PEOPLE KEEP TELLING ME I LOOK LIKE ROAST BEEF

A night at the pictures

S H U T T E R I S L A N D

The week before I saw new movie Shutter Island while vacationing in Sarnia, Ontario, I revisited grade 6 favourite, the Stewart Copeland scored Airborne. The latter is a movie about a surfer dude who moves to Cincinnati because his rich parents abandon him for some reason, and since he can't surf he rollerblades like crazy, is forced to play hockey, and tries to bed the town bully's sister. This movie sucks so bad. Its 91 minute running time is 85% occupied by montages and the main character is the most unlikable protagonist since Ferris Bueller. So yeah, Shutter Island is better than Airborne.



That doesn't mean Shutter Island is this year's Meatballs. It was kind of scary, kind of cool, kind of good and very rainy. The twists and turns were pretty good I guess, but since they were highly expected they didn't make me shit my slacks. It's like if you go to a haunted house at an amusement park -- you know there's a rube in a costume hiding somewhere, it's just a matter of when they're going to jump out and yell "fuck you!". But if you go to a real haunted house, you never know -- maybe the ghosts decide not to scare you or maybe there's a werewolf's nest in the pantry, and it's that unexpectedness that makes things chilly.

The movie starts Mark Buffalo and Leonard DeCapp and was directed by Bart Scores.

I WANT TO BE THE GUY WHO ALWAYS HAS WINE GUMS

Instead of flying to Vancouver last weekend to visit my pals Bob Costas and Nelly Furtado, who are working an Olympics, I decided my time would be better spent in Sarnia, Ontario. There was something about Sarnia's tourism literature, which spoke highly of its many french fry trucks, downtown flea markets and nine screen movie theatre, that really drew me in, making me forget about Vancouver's natural beauty and cosmopolitan appeal.

Oh friends, yeah right I know Bob Costas. I actually went to visit Liv's real family and we had a nice little time visiting, relaxing and going to downtown flea markets and a nine screen movie theatre.

I love flea markets, so going to them was probably better than standing around in Vancouver's downtown streets surrounded by disease ridden foreigners, annoying speed skating fans and worst of all, bleeding heart nationalists dead set on world sport domination. You can usually judge a flea market by the following factors:

1. Smell - The best flea markets smell like urine and must. Sarnia's were no exception, and one even smelled like farts thanks to an impatient old lady.

Avoid corporate flea markets

2. Staff - The staff should either be huge dicks who follow you around, asking if you're going to buy anything, or unusually nice, simple folk with questionable fashion sense and a fondness for stupid crap. Or just an old guy. Luckily, Sarnia's were employed by the latter two, except this one guy at a video game booth who looked like Mose Schrute from The Office and who sneered like a professional.

3. Stuff - I guess this factor varies depending on what kind of stuff you like, but I happen to enjoy dirty old clothes, Nintendo games, sports memorabilia, electronics that time forgot, toys that time forgot and if a flea market has its own restaurant I really smile. The Dixie Mall flea market has one, as does this one in Sarnia, which was just about the cutest thing I ever saw. It was rammed, with people enjoying fried egg sandwiches and hot hamburgers. Next time we go we're going to eat there and I'm going to take a lot of pictures just for you and yours.

I ended buying a Patrick Ewing Starting Lineup figure in package for $10 and Liv bought this constellation globe and a Polaroid camera. I should've bought this handsome Chicago Blackhawks corduroy jacket, but since there wasn't a mirror I couldn't properly estimate my sex appeal whilst wearing it.

Now lets all get scared for hockey!

TALK TO YOUR GOO ROO FOR TANTRIC TIPS

FRIDAY FIBS

I once wore a mohawk for an entire year, but had to get rid of it because no self-respecting blacksmith's apprentice would wear such a 'do.

I used to eat spaghetti through my nose only, but once I ate it with my mouth by accident and got hooked on the taste.

I never won any trophies as a child but I crafted one that placed first in a contest. I received a ribbon and a Toys R Us gift certificate.

I invented the term "Look who's talking". It started as a support group for shy teens and evolved into a global phenomenon.

When the roof of the SkyDome retracts, it's an optical illusion. The buildings around it move.

Oil and gas aren't natural resources in the way you think they are. Scientists send up fake clouds that capture fart gas, then fly them back to a factory in one of the major continents and the fuel is extracted there.

Major Record labels are the Santa Claus of the entertainment business -- they don't really exist buy kids grow up believing they do, offering up cookies and milks in hopes of great returns.

