Pop Culture Blog: Music, Movie and Humor
Leveraging low-hanging synergies outside the vertical fruit box since 1999.
I’ve never seen my friend Sam’s band play, and for all I know they may sound like sick cats porking in an echoey alleyway, but I’m going to check them out next week on the strength of this flyer alone.
He contributes to this site frequently so I figured a shout-out was in order. He’s also from New Zealand – that’s got to weigh heavily among the sympathy voters. Sam’s about to rock, and I salute him.
Hey you know what? A round cookie with one bite out of it looks like a C
A donut with one bite out of it looks like a C – but it’s not as good as a cookie!
Oh and the moon sometimes looks like a C, but you can’t eat that, so…
C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me, yeah!
C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me,
C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me,
Oh, cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C!
Did you hear about this? I mean – did you fucking hear about this?! In an attempt to battle childhood obesity Cookie Monster, who sat on my stuffed animal shelf and watched over me for the majority of my first 10 years on this planet, is having his entire identity stripped away. Read this great article and see if you can guess what ‘C’ word I currently have on the tip of my tongue to describe PBS’s social engineers. And here’s a great related Fark Photoshop Contest.
Listen, can we rename him “Liberal Monster” instead? Like.. have the character roam around the neighborhood (while Oscar acts as lookout) puncturing the jugular vein of Janine Garafalo behind a dumpster the next time she guest stars? I’ll miss ya, my little blue buddy. Thanks for all the cookies.
Most hockey fans don’t need another reason to count Bobby Orr amongst their hockey heroes, but Sunday he gave them one anyway: “Our sport is in danger of becoming irrelevant unless both sides immediately put an end to this nonsense.” He’s referring of course to the complete lack of a hockey season this year, stemming from a stalemate which ultimately boils down to reasons of business (greed). Bureed. Grisness.
Bobby’s been quiet thus far regarding the labor dispute, publically putting trust in National Hockey League commissioner Gary Bettman and NHLPA executive director Bob Goodenow to resolve their differences and do what’s best for the game. Well not no more. Since the lockout’s inception on September 14th, the two men have met nearly 40 times to try and reach an agreement – and now Orr feels more drastic measures are in order:
“Owners and players should demand that both sides continue to meet until they emerge with a deal or a statement that they can’t resolve their differences and are stepping aside.” Orr is obviously not alone, but the buzz his column is generating on both sides of the border might finally push something through should either of the major players in the negotiations wish to keep their souls.
According to Mike Brophy, “Bettman, the sixth man in charge of running the NHL since 1917 has taken hockey from heaven to hell to non-existence.” Even the best Zamboni can’t smooth things over in that kind of heat, boys. Let’s just please wrap this up so I can stop pretending to like baseball. Much appreciated.
Janet has been in Sweden all week long visiting our old friends Mike and Joanna. I’ve just been sent a barrage of interesting photographs that look like outtakes from a Stockholm tourist pamphlet of questionable quality. But then that, undoubtedly, was the point.
I think this photo was taken on the ferry to Estonia. I love ferrys that have bars on them. The ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, the ferry to Prince Edward Island, etc. It’s like taking the booze boat to Liquorton. Whiskey on the waves. Cockys in the crow’s nest. Pabst on the poopdeck. I’ll stop.
Here Janet enjoys one of at least several non-alcoholic beverages which were imbibed on her trip. After he sent me the photo I asked Mike “Is that Janet’s new Swedish jacket?” To which he replied “One of them.” Now I know Sweden is insanely expensive – that coffee probably cost $11 USD. Janet, did we have a relative die and leave you money that I’m not aware of? Do I need to check in on Grandma?
I wanted to get the skyline in this photo, but became increasingly obsessed with the number of cobblestones making up the street. In fact, I’ve already counted all of them four times and am now going to move on to incessant hand-washing and lightswitch-flipping. Yes, the ‘C’ in OCD apparently stands for cobblestones.
I frequently annoy Joanna by applying Switzerland jokes to Sweden. Little does (did) she know – I do this in an attempt to drive her batty (battier). For example: “What did you do yesterday? Sit around and eat Toblerone while watching The Sound of Music three times?” Or “Does the fact that your country is neutral exclude you from buying rounds?” She loves it. And geese.
The Fat Duck has just been voted the best restaurant in the whole entire world by London’s The Guardian. Now let me tell you why I care. In the years since I left England in 1999, owner Heston Blumenthal has made a serious name for himself, becoming a culinary celebrity across the pond. If Gordon Ramsay is the evil tempermental British chef, then Heston is his calm, measured nemesis. I was there when the Duck first opened, and served Heston and his staff many after-work pints as they were coming up and busting their balls to make a name for that strange, tiny eatery.
The Duck happens to be right beside the Hind’s Head which is the pub I worked at for the better part of two years. Those of you who have been to my apartment and seen the painting I like to show people of the Hind’s have seen the Duck depicted right beside it in watercolor. In fact, Heston bought the pub about a year ago and now owns 75% of the trade in the little village of Bray. Quite an impressive little empire he’s building.
