in order for him to deliver the agenda that he worked so hard to sell. For a bill still to be compiled and calculated, he failed the middle.
It's too easy to blame the "mainstream" media for the good/bad/ugly/fugly that permeated the campaigns. Many saw Barack to be the "Funky President" envisioned by the Godfater of Soul himself. Yes, Virginia... there is a difference between being funky, getting funky and smelling funky. And the sheeple who come to the trough, eat it up and take the innuendoes as gospel may yet grow to appreciate it in due time. Even the tabloid came to the attack when Palin (Sarah, not Michael) came on the scene, creating an outburst of PMS (Palin Malignment Syndrome), exposing the slightest of gaffes and simplest of shortcomings.
To their credit, Palin should've stepped up to the plate with more than a heartbeat and a smile. Most Americans were asking "Where's the beef" and she should've delivered. Yet when she failed to do so to the masses' satisfaction, the "mainstream" press would crucify her. It's easy to praise an unproven Messiah than respect a wisened Maverick, while the Rolling Stone was quick to crown the upstart the same way that Napoleon was quick to crown himself. The "mainstream" failed the middle.
In the end, when the dust has settled, there will be work to be done. As soon as it's done, the costs will be tallied, the cheques will be written, and the man who would be king will have a lot on his plate to divvy amongst those to which he would have to delegate, some of who have created crises that the previous ruler had to resolve, sometimes with pleasant results, sometimes with hideous outcomes. Eventually, it will be the novice's turn to work with the leftovers to create somthing that may appear palatable, yet distubingly familiar.
If he were to succeed and make things right, the middle may have won.
If he were to fail and create more new crises, then it would not be him who failed the middle.
It would be the middle themselves.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
I know y'all be lovin' this shit right here.
Click on the vid. There's more where that's coming from!
Monday, October 06, 2008
Please... feel free to comment.
I've already been told to suck a dig (an archaeologial dig?) on YouTube, but's that YouTube for you, eh?
Maybe you could put in your own 2-cents on the matter.
As usual... just wondering.
The Canucks will have theirs on October 14 - my birthday, eh? (Wish me a happy while you're at it as well. It'll make me - happy.)
The Yanks will be heading to the polls on November 4.
These elections - like any other elections - have campaigns based on very serious issues affecting everyone. From big businesses down to the most common of men, each platform have an effect.
But I'm not going to tell you how to vote, even though my preference is still "conservative".
I am not going to say that one party is better than the other, even though up here in Canada, Stephen Harper has done a respectable (not great) job in running the country in spite of having a minority government - neither Paul Martin nor Joe Clark could lay claim to doing anything better.
What I want to tell you is this...
There's nothing wrong with being pissed off at your representative/minister of Parliament/government.
But the vote to which you're entitled represents your voice.
It is the only silent-but-deadly way to send a message.
Of course, the Yanks have something called a "recall" which allows them to turf any hack that would offend them.
We Canucks are stuck with the same schmuck for 4 years.
But this year, with the war on terror still going on and an apparently imminent economic implosion looming over the horizon, these elections will be crucial. Whoever is chosen to lead will have a lot on the plate and many lives, reputations and bank accounts on the line.
That's why you should vote.
And I'm not just aiming this at the young n00bz who'd rather pwn someone online rather than get in line at the ballot box.
This goes to you. My generation. The 30-/40-/50-somethings.
The ones who used to identify with Generation-X.
All the former slackers, stoners, punkers, new-wavers, headbangers, nerds...
We who pay the taxes, rents, mortgages with our hard-earned cash.
Those who set aside little for themselves while feeding family, patners and pets.
Yes, politics and government suck, but apathy can lead to much worse.
So for G-d's sake, please.
Just go and fucking vote.
Did you ever wonder what all this fuss is about? Who or what created this crisis? Who should take the blame - the people who created the mess or it's inheritors? Before you cast your vote or stones, watch this.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
The tune is called Fakkaroni ("They Reminded Me...").
All you need to do is listen. Just listen.
'uds are big honkin' suckers. And since they're fretless like violins and violas, it takes years just to be simply competent. This vid is just one example.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Otherwise, someone might wind up losing his head.
By now, the whole world knows that Canada is a great country to live in.
A safe place full of peace loving peoples and knife wielding psychos.
Because where else can you feel safe riding a bus anywhere, let alone drive one in any given city?
Consider the fact that our crime rates are always falling.
Even the fictional Ministry of Truth in Orwell's "1984" (a very prophetic book, IMO) couldn't come up with anything sunnier than what StatsCan™ would cook up on any given day.
Yes, kids - this is shaping up to be one HELL of a summer here in the Great White North.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Two years without gambling... okay - so I relapsed a couple of times but I'm doing fine.
Two years without a hangup, sexual, social, political or otherwise.
The problem about living post-addiction is that there always seem to be a tempting aftertaste of the drug of choice taken.
I miss the sharp sweetness of a double vodka and diet coke, the way it would hit the back of the throat and burn its way down the esophagus to the stomach. I miss the eventual buzz that it would induce, and the loosening of inhibitions and morals at any given party.
I miss the rush obtained by rolling two dice at the craps table at Casino Nova Scotia. The noise, the chaos, the anticipation that the right number would come up at the right time - would it be a deuce, double deuce or midnight? I miss the ritual and suspense involved with the roll, the many eyes of fellow desperate beings staring at me, praying that I wouldn't seven-out them of whatever hard-earned money that they would put on the table.
I miss all the orgasms that I have obtained, regardless of means, both legit and illicit. The adventure, the danger, the thrill of witnessing, ravishing and obtaining human flesh so that for one fleeting moment, the pain of reality would go away.
It takes but one taste to get you hooked. And that taste will never leave you.
The taste can redefine the way you look at the world, treat the people, spend the money and even read these worlds.
People would lie, cheat, steal and kill for its effects, its rush, its power and the illusion of empowerment.
I lived for the taste. I wanted more of it. I wanted to re-live the feeling of the initial rush every time I took it.
I spent a lot of money pursuing that first rush. I wanted that high to be more intense, more empowering.
