Wednesday, December 20, 2006

What made Elvis cry?

I was doing some Christmas shopping yesterday when I heard a young lady shout at her male companion, "Stop making me talk about Chomsky... I want a muffin."

Later this morning, as I was reading up on my important research (trying to get through the day), I came across a Southern historian who claims to have a vial of Elvis Presley's tears. Which lead me to ask the titular question. I know that someone saw him crying at the chapel and that the tears he shed were tears of joy, but I don't believe it.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Mappin' USA

As I was on the phone with my mother discussing my important research this evening, she asked where Alabama was in relation to Tennessee. As I visualized the Southern US and Florida seemed bigger in my mind that reality (masculinity trouble). I figured I'd better double-check. So, I googled MAP OF USA and came up with this handy reference tool--the very first result!

My mum laughed when I told her.

I had heard something about Google... and China... and about that being a problem, but I didn't believe it. (At least they look like Chinese characters to me, I recognize a few, I think, but I'll need my favourite expert on the subject to confirm it.)


Further, Kenny just told me, "Well, there are fifty fuckin' states, Gareth!"
Indeed there are.
Wise boy that Kenneth. Wise!

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

TECH KNIGHTS revisited

I found an old journal that had excerpts from TECH KNIGHTS by a fellow creative writing student circa 2000 who submitted a lengthy section of his time traveling medieval slaughter novel to our writing workshop. We then had to read it and give him feedback. I wrote down brief sections which at the time made me laugh aloud.

I don't mean to plagerize. I checked, amazingly it hasn't been published, even on the internet. Which is really weird because I sat next to a guy on a bus who was reading a book with a chapter called "Dragons! Dragons! and More Dragons!"

The excerpts give you a good idea of the chapter. It begins with the hero suddenly aware that he is on a clearing somewhere in the middles ages. It is a semi-wooded area and very dark, as I remember, because things keep jumping out of nowhere. It's not a terribly friendly time or place, because things keep attacking him.


The hero is said to be "...feigning death and thinking corpse-like thoughts"

then he gets hurt and

"He actually thought would have thought he was dead... if not for the pain!"


"Something was out there behind him and to his right, possibly stalking him."


"It was cat-and-mouse time..."


"...They [his attackers] were at a disadvantage against someone who could see clearly in the dark. Their loss."

& ultimately one anonymous villain...

"He got a shuriken between the eyes for his efforts."

That was about it, we had to read the next chapter to find out what happens after he kills everything.

Monday, June 5, 2006

hook, line and Roker

This week is a week of waiting. Waiting for my friends from Tucson to come to Montreal for the first time, and waiting for an email back from Mme. Tussauds. I was talking with a wonderful girl sometime ago and the subject of wax museums came up. Ah, I said to myself. I've been to a wax museum. Mme. Tussauds in Las Vegas. What fun we had...



Then I thought about this...

And wondered whether they'd ever have to adjust for celebrity weight loss. So I wrote to them.

I emailed them last week and so far nothing. I mean I can see why they don't change it. Look at the detail:

Still, fat Roker's smiling somewhere, mocking me.

Saturday, February 4, 2006

Thursday, February 2, 2006

Spreading my light like cheese on toast

Well, I've shaved twice in the past three days so it looks as though I will have to bid adieu to my big bearded dreams. When a man grows a beard people tend to ignore it and him--that's very much the point. When a woman grows a beard I suppose it's much different. For one thing her employment horizons change with old opportunities closing off (make-up counter), and new ones opening up (traveling sideshow) .

As a once bearded man, I will say that the comments you do get are well worth the lack of effort.

When I was much younger, I went two weeks without shaving and my mum told me I looked like Judas. I asked what she meant, and she said that I looked like a painting of Judas she had seen when she was a little girl. I kept that beard for a few months, how could I not? It was nearly blasphemous.

Last week, my boss asked me if I knew what a beard signified in certain cultures. I said, "homeless?" She told me no, it was a sign of grieving. I suppose I was trying to physically give shape to my heartbreak and hide out a little bit--I still have to see the girl who broke my heart 12 hours a week.

But for now, like Billy Mays, I'm oxyclean. In the picture above he seems to be hunkering down for some cross country motorcycle mayhem. I love that Billy Mays.

It's kinda funny, we have a German stainless steel blade my grandfather took off a dead German in WWII, I don't think you can shave with it.

How coarse the hair... how fast it grows...
(it does read like an epitaph)
RIP -- My almost beard (born 13.01.06, died 25.01.06)