Anyway – I know Heston, he came to my leaving party, and I couldn’t be happier for him. My girlfriend at the time loved his mashed potatoes, and he used to bring them over to the pub every night he knew she was in town. Heston used to be a collection agent, and how he went from cracking skulls to cracking eggs I never really got out of him. But he’s a genuine nice guy with an incredible talent that was evident even then.
If you ever stop in, tell him “Canadian Dave” said hello. And in case you missed it, I said the best restaurant in the fucking world! Way to go, duckies.
Am I writing an article about biker gangs to give me an excuse to post another old Brando photo? It’s entirely possible. But I also read a most unfortunate story this morning, and wanted to point out a few things that may just end up saving a life one day. I’m no expert on the subject of motorcycle culture, but I do claim to be a big proponent of common sense – so I feel almost obliged to offer my $0.02.
You see – hipsters love cheeky little t-shirts. Not the “I’m With Stupid ->” or “Grandpa’s Little Fishing Buddy” variety, but rather the obscure pop culture reference sort. If you want to walk around in Arthur Fonzarelli or Mork From Ork gear, that’s perfectly fine. But if you plan on wearing one of these bad boys outside of your own home, slap yourself silly – because you’re no longer simply “with” stupid.
The story I’m referencing took place in New Jersey, but out there such gangs are greatly overshadowed by traditional goombas. Now in Canada, biker gangs eclipse even the mafia in terms of power and brutality. They’re an ultra-violent, ruthless faction who in the last 20 years have come to completely embody organized crime in the Great White North. Keeping an eye on alliances and squashing turf wars between Hell’s Angels, Satan’s Choice and the Rock Machine keep the RCMP far busier than any seal-clubber or escaped polar bear. And just try catching up to a Harley Fatboy on horseback.
Any Canuck with the street savvyness of a fruitfly, knows better than to even discuss the gangs in mixed company, much less fly their colors in an affiliated bar. That would be tantamount to strolling through Brooklyn with Sammy Gravano’s face on the front of your mock turtleneck – with the phrase “Squealers Kick Ass” emblazoned beneath. So be forewarned, skinny Allston emo boys and the like – stick to the Atari apparel.
It’s been awhile since I’ve posted any friends-with-celebrities photos, so isn’t it just uncanny that some came my merry way recently. Those of you who remember Jason Thelen from Concord probably haven’t met his lovely wife, Cary. And that’s probably not an accident, knowing him. Incidentally, you can see multiple photos of Adam and I misbehaving at their wedding here. It’s a pretty funny gallery – some of my best old-school captioning work – so check it out.
Anyhew, Cary was some gala event or another, and who should be attending but the one and only Ben Stein of Ferris fame. I don’t have many other details (perhaps Jason or Cary will chime in via the comments) other than it looks like our man Ben is a new fan. Stay tuned for his new show, “Fight Off Ben Stein’s Indecent Proposal” coming soon to FX/civil court.
The aforementioned new feature is live. Have a look over to your left and dig the new testimonials section. Keep refreshing to scroll through them all. I managed to collect about 12 good ones, but the rest of the submissions really fell a bit short of the mark. I hope that now you’re able to see the feature in action, you can bring your full A-game to the tepid task of testimonial typing – right here in the comments. Help a brother out.
The boys are back in town. How fucking excited am I?
Hard to believe it’s already been a year since we first met Conky and Steve French. And what’s in store for us this time around? According to Showcase’s official site, a whole fuckin’ whackload:
“Grandmothers in drug dens; wheelchair fraud arrests; nasty rap videos; stolen rocket launchers; break-ins at the local college; dope shipped in shopping carts; Lahey getting an award and probably the biggest gun fight in Canadian television history—and that includes King of Kensington.”
For my American friends who want to see what all the fuss is about, episodes are usually available for download via torrent here just a few hours after they’re aired in the Great White North. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I’m looking forward to another summer in Sunnyvale.
It’s official. It’s happening. The chihuahua is out of the bag. Harvest the limes and board up the Alamo. Grease up the roofdeck – It’s time for a little Cinco de Cinco!
The 5th annual Cinco De Mayo party will be held Saturday May 7th at The SideBar! Corona will be holding a promotion, my usual DJ will be spinning himself silly, and we’ll be going all the way until 2AM. The official Evite is here, and I’ll be adding more people gradually over the next few days. It’s a free-for-all, so don’t be shy. Bring your friends, add your friends, introduce your friends to my friends, get a tetanus shot. Send me an email if you would like to be added and haven’t been already.
Last year was a decent time, especially when I got punched in the face, and I promise this year will be even better. Between the gratuitous violence and the sunburn, it’s amazing I got any liquoring done. Make the nightmares stop. Speaking of sunburns – weather-permitting, and in keeping with tradition, the roofdeck will be a rockin’ all afternoon prior to the official par-tay. Feel free to join us/make a noise complaint. And if anyone would like to volunteer to have a pinata constructed in their likeness, a la Summer Wheatley, it would be much appreciated.
Back to the Evite – anyone who replies “maybe” and doesn’t have solid plans for that day, or at the very least a gravely ill family member, can suck a habenero. Vote for Pedro.