Yet with every high, there is a crash, each one being worse, bloodier and more costly than the last.
In pursuit of the taste I had dug a hole so deep that the only way to get out is to keep digging in the faint hope that I could see light at the other end.
Even though I am enjoying sobriety, the reality of my life and the things surrounding it is no less easier. All the things that I had put off due to my drinking, gambling and whoring ways have returned to haunt me. Negligence has its price. Looking back becomes a habit, a sick perverse obsession. A part of me wants to reinvent the wheel when it comes to taking stock of what led me to my current situation.
I thought I could save the world. I thought I could change it. I thought I could be king in a short time.
But after years of living like a god, I started to realise that soon, I'll die like a man and be buried like everyone else, because I am no longer the wild and crazy kid that I thought I was - at least in my own fevered mind. With all the excesses and the resulting mayhem, in the wake of what seemed to be an endless storm fueled by want of immediate gratification, I emerged battered, bloodied, naked and in pain.
But I am not dead.
Not that I really wanted to live forever - I'm just too scared to die before achieving my full potential. There are too many things to do and accomplish for me to toss in the proverbial towel and cash out of this mortal coil.
Life is full of unexpected experiences, both good and bad. No matter what could happen on any given day, I am still standing.
Because of my sobriety and my willingness to pursue and healthier, more fulfilling life, I consider every day to be a birthday.
I don't miss the stupidity, silliness and hangovers.
I don't miss the losses and disappointments.
I don't miss the guilt and embarrassment and shame of the morning-after and the ensuing ruination of lives.
But most of all, I don't miss the taste, even though it will in my body, mind and soul until I take my final breath.
I have done enough sinning in my life. I have gorged enough forbidden fruit to make the vilest of men sick. I have bitten off more that I could chew and burnt so many bridges that I might as well take a deep breath and move forward.
My name is Jacques. I was, I am and always will be an addict, pervert, scoundrel, jealous bastard, wanton lover and romantic hater.
And I am still alive.
And these days, I never could have felt this great.
Thank G-d for the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.
Oh... and by the way - I still love to create.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
He may have pushed the boundaries in the medical profession.
He may have given women the power to control their bodies and their lives.
He may have influenced changes in society and attitudes towards reproductive rights.
He may have succeeded in lifting the taboo off abortion.
But he does not, nor ever will, deserve the Order of Canada.
First... I don't mind a woman's right to choose. If she feels that she does not want this pregnancy, that all avenues that would help relieve her of the burden of raising a child have been exhausted, or that this pregnancy might endanger her life, then she is entitled to that right.
That being said, abortion is wrong. Period.
I'm not talking about the X-tian notion of the sanctity of life, although I do believe that life begins at conception. This isn't even about meddling with nature, although the concept of man playing God has irked me in more ways than one (see: bin Ladin, Hitler, Stalin, et al).
This is about dereliction of responsibility, the cheapening of morality and the abdication of accountability, and its effect on the collective mindset at the closing of the previous century.
If anyone had given any thought about their actions with regards to the sex act, if anyone were learned on the responsibilities involved, we wouldn't have to worry about abortions.
By carrying out the abortion, the woman who requested it has abdicated responsibility and accountability: it will always be "someone else's fault", "a mistake", "a decision that had to be made in one's own interests".
Just call me a pro-lifer for choice - abortion is wrong, plays God and messes with nature, but let the woman make the final call.
Dr. Morgentaler is not a villain. He is not a monster. He isn't even the Antichrist, let alone an anarchist. He is a doctor attending to a patient's needs.
But what has he done for all Canadians? What has he done for me?
Far from being humble, Dr. Morgentaler said this...
"I think it's a sign of recognition for all the work that I've done over the years and the sacrifices I've borne and the unjust sentence of imprisonment that I suffered," he said.
"I hope that Canada has set an example and that internationally, people in governments will respond to it."
Joyce Arthur of the Abortion Rights Coalition of Canada was just as modest...
"There's always going to be some division and controversy about him. Canada is the only democratic country in the world that has no law on abortion," she said.
"We set a good example for the rest of the world, and this Order of Canada further sets a good example because it sends a strong message that our society officially supports abortion rights and women's rights and we're not afraid to say it out loud."
Sadly, I don't see any point why Dr. Morgentaler should get this honour, at least at this time.
If this is Canada's way of saying that we are a progressive country, then something has gone FUBAR. The Order of Canada is not for Henry Morgentaler.
So there you go.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Some people think that dying on the fields of battle is more than heroic - it's an honourable death.
Others say that work can kill you, and they may be right.
But by any standards, Tim Russert died too young, his work on this mortal plain unfinished.
Then again, life and death happens, and with the rash of politicians lining up in front of the proverbial Pearly Gates growing longer, it's only fair that G-d of our Understanding would call Tim up.
Whether you love him, loathe him or both, Tim almost always put on a good show in "meet the Press". He deserves some major props for daring others to follow his lead, his flow, his style.
Now Sundays, for the armchair statesmen and pundits, will become crappy.
Now I hope the Duffster doesn't follow Russert too soon, because this will doubly suck.
Monday, June 09, 2008
For the past week, Canada's other anthem - one might even say that it's the most sacred Saturday night hymn - was at the centre of controversy.
The dispute centred on the theme song to the CBC's "Hockey Night in Canada" (a.k.a. "HNIC").
Ask any Canuck about HNIC and s/he will tell you that it's one of the best shows to watch on a Saturday night in wintertime, showcasing the good, bad and ugly of the best game you can name.
Considering that hockey is Canada's unofficial state religion, any tinkering with rules, uniforms and even rituals would be considered worse than blasphemous. Even radical Islamofascism has some boundaries - as long as you don't insult the Prophet (PBUH), they're cool. Mess with anything that has to do with hockey, and you'll have one big fat Canadian fatwah (and Don Cherry) on your sorry hairy arse.
I've grown to accept the HNIC theme as part of the landscape and that of the CBC, who insinuated itself into the Hoser psyche as the purveyor of the game on ice.
Sadly, the theme's composer wanted to get paid a little more because of its popularity.