I sold that last one to Moby and it killed at last year's Bonaroo Festival. But seriously, have a safe weekend and start planning next week's lunches TODAY so it's one less thing to worry about. I'm thinking sandwiches, but it's still early, so who knows?

GINGER ROUTE

Last week I went for a job interview for a job, and even though it doesn't appear I've obtained the position, I still felt pretty okay about my performance. Though in hindsight it couldn't have gone that well, because if it had I'd be smoking a cigar in sauna right now with a box of Teddy Grams, as per my new job acquisition ritual.

I thought I was ready for this one, armed with a bunch good answers that I ran through my head a million times the week leading up, at times ignoring my female commitment, staring blankly into her eyes while she talked about stuff I should've been listening to. I don't think I'm a big game player though. Even when I was asked questions I was anticipating my mind went fuzzy and I began stuttering and muttering, trying hard not to lick my dry lips too much in case they were against that kind of thing. Again, not the worst performance of my career, but certainly not Teen-Choice Awards Best Action Actor worthy.

Maybe I was terrible, I don't really know, especially because I have a horrible history of job interviews where I can pinpoint the exact moment where my potential employer said to him/herself, "holy shit, definitely not this guy." Here's what I'm talking about:

The summer between 1st and 2nd year university I went for an interview for this good summer job working for Peel Region, driving around and maintaining parks and stuff. A couple guys I know ended up getting the job and it was basically just driving around painting benches or something, so it would have been great for a friendly neighbourhood man like myself. I had to go to Brampton for the interview and was early, so I stopped by a nearby Value Village to kill some time. I got lucky and found this very sick Calgary Flames satin jacket and was very excited, setting a nice tone for the upcoming interview. The only problem was that during the interview all I could think about was the jacket, so I got a bit too loose. The one question I remember was "Do you prefer to work alone or as part of a team" and I answered something to the effect of "Oh, most definitely alone, I don't trust people." At least I had the jacket.


In university I tried to get a part time job in the bookstore. I got called in for a group interview, which I thought might be kind of fun and easy because everyone's in the same boat so the pressure is off a bit. But it was ghastly. I remember I wore this gigantic, red Lacoste sweater I used to love, which in retrospect was a strange choice considering it was a job interview. I pretty much went in looking like this, except because of my stature (stick man) the thing hung off me like Shaq's underpants on a baby:

Anyway, even if I had been wearing a tuxedo, I doubt I would've got the job because I gave some bad answers. They had a list of questions and they went around the table asking us each a different one. The only question they asked me that I clearly remember was "Tell us about a time you broke the rules". This is one of those bullshit interview questions where you're supposed to say something like "at this one job they didn't like us taking overtime, but I broke the rules and always worked late". Unfortunately, I wasn't armed with such an answer so I babbled my way through something about taking a penalty in a hockey game I had recently played in, which was completely irrelevant, albeit true. The other candidates got way easier questions and I was left feeling real shit and saying to myself "whatever, this place sucks anyway".

Two years ago I had an interview with the Toronto International Film Festival Group and because I had volunteered there before, I thought I had a reasonable shot at it. The interview went pretty smooth even though I was in front of three dudes who starred and nodded more than any three dudes I've ever met. It went well enough that I got called in again to do a simple Microsoft Excel test. I'm no Excel expert but I know a few things so I wasn't that worried, but worried enough to fiddle around a bit at work to make sure everything was cool. I get the test at the TIFF office and they said I had 10 minutes and if I had any questions to just ask. All I had to do was move some columns around a bit and put everything in order, but for some reason I over-thought the whole thing and started messing around with this formula I know from dealing with media lists at work, the only problem being I forgot the crucial last step. I was sweating big time and with a couple minutes left the guy was like "are you done?" and embarrassingly I was like "no just give me a bit more". Anyway, I never ended up figuring it out and left the place highly embarrassed that I told these guys I knew how to use Excel and then showing them I didn't. I think I've been blacklisted from that place because I haven't been called back for an interview after applying for more jobs there.


I've had other bad interviews, but they mostly involved me being unqualified and not being ready to bullshit my way through them because I'm an honest ed.

I'M STARTING A COUPLES THERAPY SHOW CALLED 'LOVE HANDLES'

OLYMPIC UPDATE

Live from the hills of Ontario's capital

Word out of Vancouver is that most athletes are really enjoying the variety of breakfasts available at the first Olympiad of this young decade.

"Yesterday I had maple eggs and today the chef made something called chocolate toast. In the U.S.A. we eat this sweet pastry called a pancake," said Team USA curler Bill Peaf.

Breakfast is the commonly the second most important meal for these athletes next to mid-morning fondue. A selection of animal cheeses have been procurred by IOC appointed milk maid, Honk Peters.

"These athletes need the healthiest milk-based cheeses available, but what's the point if it doesn't taste great? Whether they're preparing 'dues in the comfort of their hotel rooms using hair dryers and ice buckets or whether Vancouver's best chefs are doing the melting, rest assured they're getting the tastiest. I even brought in some hawk cheese from Edmonton which tastes like pure hot dogs. A gold medal cheese if there ever was one. Hahaha. Seriously, it won a gold medal last year in London."

Meals aside, the athletes are also enjoying a wide variety of entertainment in and around the athletes' village. Comedian Stones Har Har set Whistler ablaze with his unique brand of cultural stereotyping. One of our reporters managed to transcribe a portion of Stones' set on Saturday night in front of a packed house:

What do you get when you cross a Chinese athlete, a Spanish athlete and a Swiss athlete? Some paella and a bunch of gold medals! Hahahahaha. Seriously though folks, who do you think will win hockey gold? I'd say the Czechs because they were born to check. (Stones spits into the crowd) Did I hit any Jamaican athletes? Probably not, there's only one of them! And what's with that biathalon? You know, skiing with guns? The USA should win that one no problem. Or as I call that country, "Uzi, eh?". Finally, I wish the Swiss team all the best in these Olympics. That was cheesy!

Don't forget, whether you're watching from home or live in Vancouver, the winter Olympics are about one thing - commerce and broadcasting.

HAIR TODAY, GOON TOMORROW

In Howie Mandel's Bobby's World, a cartoon about a frog-voiced kid who loved mischief but wasn't a dick like Dennis the Menace, most of the plot was driven by Bobby's misunderstanding of the adult world. I think so anyway, I haven't seen that show in forever.



Anyway, recently some childhood memories surfaced that reminded of the kind of misunderstandings that Bobby had and because tomorrow is the opening of the Olympics, I thought I'd share them with you.

First, my mom used to always go to meetings at church for some reason. Maybe she was in a ball hockey league or she was part of an elite team that was trying to solve a DaVinci code. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter. Whenever she'd announce to us that she was off to a "meeting" I always pictured a bunch of ladies getting together and eating meatloaf because I figured that's what a "meating" was. I think if she had of been more specific I would've learned quicker, but since there was never any elaboration I was perfectly fine with thinking meetings were always about meat.

That story was worthy of OWL Magazine!

Okay, memory number two: When I was a kid my parents owned shares in this garbage restaurant called "O'Toole's". Perhaps you remember it? My mom says my dad bought some gold shares and they somehow turned into O'Toole's shares, which was probably the result of Irish black magic (O'Voodoo? Oh man, brutal japes today guys). Anyway, whenever my mom and dad would go over to O'Toole's to meet with shareholders or whatever I'd be like "Wait, where are you going?" and they'd be like, "we're going to O'Toole's, we own shares there". Now being a peanut-brained, undeveloped child, I figured they meant they owned "chairs" at O'Toole's and that they were going to have a sit and an adult drink. I was wrong. I never went to O'Toole's and saw the truth. I also never went to the Keg because my parent's said it was a restaurant for adults.

This logo says "fun", "sports", and "terrible" all in one

The only other really dumb thing I can remember is drinking soap in my grandparent's basement. It was in a dish soap bottle in my grandpa's workshop and I'd been eying its delicious looking pink essence for some time. One day I decided to finally see if it tasted as good as it looked and was surprised to find that the pink stuff in the soap bottle was soap.

Oh yeah, and when my mom asked me if I needed to know anything about the birds of the bees I said "If dad can do it, I can". Awwwwwwwww just like dad!

This was a fairly self-centered post, but like I said up there, the Olympics are mere hours away!

I bet this game isn't very good

I'M NOT A WRESTLER BUT I LOVE INTERVIEWS WITH MY ENEMIES

If you know me, you probably know that I'm not what the media would call a "man's man". I'm terrible at fixing things, I can't fight, I don't like dogs and in the rare event I'm at a strip club I tell all the dancers "you're not fooling me". But I love sports and meat and I own a remote controlled tank, so I'm more of a dude with little boy/old man tendencies.

Last weekend I lived the life of a real man. On Saturday myself and four other humans with balls took to a shooting range to fire real guns at real paper. We shot a 9mm, a .44 magnum and a 12 gauge shotgun with a cool scope. At first I was scared that the recoil would make me fall over allowing the other gents with me to laugh like crazies, but I guess my inner-murderer(?) took over and it turned out fun and informative.

After the range we ate hamburgers and then I watched Project Runway, although it was outside regular business hours so my weekend in the Y-Chromo-zone was still technically intact.