UPDATE: Hey, Losers! I’m not writing any more entries until I get some more testimonials. And yes – I promise. I write for you guys every day. You can grace me with a sentence or two. Now excuse me while I go run around in nothing but a Canada T-Shirt.
Web logs are like little virtual Frankenstein monsters, each borrowing the best bits from the other. One thing I’ve seen a lot of recently are testimonials from fans and loyal readers. When done correctly, these can take some of the narcissistic steam out of feeling important enough to have your own blog, and be quite hilarious in the process. I’m thinking about including a javascript which rotates a selection of them somewhere in the main site template. Simply put, every time you visit the site or refresh the main page, you’d see a new blurb about Pye In The Face, me or whatever.
I have a collection of comments, good and bad, that I’ve been emailed over the last 10 months – and there’s a also a great crop of material here. I’ll probably get to this over the weekend whilst taking a break from far more important projects. If you’d like to take a stab at writing one that might be included, please do so right here. Keep them short, funny and honest. Anonymous posts will be deleted. Now picture me bracing myself.
You may remember Dr. Taz’s eloquent ranting abilities from this previous posting – but nothing could prepare me for his thoughts, emailed to me only this morning, regarding the just-announced lineup of this year’s legendary Glastonbury Festival. The quick synopsis is that legends like New Order, Elvis Costello and Echo and the Bunnymen are being demoted so that Kylie fucking Minogue can have the coveted Sunday closing time slot. But there’s no need to get my panties in a bunch when Taz, who actually has tickets, already has his drawers tied securely around his neck:
Ok, in my opinion it’s been dogsh*te for years but surely even you diehard gluttons for punsihment who like to wallow in pikey’s piss and watch overrrated bands and 60 year old has-beens in a large sodden field (withmost of Islington and Battersea’s 30-somethings going all ‘rock’) SURELY cannot stump up any more of your hard-earned on this tripe?!
Sorry, Kylie…you are a poisoned talentless dwarf with a horse gob who has contributed nothing but utter torment to the pop canon and should be suffocated with a pillow in your sleep to stop your incessant warbling…yet the godlike Rufus Wainwright and legends like New Order are lower down the bill! About as cheesy and cynical as commercialism gets. I will personally install a napalm toilet into the organiser’s rider this year. I should be so lucky…lucky, lucky, lucky.
Next year, move over Coldplay and White Stripes, Sat night headlining on The OK Magazine Chav Stage will be Charlotte Church giving a soapy tit-wank to Aled Jones while exclusively showcasing their duet Xmassingle in Welsh… an ‘Unplugged’ set by The Krankies and the exhumed carcass of Benny Hill will do ‘Ernie the Fastest Milkman in the West’ with a full 68 piece orchestra and laser show. Tickets will be 450 GBP plus VAT. Fantastic.
Don’t sugarcoat it.
I’ve successfully migrated the site over to a new server. The result? Faster load times and, hopefully, much faster post times. What this means to you, dear reader, is that if you’ve had trouble posting comments in the past due to slow speeds (which I’ve heard many of you have) give it another try. It should now smoke like Tom Cruise were he locked inside the RamRod.
Appetizer: What is a symbol that inspires you?
There’s a flag you can get – I looked for a photo online but unfortunately couldn’t find one for you – which is a combination of the Canadian and American flags. I’ve seen them flying both up North and down here, usually close to the border, and they always make me smile. The disconnect, animosity and ignorance from both sides towards the other tears me up a little bit as I feel a close affinity with both nations. But I can always take a little solace in Mark Steyn.
Soup: Name something that happened in your life you’d consider a miracle.
Does the $40 scratch ticket on New Year’s Eve 1993 count? Didn’t think so. I’ve had a great life thus far – but nothing really stands out as an Earth-shattering miracle. That’s a very strong word. Even the Goddamn Pope died. A family member just had a potentially very scary MRI scan come back negative – so I’m going to go with that.
Salad: How do you handle criticism?
With salad tongs. But seriously, folks – not all that well. If you ever run into me on the street, naked and covered with chocolate syrup and beestings – that’s me handling criticism. But you should really get a shower and a beekeeper’s uniform before leaving the house next time. What in the fuck is wrong with you?
Main Course: Complete this sentence: I feel alone when…
I am in a room by myself. But it’s only a matter of time until the voices in my head show up. I’ve saved thousands on therapy because I’ve embraced these voices, and besides – they always bring along some Doritos.
Dessert: Name one TV show you wouldn’t be caught dead watching.
I’m not one to talk, as I watch a lot of reality television. The easy answer would be something like Antiques Roadshow. But I friggin’ love Antiques Roadshow – so I’m in a bit of a pickle again. Let’s split the difference and say anything on Lifetime starring Meredith Baxter Birney. Unless they’re doing a biopic on one of the appraisers from Antiques Roadshow.
I’ve been away all morning because I was asked to tag along on a sales call in Stoughton. Although it’s not my forte, I always seem to do quite well in these situations. A proper sales guy goes out to see a potential client and I tag along to explain some of the more geeky aspects of search engine marketing. So, if you think you might need a proven closer to accompany you on your next prospecting mission, here are some reasons you should pick me:
