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Search Results for: davepye

The Ghost of Cincos Past.


in Heartwarming

I’m donating my old work desktop to an intern next week, and decided it was high time to clean some of my legacy MP3s and photos off of it. Or “cover my tracks” as someone with a flair for the accurate would probably say. As I dug through nearly 2 years of emails and hundreds of photos, I found a few worth firing up to the new gallery. Since many of you have been enjoying it to date, here’s the quick, straight, poopy dope…

I found a ton of great photos from 2004’s Cinco de Mayo party, or Cinco de Quatro as it became known, that I don’t think anyone’s ever seen. You’ll remember that night if you were there – a crowded, boozy evening at Tiernan’s which ended in extreme violence. But it was still better than this year’s feeble attempt. My Cinco parties have run their course and gone to the big hacienda in the sky.

A few additions to the homeless revelry section were in order. The only common theme in this album being severe alcohol abuse – Highlights include the 2004 Boston Wine Expo, Frank N’ Stein’s this past Christmas with the Guelph boys, BHP nonsense and me trying to cling to heterosexuality somewhere in the South End.

And finally the I Like Having Friends section has some new life breathed into it courtesy of Colangelo, more Herb, Beyonce Knowles (seriously), and the rarely seen tender side of JJV. Why are you putting so much work into the galleries, Dave? – glad you asked. It will all make sense soon enough. To date, the gallery has added nearly 1000 pages to the davepye.com domain – all of which will eventually be spidered by search engines… and all of which will eventually have advertising on them. I love the gallery, but there’s a method to the percieved madness. Enjoy.

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Something New, Something Doyle, Something Blue.


in

Congrats to Jen & Brian who just recently tied the knot up in Penn Yan, New York. To say that my favorite little tulip looked lovely would be an understatement – and Jen looked pretty good, too. Best of luck with your happy weddingness, pickety fences, childrenlets and all sorts of other major life milestones of which I have absolutely no comprehension.

I think Jen is definitely Doyle’s greatest match since Carrie got cancelled and Jerry shuffled off this mortal coil. Seriously – best wishes for a happy, togethernessy, monogamicious and matrimonious lifetime together.

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I’m A Little Gallerina.


in Pye in the Face

As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, I love my new gallery. Then why don’t I marry it, you ask? Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind. Anyhew, one of the things that’s been bugging me (besides the fact that there’s way too many pictures of Monster) is that it was necessary for people to go through a boring registration process before leaving comments. I rolled up my sleeves last night and figured out how to turn this requirement off. And also that I need to spend more time on my forearms whilst in the gym.

Now anyone who may be looking at the gallery can enter a nickname and comment right into an existing box below the photo, hit submit and VOILA. Couldn’t be simpler if you paid a ghostwriter to do it for you. You don’t even need to be taken to a new page first like you do when you leave a comment on the blog. So effortless, a rabid squirrel with swollen paws and a drinking problem could do it. Easy peasy lemon squeezy/squirrely.

So if something crosses your mind whilst perusing all the photos of my silly life – by all means, share. I also just added a new album dedicated to photos my friends have sent me of themselves. So if you’ve got a funny snap handy, or you’ve been somewhere cool on vacation, email away and I’ll gladly contribute 0.2 seconds to your 15 minutes of fame.

* Update: Janet has started her own category.

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Homolka Hears A Who!


in

Karla‘s gettin’ out soon, kids. Details of the early 90’s trial and tribulation is forever burned in my memory, and it’s hard to believe that a decade has passed so quickly since she flipped on Paul Bernardo and saved herself from a life of well-deserved incarcerated rug-munching. For my American friends who need to get up to speed, have a gander here – but let’s just say that in addition to the surprise many of you exhibited over the existence of Canuckian biker gangs, we can also lay claim the worst serial killer couple in modern history.

Leslie Mahaffy disappeared literally several hundred feet from my grandmother’s house, and the entire country watched the drama unfold in OJ-esque fascination – from the first inklings of the Scarborough rapist through to the eventual plea bargain and conviction – for nearly 6 years. With her imminent release looming, and plans for a heavily protested movie in the works, the salt’s gettin’ rubbed in a lot of old wounds. Karla plans to move to Montreal where she thinks people are likely more preoccupied with where their next pack of Player’s is coming from than any indiscretions/murders by power tool she may have hidden in her past:

“A 32-year police veteran noted most of the Homolka photos the media are using are at least 12 years old, from before she went to jail. And the handful of photos the public has seen of her behind bars are grainy and don’t clearly show her face. Prison officials and police are expected to take extraordinary steps to avoid letting photographers capture new images when she’s sprung from jail sporting her new look.”

She’s going to have to sand-blast her evil incarnate face to keep from being recognized – even in the think-tank that is Quebec. The original online Homolka Death Pool is long gone due to a court order, but please feel free to add any best wishes here for her here via comments. I don’t like her chances/care whether she’s drawn and quartered by an angry, poutine-reeking, mustached mob.

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Newport Rhode Island Air Show Shennanigans.


in Heartwarming

Cornett (aka Detroit Velvet Smooth) and myself drove down to Newport at the ass crack of dawn yesterday to take in the 2005 Newport Rhode Island National Guard Air Show. Then we displayed further post-show ass crackery whilst jumping off of Harkins’ dock and just generally being ridiculous. When you’re finished abusing yourselves to the sexy photograph below, you can keep the self-inflicted orgasms going strong by viewing the full gallery here.

If you look carefully, you can see a concerned Sam the dog paddling towards us at breakneck speed – eager to rescue the flailing fatties. Chris and Kinger stand watching on the dock to the left just in case we need them to throw us a life-preserver/bottle of Pucker. The best day I’ve had in a long, long time. And by far the worst sunburn.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Don’t Be That Guy.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: What’s one word or phrase that you use a lot?
I use a lot of words from the British vernacular that I picked up when I lived over there, and that I continue to learn from watching far too many UKNova torrents. Some can translate over here, and some just sound completely out of place. It’s not the same as affecting an accent – that’s another kettle of fish of which I was never guilty of. Rather, I find myself saying UK-based words and phrases out of the blue. My favorite is ‘sorted’. Which basically means ‘problem-solved’. I have finally weaned “at the end of the day” out of my system because every time I heard myself say it, I contemplated suicide. It drives me crazy like a Fine Young Cannibal.

Soup: Name something you always seem to put off until the last minute.
There isn’t any one thing. I have productivity spurts and valleys. On a good day, I’ll crank and get every little task/chore done that I can possibly conceive. On a bad day, I may soil myself.

Salad: What was the last great bumper sticker you saw?
If you feel the need to desicrate your car with stupid stickers, then I have no interest in reading them because I’ll already know you’re a gaudy moron. And if you’re still driving around with a Kerry/Edwards sticker on your car, like most of Massachusetts, for God’s sake pull the cock out of your mouth already. But for research’s sake, I ran a few quick searches. I think you’ll agree – this proves my point quite well. But I’m guilty of that level of nerdery myself, sometimes. The other night before the Pixies concert, my sister, myself and some friends were sitting in a pub across the road from Agganis. I didn’t want to be “that guy” in the Pixies tour shirt at the Pixies show – so I was rocking an obscure Frank Black solo T-shirt I didn’t think anyone else would be wearing in a million years. Then, of course, this kid came up to me wearing it too and said “Nice shirt man!” And I realized I was worse than “that guy”. I wasn’t the kid wearing the Star Trek shirt. I was the kid wearing the Deep Space Nine shirt.

Main Course: If you could be invisible for one day, how would you spend it?
I would quietly rob a string of banks, pausing only to hit the odd health club locker room along the way. Was I the only kid whose mother used to take him into the women’s locker room at the public swimming pool? What a fond, unhealthily-advanced childhood memory. I couldn’t tell you the name of my 1st grade teacher, but I can recount to you in explicit detail my weekly afternoons spent eye-level with 2 dozen wookie-bushes at the Nepean Sportsplex.

Dessert: Describe your hair.
It will be sorely missed.

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Faux Better Or Faux Worse.


in

Fran Healy’s fauxhawk was the very first of it’s kind I ever saw way back in 1999 – and I remember thinking it was a pretty cool idea. Much better than this trainwreck, anyway. By the time Travis played Glastonbury that year, the DVD recording of which is still my favorite concert film evah, it had grown an inch and been dyed red – but it still worked really well on his small, pea shaped head. He was even voted best haircut of the year. Jesus, they were a great frickin’ band. What the heck happened?

How this funny, creative and quite likely accidental little idiosyncrasy evolved into the phenomenon it has in 2005 is a friggin’ mystery to me, dear reader. I counted no less that seven of them during my walk home through downtown Boston this evening. Men, women, babies and long haired pets have all signed on for this silly little fruity fad. 20 years from now, fauxhawks will be what pink leg-warmers and skinny ties were to the 80’s. R.I.R. – Retarded in Retrospect. And since I’m in the business of coining phrases this week, I’ll admit it: Yes, folks – I’m a flagrant fauxmophobe.

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Tail Between The Legs.


in Heartwarming

My office has been my home as of late, and my home has become little more than a place to sleep and punch the clown. Initially I really embraced this crazy time at my company, but I’m losing friends as a result of these long hours. And that’s not a joke along the lines of “close your legs, man – you’re losing friends”. I mean I’m literally dropping in the popularity rankings among many of my peeps. So if you’ve been personally left miffed by my M.I.A. meanderings, I do sincerely apologize like you read about. Which is certainly uncanny because you’re reading about it right now.