Considering that we are the amongst most taxed people in the history of Western Civilisation©, we thought that the CBC, a Crown Corporation, would be able to settle this affair accordingly. Right?
Sadly, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation has long been a victim of its own paradigm paralysis - even though it sees itself as the protector of Canadian Culture™, the Powers That Be have no clue how to improve it's management and profitability. In its dispute with the composer's estate, it cried poverty. Towards the end of the week, the CBC decided to hold a competition on a possible replacement. Pathetic.
Enter the CTV, CBC's rival.
Right about now, this company pwns a goodly chunk of Canadian pop culture, from its own stable of radio and tv stations to specialty channels such as TSN, MuchMusic and franchises such as the Discovery Channel and MTV. (Yes... that eMpTy-V!) There was no doubt that one day, it might come to eclipse the so-called Mother Corp.
And earlier today, it did just that.
So what does that mean for the CBC? What does it say about the erstwhile, self-proclaimed guardian of Canadian Culture™?
Well... it's another great example on how a once-respected institution could get so bloated on it own sanctimonious arrogance and delusion that it could succeed in sabotaging its own attempt at retaining and maintaining the respect of its core audiences.
You might say that the CBC had committed a little social and public-relations suicide.
But that would involve competency, and in the end, it was the CTV that wound up pulling the trigger to finish the job.
And so, there you go.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
The Godfather of Soul, the King of Rock and Roll, the Man in Black, the Quiet Beatle, the Loon, the Crazy Diamond, the Samurai Blues Brother and all the blues, hip-hop and r'n'b OGs from Leadbelly, Robert Johnson, Otis Redding, Muddy Waters, Easy E, 2-Pac and B.I.G. on down, are all on notice.
Bo Diddley's in town, and for the Lord he's ready to get down.
Give the man all the love and props. If you don't know Diddley, get to know.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Last night, I told you that Hali's Ellen Page has taken home the Golden Popcorn for her portrayal of a pregnant teen in "Juno".
After experiencing serious pwnage by Marion Cotillard at the Golden Globes and the Oscars earlier this year, Ellen, in her own understated way, thanked the peeps that created the surreal comedic drama. Now that was a class act.
Now you would think that everyone in the Halifax Regional Municipality, from Musquodobit Harbour to Peggy's Cove and beyonder, would big-up the young, native Bluenoser for pwning bigger, more notorious starlets such as Jessica Biel ("I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry"), Katherine Heigl ("Knocked Up"), Amy Adams ("Enchanted") and Keira Knightley ("Pirates of the Caribbean") - who, with all due respect, each deserve a Popcorn for their troubles.
But, as of now, so-far, not much peepage from the media.
Now it's true that many people are getting bored of the smarmy ass-kiss atmosphere present in all award shows. But when one of our own shows up as a nominee, we get "googoo gaga" retarded. And right about now, one news outlet has the opportunity of saying in large print, "ELLEN HAS POPCORN!"
As of right now, the Chronicle Herald is the only paper in Halifax to do that.
In fact, it is the only paper in Halifax. Period.
To be fair, there are two other tabloids on the scene. The Metro was born out of the ashes of the late, lamented Daily News. The Coast offers an independent (read: "progressive") take on local-to-global issues. But neither of them could match the juggernaut that is one of North America's oldest dailies.
So why did the CH drop the ball when Ellen won?
It's one thing to respect your neighbour's privacy - Ellen is our neighbour, after all - but a least one passing acknowledgment should be in order.
Forget the fact that there's more on the go in Ms. Page's life and career. Forget the all the lesbian rumours. Even forget the fact that for many people, Ellen will still be known best as Treena Lahey, Hayley Stark or even little Maggie MacLean in the Canadian family series "Pit Pony".
What's really important is that Ellen gets some props from the only paper in town. And that paper ain't even saying a tiny "boo".
Oh well. Life goes on, even if it's depicted by the Chronically Horrid.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
And for some strange reason, I'm so amped.
So here are a few plans that need to be taken care of.
Prioritizing can be a bitch, but this is the best that I can come up.
And if none of this makes any sense, it's because I'm making them all up on the fly.
- Thank goodness for obsessive compulsion!
I found out that I did back up my website on some DVDs after all!
Now I've got to find a good, reliable and cheap server to hold all this stuff.
The sooner I get it, the better.
The problem is that money is always too tight, and settling in a strange city full of strangers require setting up a certain quality of life.
So for now, world conquest is on hold.
- For those who do not yet know, I have a YouTube Channel called "The Jacques Treatment".
It's just like this blog, but this time you get to know a little more about me and how I manage the method of madness.
Currently, I'm mapping out a couple of projects with 3 cams, several pages full of scribblings and a fevered imagination.
Not unlike this blog.
So drop in, subscribe and hopefully we could all start a revolution, one vid at a time, one day at a time.
And by the way - don't forget my friends. They're all waiting for you. Now.
- Last year, my bike was stolen.
Since I sold my car back in '06, the bike had been my means of transportation, and has help me keep my weight down.
But in early '07, some heartless fucker managed to bypass the Kryptonute locking system and jack my ride.
This year, I'm being a little more careful.
Even though my crib is a bit cramped as it is, I'm keeping my new ride inside.
Which is all the better: the area, while not considered bad by urban standards, has its share of hooligans.
The other day, the apartment building's front door's Plexiglas had been smashed. The adjacent window was also smashed.
Who knows what kind of shit goes down in the hood, but I'm not budging for the next little while.
After all, moving is quite expensive, and I'm trying to keep everything under budget.
Anyways... I'm tired, thirsty and ready to crash in a major way. Stay safe.
And thank Satan that Marion Cotillard wasn't ever nominated for that!
She looked pretty floored.
And she didn't have to wear any hideous pumps to aggravate the event.
So there you go, eh?
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
This lack of leadership, and the confusion that it can create, is apparent when the Reverend Wright issued his "God damn America" sermon.
True - it has offended the conservative sphere is such a way that some are calling for his head to be served (examples here, here, and here).