On Sunday I decided to have a few friends over for the annual ritual of viewing football's Super Bowl while eating a lot of poo poo food. My main dish was a beef brisket courtesy of butter advocate, Paula Deen. It was a huge hit and even if a guest didn't get his/her fill of spiced beef, there were several trays of nachos, cookies and chips at the ready. A&W Root Beer also put in another Pro Bowl performance, coming through with sweet creaminess. Beers too. Regular beers. We had those too.

2010 started off real garbage and I was down in the dumps for the first couple of weeks, but since then I've felt pretty good. I have a couple of creative projects in the works and no cats I know have died lately. 2010, year of Glenn, Brian Benben.

Brian Benben, dedicated husband

BAKER'S DOZEN'S BAKER OVEN

Okay all you Michaels and Michelles, it's almost the weekend before Valentine's Day, which means that this Sunday is Gorgeous Day.


Gorgeous Day began as a precursor to Valentine's Day and has become a precursor to Valentine's Day but with more presents.

It was started by cereal companies to cash in on all the mums and dums who would buy their kids loads of cereal the week before V-Day. Kids would get fat and tired and end up sleeping through all the filthy love their parents were having. Eventually, people forgot about the whole falling asleep thing and just bought their kids cereal because it was a nice gesture. Then cereal turned into licorice rope, licorice rope turned into Crunch 'n Munch and then everyone decided they could give their kids whatever mostly because Crunch 'n Munch is pretty hard to find these days.

Now, along with gift giving, families gather together and share the year's evidence of UFOs while eating a traditional meal of soup. This article in the Star the other day is sure to be passed around the table this year.

If I've said it once I've said it several thousand times: how does UFO news like this not make a bigger splash? Until NASA tells me otherwise, I'm going to assume that that thing is a craft from another world where females have more or less than two mams* and gravity costs money. What's the harm in just assuming that it is? Why can't NASA just feed our need for sci-fi and say something like "yeah it probably is a ship. There's nothing we can do about it, but you might as well assume it's a ship. No harm done guys. Ship." I guess it's because there's too many maniacs out there who would turn the whole thing into an excuse to blow up a mall or start another religion.

* I tried out this euphemism for boobs on Liv the other day and I wanted to try it out in cyber-place. Let me know if it should graduate to "something I try around friends."

BIG SPINKY TOLD ME HE WANTS ONIONS ON THE PIZZA

Welcome to Wednesday night, the night of snacks.

That was a strong opening meant to wet your appetite for the best web content this side of February. Here's a new Far Side cartoon I just made:




This weekend me and some boys are going to a gun range to shoot guns and then tell people we shot guns. Last night I had a dream of going to the range, but it was way different than real life because that's what dreams are all about; unless you're a talented person. Then your dreams are just what you'll end up doing forever.

This whole thing was a vehicle to show you that cartoon I made.

YOU HAVE A RUSTY SMILE

BOOK REVIEW

Stephen King's Under the Dome

Over the weekend I took it upon myself to finish eye kissing Stephen King's latest, a real fat tub of lard called "Under the Dome".

I thoroughly enjoyed the bulk of the tome's 1074 pages about a small town in Maine that gets trapped in a cyber-bubble in mid-October. October? Is the whole thing an elaborate Halloween prank by a scientist who lives in a rival town? No. In fact, there aren't very many scientists in this book at all.

Most of the book concerns a former army man turned cook named Dale Barbara who I imagined being played by Josh Brolin because their names have the same amount of syllables. Barbara clashes with this fat guy who runs the town and there's all sorts of killing and worry and crying and for most of the book you're like "oooooooooooooo I hate this guy", the same kind of excitement I used to feel watching Essence of Emeril.

The book is a lot like The Stand in many ways so lets talk about the two a bit in a classic "comparison". I felt The Stand starting losing its zip after you find out the old ghost lady isn't even a ghost but just an old lady who's really nice and is kind of psychic. Under the Dome is a lot like The Stand in many ways, but luckily it only starts sputtering in the last hundred pages or so. The ending wasn't nearly as satisfying as I hoped it would be, but it wasn't terrible either, so I didn't throw the book in the toilet the way my dad did when he read the first draft of my autobiography.

I think that's enough King for now. I enjoyed my Steinbeck phase a little more. King makes me scared and Steinbeck makes me want to sit under a tree in a dusty field, chewin' straw and drinkin' corn whiskey.

Give this book at spin next time you're in your eccentric neighbour's library or suggest it at your next book club meeting along with the idea of serving bagel chips. Baked not fried. Tastes like a bagel. Snack with bagels.