I’m only trying to get ahead in life. Just trying to get a jetski to go along with that dock. Frantically trying to pay off my unemployment credit card indiscretions from 4 years ago. Tired of paying to live in someone else’s house. Sick to death of riding around in my friend’s cars when I don’t even own a skateboard. And while I am proud of my successes in the last few years, and thankful that I am capable of keeping my nose to the grindstone in this manner, it’s not worth damaging that which I hold most dear.

Those of you for whom this was written know who you are. You’re not a chick, you’re not a casual acquaintance and you’re officially off the back burner should you still care. I don’t like to get too personal on this ridiculous site, but I fucked up last weekend and I know it.

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Ed is Dead-Heads Unite!


in Musical

My 5th Pixies concert in a little over a year and I’ll tell ya – it never gets old. I feed off of the energy, high school nostalgia, power chords and incessant screaming like some sort of vampiristic fanatical fanboy. If Buffet fans are Parrot-Heads, and Dead fans were Dead-Heads – what’s the correct term for an obsessive Pixies fan? Do I sense a phrase-coining opportunity here?

This is a tricky one, which requires more thought than I have time for at the moment. I’ll throw a few quick possibilities out there: Havalina-Heads, Brick is Red-Heads, Gigantic-Heads (that would apply particularly well to me), but I’m leaning towards Ed is Dead-Heads.

So have I successfully coined the bastard? Have a go at it yourself. Here’s a great resource to use for ideas. And another. Before anyone answers “Loser-Heads” I just want to point out that Venditti will get around to posting that moniker eventually, so dig a litter deeper. The crew will be at T’s and the Paradise before and after the concert, so drop in and say hi if you’re hitting the show and I don’t even know.

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Home Is Where The House Is.


in

Despite a convincing performance over the last five years, my parents don’t really want to spend their golden years in a Florida trailer park. And I’ve written several times about how my inexplicably and suddenly uber-liberal father has foiled the evil President Bush, taken his money out of the flailing stock market, and secured it in a house. They bought the 2-acre parcel of land on the banks of Ontario’s Big Rideau Lake just outside of Portland back in 2000 – and finally, after painful battles with the lake nazis, 2 sets of blueprints and a rash of violent sobbing, there’s an actual physical dwelling in the Pye family once again.

Click here to visit the full gallery of what could be considered our first real weekend trip ‘home’ in 5 years. It was quite exhilarating, fun and emotional in between all of the parentally-requested landscaping, and I’ll be back up there again just as soon as is humanly possible. For more landscaping, no doubt.

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Not Guil Teeeeee Heeeeee!


in Musical

I hate being right all the time. I mean, it’s just really getting old. Shaamoown!

Drudge is calling for the arrest of the prosecuting attorney, and I’d like to personally substitute the word ‘arrest’ with ‘public penis flogging’. What a long, drawn out, exhaustive, gold-digging, meritless, hyper-litigious crock of shite. Congrats, Mike. If your lawyers let you keep a few scheckles of your dwindling fortune, here’s hoping you get yourself a celebratory present. In fact, I think the only way for you to ever truly be safe from these sorts of allegations will be to go completely broke. So treat yourself to one last bag of deceased celebrity bones, tweak an ear (the left one needs to be bleached and the lobe shortened a bit) and lock yourself in your bedwing before masturbating voraciously to Home Alone. You’ve earned it – so take a load off/all over the 48 inch plasma screen.

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Unidentified Flying Reject.


in

Frequent reader Justin sends these photos he took earlier this weekend during a trip to Los Angeles. “I saw a UFO this weekend – do you want an exclusive for your blog?” read his excited instant message. I couldn’t contain my excitement as I waited anxiously for his emailed photos to arrive. I don’t know if I expected the Roswell autopsy caliber of snap, but I think you’ll agree – these are less than breathtakingly spectacular.

Still, I appreciate the contribution and I’m sure you just ‘had to be there’. The UFO seems to be circling the Merrill Lynch building. Whether it’s a financially savvy extra-terrestrial, or simply Richard Branson coming in for a hang glider roof landing to make some portfolio adjustments – we may never know. These are life’s strange, sweet mysteries. Thanks, Justin!

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A Sweltering Gallery Update.


in Pye in the Face

Whilst hiding from the heat today and trying to get some work done, I stumbled across another whack of photos on my hard drive. Have a look at some VA gallery additions from a reunion a couple of years ago in Saxton’s River, a Thanksgiving 2004 in Concord bunch you’ve seen before in the old gallery and finally a new album dedicated to partyish photos that just don’t seem to fit anywhere else. As always, please email me anything you’d like to see added.

All my plans fell through for today as I still have not received my telephone which my Mother seems to have shipped via The Pony Express. So apologies all around, and I hope to be back in contact with the rest of the world shortly. It’s funny how cut off you get when your cell phone is off limits. And by funny I of course mean extremely fucking pathetic. Technology has taken the land line out of the equation in many households, and it’s a risky prospect should you lose your sqwuaker.

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