Right about now - at the risk of permanently alienating conservatives, right-libertarians and anti-idiotarians everywhere even further, here is Rev. Wright's sermon (courtesy of the "Huffington Post")...
In context of this sermon, Wright has good reason why politics can alienate groups of people due to the whims of various leaders. In that context, people should have the right to rage against the machine.
Having said all that, Wright is still crying "Victim" in this sermon. As someone who is not a X-tian, this would upset God quite a bit.
Obsessing about the past can be a dangerous thing. Many people overcompensate their shortcomings or their trespasses by either starting wars (yes - even this current war!), engaging in addictions <puts hand up> or becoming an emasculated shadow of one's self. Continuous self reflection isolates you from the mainstream, prevents you from seeing the big picture and may even exacerbate the failures and errors that you have committed in the past.
If Reverend Wright wants to help the people, he shouldn't promote self-defeatism by laying blame solely on the oppressors - past, present, future. Playing the victim card politically, socially or racially can backfire and harm even the people you're trying to save.
The people are the engineers of their own successes and failures. By forever demanding entitlement, concessions and payback on the basis of victimhood, Reverend Dr. Jeremiah Wright may be cheapening the whole concept. That's the real crime of this sermon - not anti-Americanism, but constant self-victimisation.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Maybe because it was the first Monday of the month, where the mundane became weird and the weird became completely obnoxious.
If I had a dollar for every single company store cock-up, I wouldn't be blogging: I'd be banking, partying and sit around in South Beach sipping vodka sours and watching the thongs pass by.
The suck-ass weather didn't help matters much either. My sinuses went Jihadi and forced me to knock back the last sinus care caplet with my morning tea.
It was one of the worst of times to be on my best behaviour. And even that it getting tested beyond its breaking point.
Enough of my life. Here we go...
- Angel eyes on Jeff. Back in the day, Jeff Healy could rock the blues and funk the jazz out of his Strat. Like the other Jeff (Jeff Beck), he could bend the fuck out of his notes while the single coils transmit the sonic fire to the masses.
Most of all, Jeff Healy was a gentleman, a Mensch, a sonic entrepreneur who parleyed his talents to different avenues such as his own hot jazz/blues club in the T-dot.
But, for those who know better, Jeff was a fighter and a survivor. The cancer that stole his eyes didn't steal his love of music, nor did it still the hands that wrenched it out of any Fender that was lying around at any time.
Last Sunday night, Jeff went down fighting.
Charlie was too tenacious, too fast, too ingrained.
Charlie didn't care who he took. Be it man, woman, child, Charlie was a glutton for flesh, tissue, organs and cells.
But Charlie can never take souls. He failed to still Jeff's hunger for the perfect sound and stifle his dream of doing good for the love of music.
Love. Music. Life. The God-blessed trinity that keep me alive fueled Jeff's life, right to the end.
Our existence on this planet is always transient, yet the works and legacies that we create will outlive us for better, for worse, and for those willing to follow in our steps.
Jeff was but one of many. Yet, at 41, he had lived and loved more than people twice his age, if only because his life, like ours, was transient.
For me, 41 is too damn young. My sister's 41. I was once 41. And yet we all felt that there was more work to be done, more sights to see, more mountains to climb.
We'll see you on the other side, Jeff Healy.
My condolences, love and respect to those who loved him.
- Gauging Page again. I swear that this will be the last time I take Ellen Page's name in vain again.
A few posts ago, I've mentioned that Ellen may be this generation's Molly Ringwald.
Then, while I was at work, something really hit me.
Ellen is not- repeat, not - Molly.
She's our Christina Ricci.
Or maybe Winona Ryder.
In fact, after watching "Juno" and "Hard Candy", I believe that Ellen has the versatility possessed by these 2 stars.
Having said that, I should just go and get a life instead.
Ellen is simply... Ellen. And I'll leave it at that.
- A tale of 2 Steve-O's. As I'm getting next to comatose, I'll keep these 2 items short.
a) Steve-O busted.
b) Steve-O busted.
Discuss amongst yourselves. Which one is more Jackass than the other?
Can you see the difference?
Maybe it's because one of them beat up something while the other one is getting beaten up from all sides.
Who will survive? Stay tuned.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
I was expecting Julie Christie, but Marion Cotillard looked nice.
Thank goodness I've quit betting a long time ago... the race is tighter than a dead miser's fist.
As for Ellen... keep on trucking and you'll be pwning, Kid.
- I'll sleep when I'm dead! I always have this thing about days when I don't have to go to work.
I've made it a point to take advantage of the sunlight to do stuff, like making entries like this.
The problem is, my body could only take so much abuse that as much as I want to get on to a second, third or fourth wind, my wee brain starts thinking otherwise.
This usually happens when I work the graveyard or late evening shifts. After work there would be a lengthy period of decompression where I would gather my thoughts and make plans for the next day. This goes everything against all that I've learned in my 12-step programs.
The more I worry, the more I do junk, then...
- HEADS! The Wooden Monkey on Argyle might be getting more than a few more customers after tonight.
Not all people running around with cameras will be tourists.
And someone might wind up lurking area high schools for the next big thing.
Ellen Page's star is rising fast. Faster than a Victoria-class sub in an emergency, faster than an old-school ICBM.
On a personal level, the Monkey is a very nice place. Most of the dishes are natural, organic and locally produced. Last time I was there they had the veggie gyoza and this tofu cheesecake that is to kill for. What the hell is going to happen to the place when the stalkerazzi descend on Halifax like famished locusts?
And I feel for some of the students at the schools Ellen attended. I fear that some goon from Access Hollywood or Extra will push for some dirt on the kid from people who may have had the slightest passing acquaintance.
If Ellen were to win the Oscar, one can bet that there will be expectations galore. Expectations for bigger, more demanding roles. If she could take the heat, all the power to her and everything else. But people worry about what might happen if/when the hype hits the fan. And Hollywood, being a town of jaded elders, eats its young like candy.
Thankfully, Ellen seems to have a good head on her shoulders, and she should keep it if the heat turns up.
I still think that Julie Christie or Marion Cotillard will pwn the paperweight. I'll find out tonight.
- iPhone - not a goddamn toy. For those people stateside who are hungering for Apple's latest gift to humankind, a word of advice.
Don't try to aim for prepaid service.
Especially if you have good credit.
First, prepaid is more expensive than a contract service. You are actually paying more green for less service than you think. The lowest contract price actually offers you more than the lowest prepaid price (monthly prepaid plan rate + 19.99/month for data). Check that one out. Plus you get to do some roaming with a contract. Prepaid customers don't have that privilege. Sorry, boss.
Secondly, and most importantly, you're getting the same damn service, security and responsibility as contract people.
If you know that your credit is royally fubar, iTunes would let you know, then give you a choice of going to the nearest AT&T store or going prepaid. It's that simple.
If I were you, I'd think before I run.
The saddest thing is that living in Canada, I couldn't get my greasy palms on those babies, yet. Sigh.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Belated Happy 21 to Ellen Page.
But in her craft she emits emotions
Like an alchemist conjuring strange arcane potions
Or Sheherezade working ever faster
To please an ever demanding master
But as I get ready to go to bed
After everything has been said and done
It doesn't matter what you've lost or won
From one jaded expat Torontonian
I salute thee, dear Ellen, thou lady Scotian.
I know it's kinda sucky and hokey. But I had a long day. And the next 2 days won't be any shorter.
At least my heart's in the right place.
And so, there you go.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
If you love snow flurries mixed in with slushy slurries, this is the place for you here and now.
And without much further ado, here we go...
- This day sucks donkeys! On my day off from work and everything that could happen in winter happened all at once.
I though that I could head out and catch a movie, do some shopping or chill at Timmy's, but the weather was doing its version of mood swings, so I stayed home and vegged.
At least I could get some cleaning and cooking done. But that's cold comfort without diversions.
- Winehouse in da house! Congrats to Amy for pwning almost all the Grammys her shaky little hands could manage.
Extra big ups to Herbie Hancock who proved to everyone that good jazz is alive and well.
And extra big-ups to Kanye West for being himself as usual.
Boo-hiss to the engineers trying to bust West's acceptance speech with a little bit of death metal.
And a big chill out to Natalie Cole - from one ex-addict to another, ease the hate and give the Winehead some slack.
Yes... I still believe that Amy should've stayed at home, but she said no, no, no. At least her set didn't turn out to be another "Gimme More" clusterfuck a la Britney, even though she seemed a little bit lost. But then rehab doesn't buy itself.
And so... there you go.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Now, see this...
A little bit spontaneous and rough (I just have to work on my tagline)considering that I just arrived home from work, but I pulled no punches on this sucker.
Now, I can relax.
Big ups: Michael Buckley - the second coming of Max Headroom and his projects "What the Buck Show" and "Buck Hollywood". It sure beats watching ET, Inside Edition, Excess Hollywood and all the other celeb-pr0n tubetrash. He gives good love. Send some back his way. Tell him that Jacques sent you.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
The Occasional Rant - Go, Leafs... oh... nevermind. Ellen Page - the new Molly Ringwald? Why Afghaninstan is not Canada's Iraq.
- Giving it up for the Blue and White? Just give up. The big question nipping at the synapses of athletic gourmands is whether the Toronto Maple Leafs would turn around and surprise everyone with a resurrection of sorts.
As a terminal Torontonian (my creds: born at Mount Sinai; treated for many ailments at Sick Kids; knows that Yonge and Dundas is not as bad or evil as it used to be; misses the yeasty malt waft from the old Molson brewery on the Lakesore as it hit HMCS York), I suffer every single season. I remember the last Stanley Cup parade - I was all of 3 years old when pandemonium hit downtown and my parents took me to experience the thrill of seeing the sacred Cup in the hands of the Chosen and Deserving. To me, everyone was all of 3 years of age at that point.
But now, long after Harold Ballard had become nothing but dust, bone and shady memory, the Leafs have imploded. Not that they ever had any major success since 1967 - they've been frustrated bridesmaids many a time, but never holders of the battered Grail - but this year, the effects of that drought are starting to fray the nerves of even the newbiest of newbies. At last count, after getting pwned at home 8-0 Tuesday night by the Florida Panthers - based in a state where snow is what someone would rather snort than shovel - the once and future Kings of Carlton St. share the dank basement with the likes of Tampa, Chicago and LA. The former dynastic Islander powerhouse is now even a shadow of its former self, its fans no doubt intent on commiserating with their counterparts.
But this is not about how to improve the team. This is a eulogy, a requiem for a throwaway season. This may sound defeatist, but there is a fine line between optimism and full-blown delusion. Rather than hope for a miraculous turnaround, rather than goad an already battered team into further oblivion, we should just show our love for the Blue and White, win or lose, and give up on the rest of the season.
This isn't just for the good of the team. It's also for your own health. There's always next season. Consider this roster under construction and cut them enough slack to let them make mistakes from which they could learn. And come playoff time, learn to say this mantra with all your heart...
GO, SENS, GO!
- Juno Pretty in Pink? I'm probably going to piss off a lot of fanboiz and fangrrlz by saying that there isn't anything special about Ellen Page.
In a field over-saturated by wide-eyed ingenues and hyper-precocious twinks (hello, Hannah Montana?), Ellen may be seen as a hot, gawky woman with all the quirks associated with opinionated youth. Then again, having lived in the Halifax-Dartmouth area since 2002, there are many women like Ellen/Juno who posses these same qualities. Hell... one of my co-workers recently gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and she was just 17 when the bun was placed in her oven (big-up, congrats, mad-love and respect, Amanda). So, what's up about Juno and the hamburger phone, eh?
To be fair, I have yet to see this movie, but I remember a similar hype with another ingenue who broke out on the scene via teen flicks - Molly Ringwald.
Mmmmmm - how I loved her all-American gawkishness and her fiery red hair, and the way she scowled at Judd Nelson in "The Breakfast Club".
There could be so many similarities between Ellen and Molly - both of them started out on television (Ellen: "Pit Pony", "Re-Genesis", "Trailer Park Boys"; Molly: "The Facts of Life"). Both of them went to interesting schools (Ellen: Shambhala School; Molly: Lycée Française School in Los Angeles). And most interestingly, they both appeared in movies about teen pregnancy (Ellen: y'know; Molly: "For Keeps?").
Surprise, surprise. I think I've found a match. 20 years apart.
It would be very interesting if both these ladies get together for some lunch, maybe at the Wooden Monkey in downtown Halifax, where they serve this chocolate walnut tofu cheesecake to kill for - yummy, muthafuckah! - and maybe do a film together. Think of this as passing the torch from one gen to another.
For now, Ellen Page is a work in progress. While she does have some career mileage, she really has to do something that would make everyone shout "What the f---!" rather than say "What the f---", "Hard Candy" and "The Tracey Fragments" notwithstanding. The upcoming adaptation of "The Stone Angel" might just do the trick. In the meantime, for patriotic purposes, Ellen (along with Wintersleep, Classified, Buck 65 and John Dunsworth, among many in the Maritimes) has been declared Jacques Approved™!
Having said that, I still believe that she'll win the Oscar some other time.
- Quagmire is Peter Griffin's Neighbour! Stéphane Dion's heart may go on, but in the here-and-now, the Gritmeister is in a quandary.
His party, many moons ago, volunteered this country to go into Afghanistan to rebuild and keep the Taliban and al-Qaeda zealots at bay, if not six feet under. Current Prime Minister Stephen Harper ensured that the boys and girls - my brothers and sisters - take advantage of this mandate to ensure the freedom, dignity and respect for the many disparate tribes that make the Afghan nation.
As everyone should know by now, this had been easier said than done - every tribe has one form of beef or another, and most deaths amongst the local populace could be attributed to longstanding vendettas dating way before the Mullahs or Comrade Ivan ran things. All things considered, the Canucks have gone above and beyond the call of duty to keep the masses on their watch from killing each other.
The problem that Dion has right now is that he wanted to remove the troops or at least limit their commitment after Feb 2009. Harper wanted to maintain the status quo beyond that date, provided that NATO would do more to help out in the region around Kandahar.
Granted - Afghanistan is not Quebec, and multiculturalism there is more of the "You suck" - "You suck even more than your momma" variety. And in this region of the world, our concept of liberal democracy is as strange to them as female circumcision is to us. To those people who believe that we should stick to peacekeeping, think about this problem - remember Yugoslavia? Rwanda? If we have kept the peace there, why are there still more unmarked graves turning up? Peace, love and flowers, and a "Star Trek" solution are not the answers - in order to have peace, you have to create it, and as much as you hate the thought, a loaded weapon with the safety off does a better job than hugs and "Kumbaya". You have to make it to keep it, and our people over there are doing just that - policing the peace.
The real big issue is that in spite of all our best efforts, we're still not feeling the love from our NATO "partners". Ignoring the need for more resources in this volatile region will make more Canadians resent the commitment to carry out the task. And an emasculated central government doesn't help the cause any better. As much as Hamid Karzai can talk a great talk, he still has to learn the baby steps to walk the walk, one step at a time.
Whether Dion, Layton and that guy from the Bloc Québec-wha'? realise the big picture as much as Steve-O remains to be seen. I'm not holding my breath - neither should anyone who cares about the security of others as well as ourselves. And to be fair, if you need to commit, you need the love, and Steve-O should step up more often to ensure that our "partners" send more of it over. And soon. Or else.
And so... there you go.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
I've stumbled upon this nugget on VBS just by accident.
By the time I've gotten around to seeing the whole show, I'm quite convinced that Gaahl has some pretty serious issues. But it's not up to me to make the ultimate call.
Check this out...
At long last, some love for Anvil.
As in... "It's about muthafuckkin time" love.
From the site...
Anvil! The Story Of Anvil is the name of the documentary on ANVIL directed by Sacha Gervasi, who wrote the Steven Spielberg movie, The Terminal. It will be premiered at the Sundance Film Festival which runs January 17-27, 2008. Sacha is an old friend of the band's that used to do some roadie work for them back in the 1980's. The website for the film is http://anvilmovie.com.
I'm-a seeing this. You should too. If you think Metallica© is the shit, think again. Without Anvil, they would still be touring dives to this day.
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Occasional Rant: Dead Celebs; Vista is Satan; PC-hostile CDs; Stéphane Dion Might Be Right After All; And Then Some...
So here we go...
- Heath Ledger. Brad Renfro. RIP. Could it be the alignment of planets? Could it be that the death-watch focus on Britney, Lindsay and Amy have failed these 2 tortured souls in an industry where looks and performance intertwine? Has Western-civilised society in general become so shallow that the pain and struggle experienced by the famous few get scrutinised under the paparazzi microscope while the common, obscure majority dealing with the same issues get ignored, mocked and even exiled to wallow in their own private hells?
It makes a sane person mad with the desire to kill Dr. Phil, the fake, phony, trivialising bastard-fuck of a charlatan who tried to make Britney his personal experiment, but failed. Where was he when Brad had his demons? Where was he when Heath had to deal with being the Joker for the Dark Knight? Does he care for all of the tortured people, or is he content being Oprah's lap-dog?
I know pain, pressure, desperation. These guys deserved better. Love and respect to those who do.
- Vista: Bill Gates's "Fuck You" to PC owners? Hands up all those who still chafe under the yoke of Windows Vista.
Here's the story so far... I got myself a nice little HP laptop preloaded with the infamous OS, loaded up on my favourite games while being challenged every time by its built-in sentry, blah blah blah. In spite of it all, things started getting copacetic. Right?
Well, on Tuesday I booted up the laptop, clicked on the IE button and got a nice little F-You from the system. Just when it was trying to load the Yahoo!© homepage, the damn browser went tits-up on me. Windows stepped in to shut it down with a couple of killer pop-ups of its own, then after I clicked on the "Close Program" button, a balloon appeared on the lower right-hand corner of the screen saying that an app called "Data Execution Prevention" kept the browser from running and ruining the Vista Utopia.
Somehow, the OS assumed that IE would crash and burn and that the entire system would scream blue screen. But I led me to think that of all the OSes I've tried, Vista was one of the worst.
In fact, the only (relatively) robust OS I've ever experienced was IBM's late, lamented OS/2 Warp 4. I worked with it during my time at BMO and it rarely gave any grief, especially while monitoring the bank's vast array of branch nodes and ABMs.
A year-and-a-half later, BMO installed Windows NT, and all hell broke loose.
For a corporation with a virtual monopoly on PC OSes, they should've done their homework before ditching XP in favour of an Apple-lite wannabe. Maybe I should've bought a Mac instead.
- Can someone help me with these CDs?
I've tried ripping these CDs for my "jukebox":
Nelly Furtado - Folklore (crashed WMP, CD-DA)
Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake - It's Morning (crashed CD-DA, unreadable by WMP)
The Mars Volta - Deloused in the Comatorium (Track 10: "Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt" - crashed both CD-DA and WMP)
IMO, Furtado's "Folkore" was a great release, but when I tried to even play the CD, the laptop went "F-U" on me. Same thing with the Bright Eyes disc. Connor Oberst is without a doubt a true fuckin' pop music genius - next to Tom Waits, Richard Thompson, Ben Folds... But was it his idea to make "Wide Awake" so cyber-hostile - the entire OS went Jihadi on me when I popped it in. Like, WTF dude? The Volta's "Comatorium" equals anything put out by At The Drive In in terms of intensity and lyricism, but the last track was a whore, eventually forcing both rippers to yell "Kamerad!" before expiring.
If anyone has similar ripping war-stories, et al, let me know. If you know a cure, e-mail me. Please. Like, right freakin' now. 'kay?
- Stéphane Sticks It to the Man. It's a lot better when read out loud.
He who is not Céline recently made a comment that, surprisingly, made a lot of sense.
And so said Stéphane the man...
"We are going to have to discuss that very actively if they (the Pakistanis) are not able to deal with it on their own. We could consider that option with the NATO forces in order to help Pakistan help us pacify Afghanistan," said Mr. Dion in Quebec City, commenting after his two-day trip to Afghanistan last weekend. "As long as we don't solve the problem in Pakistan, I don't see how we can solve it in Afghanistan."With all due blah blah blah... most of what Monsieur Dion said made a lot of sense - Taliban come in, leave IED, fuck-off to the other side. If the Pakistanis have trouble teaching the Taliban manners, why couldn't we help these "brothers" out?
The Liberal leader explained that Afghan officials told him they know where the extremist strongholds are in Pakistan. But he said the Afghans don't take action.
"One day, we are going to have to act because our soldiers are cleaning out some areas, but in fact very often they are only clean in principle. The insurgents go take refuge in Pakistan and they are going to come back (to Afghanistan) at the earliest opportunity. This could last very long if we don't tackle the problems that often originate from Pakistan," Mr. Dion said.
Defence Minister Peter MacKay told Canwest News Service Dion's comments were off base.
"Mr. Dion can't be serious to suggest NATO "intervene," in another country while simultaneously saying Canada should abandon its United Nations-mandated NATO mission in Afghanistan," he said in an e-mail.
"He has to explain to Canadians why he wants an "intervention" but wants to turn his back on Afghanistan, which has asked and continues to ask for Canada's help. It's inane."
Don't forget: Pakistan, like all the other 'stans, is Islamic. Period. And to many, if not most in that land, the Taliban are brothers. To date, 78 of my brothers and sisters have gone to a better life thanks to these Jihadis, and Musharraf doesn't seem to be doing enough to rein in these murderers who have also sent innocent Muslim civilians to paradise.
Right about now, the 78 Canucks, including Sapper Gonthier, are each probably enjoying 70 virgins and endless showings of classic NHL - the ones with the Rocket and Bill Barilko. After all, they too are Allah's children, aren't they?
- Gauging the Rage About Page. (And why I'm being very cautious about what I really want to say without hurting too many feelings.)
Think of this as a bookend.
Ellen Page is without a doubt one of Hali's best exports next to Keith's, Sloan, April Wine and (even though they're from Cole Harbour, but who cares?) the Trailer Park Boys.
Now, I admit to seeing Ellen a few years ago passing through along Young St. once in a while - she attended the Shambhala school which is located not too far from CFB Stadacona. Didn't know or care who she was. She was just another face. But thanks to a few choice roles in some movies ("Hard Candy", "The Tracy Fragments", "Mouth to Mouth", "Juno"), she has gotten more than a foot in the door - she's now in the house.
I also have to mention the fact that she did appear in Season 2 of Trailer Park Boys as Treena Lahey, the sensible offspring of the oft incoherent park super Jim Lahey (played by the inimitable John Dunsworth).
Everyone is talking about "our Ellen" being in the running for the Oscar. I hate to say this, but she's got herself some pretty stiff competition - and that's not just the Torontonian in me saying this: I'm being a bit realistic. Cate Blanchett, Julie Christie (remember "The Demon Seed"? Wicked-ass flick.), Marion Cotillard (c'est qui?) and Laura Linney all want a piece of that action.
I'd love to see Ellen win one, not only for Hali but for all of the Great White North. But truthfully, the golden doorstop has a tendency to go to the classic (Julie Christie has been around since I was half Ellen's age), the pretentious (Cotillard, who won the Golden Globe for Best Actress, played Édith Piaf in the sprawling "La vie en rose") or the all-American. Also, I haven't really experienced too many dark-horse wins, let alone wins by newbie talent.
Ellen, with all due respect since she might be reading this, is a newbie talent compared to the competition. I'm saying that this is not her time. I'd give her 2 more years, more mature roles and storylines, and maybe an appearance on "Red Eye", then she will have enough cred to bring home the hardware.
After all, where the hell is JK Simmons, the man who played Juno's dad? Why did he not get a nod?
Of course, I may be proven wrong. Ellen is talented. And if you take her Canuck career, she does have milage via tv and indie productions. So maybe the Oscar would be considered the icing on the cake.
For now - I'm picking Julie Christie. Better luck next year, Treena Lahey.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
No more would I need an excuse to get hammered on my spare time, nor find myself broke for any other reason than having to pay rent, groceries and utilities.
(Okay... I did have to get games for the Playstation, but that's another story.)
I could finally fit into my jeans. After spending so much time struggling to fit 38 inches into a 32-inch pair of dungarees, I had to tighten my belt quite a bit.
Poverty and starvation can do that. Trust me.
All kidding aside, I am in process of releasing all these years of anger and self-loathing that ironically have driven my previous endeavours, both legit and illicit.
The funny thing about creativity and maintaining muses is that there has to be something that nourishes the process and perpetuates the momentum. Sometimes, the spark would come from a single, repetitive act, an occurring ritual that would define a person's head space. Sometimes, there would be a chemically induced revelation, an alcoholic epiphany, a hallucinogenic awakening that would give birth to a song, a drawing, a rant on a blog.
As you can see, all my writings were done under some kind of influence. And sometimes, like DUI, there would be a little collateral damage.
Have my Muses abandoned me? Has the Fire been squelched? HELL NO!
I believe that through adversity and bullshit, I've become, if not stronger, at least more at peace, more considerate, maybe even more aware of what's around me.
Yes... there will be haters everywhere who will think that once you've got the Disease, you're lost forever. I don't subscribe to the Darwinist fascism of immediate disposability (except for some extreme circumstances). The Disease always has a source, and within that source lies the cure.
Yes, I was, I am, and I will always be an addict. Once you get a taste, the taste will linger as long as you're above ground. For every rush, there will always be the crash, and most true addicts would dwell on the former than contemplate the latter. With sobriety, though, there's no difference between the two - both have equal weight and are necessary to maintain balance and order.
I'll still love and hate as usual, except that my targets will be attainable. I realise that I can't change the world as much as I like - I have enough problem changing myself as it is right now. As for the bridges that I have burned behind me in my years as an addict, leave them be - God will sort out the rest.
In other words, I am still Jacques. Nothing more. Nothing less. And there's still work to be done.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Sunday, January 06, 2008
The following items will get the Jacques treatment...
- Canucks dine on Swedish Meatballs in Prague. While browsing/wandering aimlessly in Mic-Mac Mall looking for something - anything - for my crib, I saw my fellow countrymen teach some Nordic youngsters on how we practice our religion. This may look like any other game played at an arena, on a frozen pond or a closed of section of roadway, but in Canada, the future of hockey always lie in our youngest players, and like they did for the past 3 years, the players delivered in OT, just as I stumbled into the Source store by Zellers - next door to the Payless shoe store. It was, without a doubt, the best 45 seconds of my life. Then I went to Winners to look at some coats.
- Call her Brittle. Oh, what the hell... the last time I commented on Britney Spears, she was justifying her love on Justin Timberlake (always that Bastard Fuck, style mastery and apparent talent notwithstanding). Call me pervish, but I've always had a - er - soft spot for her Britness, the way she transcended her Whorish Virgin image to wade into the unforgiving, mutilating waters of adulthood. Fast forward to now, the PR halls of mirrors shattered into a million shards as confused babies get repossesed because the former Mrs. Federline lost it.
The lazy wags, the sofa-king disingenious dishers of celebrity pornography are dining on the scraps, the feast piled even higher with the revelation that her sister Jamie Lynn had found herself in the family way. And right now, I find myself saying, "These girls are cursed."
Somewhere in Cyberspace, there is a dead pool on the go...
- President Who? Somewhere in the Blogosphere, the Partisan Hater Players are revving up their engines, pounding their chests and testing the Kool-Aid as the candidates in the upcoming US presidential primaries rework their speeches, work the crowds then rework their speeches a few more times before reworking the crowds a few more times for good measure.
Don't get me wrong - I have no love for the Demonic Rats who seem to be stuck in their desire to either bring back, reinvent or even rename the Clinton Camelot (which wasn't too bad as long as you didn't get nauseous from the endless feel-good spinning), but for a potential Donkey Prez, I'd have to go for Hilary, mainly because she is the Devil I know. Whitewater? So what - it's mostly TP rather than OP. Lewinsky? Bad waste of a Cuban cigar and one hell of a dry-cleaning bill. But she did her work alongside Bill, and she does seem to know Canada well enough. Barack Obama, OTOH, does have youth, ideals and looks good enough for an appearance or two on Soul Train, but being well learn-ed via extensive homework without the gruntwork does not a good prez hopeful make. As the saying goes, old age and treachery will triumph over youth and beauty. 4 more years and maybe Barack will become a worthy opponent.
The Republicans have Mike Huckabee, who unlike NY-based Hillary has some serious AK credentials. Aside from that fact, I have no other idea about where he stands. I prefer the once and future Mayor of NY Rudy Giuliani who had rallied together NY-ers and humans everywhere in the wake of 9/11. I'll forgive the Pachydermal prez hopefuls for their critique of our übersacrosanct Health Care - at least it keeps up from dying, eh? But how can anyone in the Red Party convince Amurricans who are growing steadily tired of the endless Iraqi tape -loop that it can lead the country into the deeper, darker heart of the 3rd millenium? Rudy oughta do that - he should steal a few pages from Barack's song book. But, given my ignorance of the current US dog-and-pony show, I think that the best choice for prez is this man...
He has the folksiness of a Fred Thompson, the quiet charisma of a Rudy Giuliani, the religious stability of a Mitt Romney, the youthful potential of a Barack Obama and the woman's touch of a Hillary Clinton.
Sadly, he's already been taken. Good luck, neighbours.
- Hot, steamy Putin. I just bought Time's Man of the Year edition.
The one with the face of a Kremlin zombie.
Vlad Putin. Man of the Year.
Like... fuck off.
He may have changed the face of Russia. The problem is that Russia should never be confused with a pluralistic, democratic nation.
There is actually a name for a man who used to be a KGB agent back in the days of the Sovietsky Soyuz.
It's called Communist. Look it up.
And so... there you go.