AS ALWAYS, WE'RE JUST HAVING FUN ON COMPUTERS AND WE'LL LEARN SOMETHING ALONG THE WAY

The real highlight of Sunday night's MTV Music Video Awards for me was Buzz Aldrin. He was on the pre-show to give out the award for best new group or something and it took him 10 minutes to get through the list, which he read like a true grampa, adding a nice little piece of antithesis to the whole ordeal. There's a video on the MTV website, but Canadians can't watch it because we must be too real. Check out this red carpet interview I found somewhere instead:

Where were you the first time you saw the moonwalk?
The dance move? You mean the walking backwards? It must have been in Houston.

Did you instantly try it yourself?
No way. I like to move forward!

Do you have a favorite Michael Jackson video?
The Thriller from Manila. Oh no, that was somebody else.

I didn't make that up, seriously, this guy is the funniest old man since the guy who invented "bloopers".

Did you know that Buzz Aldrin's mother's maiden name is "Moon"? If you don't find that quirky and interesting then I hate a lot about you.

Names can be a really great source of amusement. Next time you're at a fair or a festival and you see one of those booths run by weirdos whose business is family trees for some reason, don't throw apples at them, but buy them a ginger beer and listen to them because names can be as neat as mummies.

NAME BITS by me

I always thought it strange that Steve Yzerman and Paul Ysebaert not only played pro hockey, and not only at the same time, but on the same team as well. Same goes for Dave Andreychuck and Dale Hawerchuk. Serendipitous!

The Canadian Football Leauge is a wealth of funny names. My favourite is a guy on the Blue Bombers named "Tom Canada" who you'd think would be a national treasure. In reality he's a surfer dude from California. That's just mother nature comedy, the purest kind.

More recently I noticed physical similarities between former football coach Jon GRUden and former ball player and lifelong hair all-star, Kelly GRUber:



Okay so they're not too similar, and any similarity is probably due to the Norse blood running through their competitive veins, but we've had a lot of fun, right? Gruber is the guy on the left by the way, not the icy babe nor the wolf dude.

I DON'T THINK PEOPLE TALK ABOUT HOW DUMB GOATS ARE ENOUGH

This past weekend was one of the first in a while where I didn't have any big time plans going into it, so I put up my sails and let the winds of destiny take me away. I love mystery and intrigue as much as the next man, but more the supernatural kind, so when I found myself wandering from activity to activity with no map, I felt strange. But like Chester Cheeto, I stayed cool and threw on some shades, and this is what happened:

My first order of business was to head to Mississauga to go for a late summer cruise in my parents' new car, a car whose top retracts leaving the passengers with wind in their hair and chicky pies in their laps. My brother and I cruised for burgers and ended up at Value Village where I bought something for a costume and a very sturdy shirt with the old NHL crest on it. I violated my own rule of not buying any more t-shirts, but whose going to punish me? Me?

When I was cashing out I saw a man of my demeanour wandering around with a nice stack of used DVDs, including Caddyshack. I was pretty jealous because normally the DVDs at Value Village only teach you how to do Pilates. It's always the worst when you see a rival in a thrift store because they're your direct competition, so you have to prioritize your sections. He managed to get the DVDs but I got the NHL shirt. Then again he didn't really look like the sporting type so maybe we weren't truly kindred spirits. Or maybe having diverse tastes is the ace up my strange smelling, ill-fitting thrift garment's sleeve.

At night time I went over to a friend's house where a raccoon kept wiggling in the trees that surrounded us kind of like the raptor pen in Jurassic Park where all you see is the trees, no raptors. The only cure for raccoons is dancing in a sweaty bar, so we went to Shake a Tail at Clinton's and did just that and no creatures interrupted us except run of the mill super apes (people).

Then of course on Sunday I saw a Wayne Gretzky documentary, which was really good, but I didn't learn anything new. I felt the way Socrates must have felt when any guy talked to him. Don't take that to mean that I think I'm the Socrates of hockey knowledge. It was an extreme example. I don't mind tooting my own pipes every so often but lets not get all goosey quite yet -- I haven't even lunch yet.

I did a lot more on the weekend but I don't want to hog too much of your day so we'll leave it there and talk more tomorrow. Invite everyone you can think of.

NEXT STOP - PANTY FIELDS

Yesterday marked the opening of the Toronto International Film Festival, which in simple terms is an organized eyeball fest -- people pay bucks to view films with famous beautiful people, then take to the streets to see famous beautiful people who are en route to parties to look at each other while the public goes home to discuss with others what they saw. Before you go watching things I think you should read last year's Regular Man's Guide to TIFF and also pack a jacket because it's getting nipsy out there.

I'm only planning on seeing one film during this year's fest -- a Wayne Gretzky documentary called King's Ransom, directed by Aspen Extreme's Peter Berg. The movie runs 60 minutes but the screening is two hours, so I'm hoping old Wayner will be there in the flesh so I can ask him, "can you think of the toilet you've taken the most dumps in?" My answer is for sure my parents' upstairs toilet. This is a good question to spark conversation because no one will see it coming and they'll have to do a lot of thinking in order to come up with an answer. I hope Wayne answers something like "The Stanley Cup. Next question."

I think by "TOP GUN On The Ski Slopes" they mean this movie is about two dudes who work together and are also best friends. If that's the case then "WEEKEND AT BERNIE'S On The Ski Slopes" would've also sufficed.

In other movie news, I took in a screening of Quentin "Qu Qu Bird" Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds last night. I really liked most of it, especially that rude rude scene in the bar and all the Nazi kills.

This lady beside was eating a Happy Meal or something and she was the loudest scarfer of all time. McDonald's fries are sort of crunchy, but somehow she amplified the crunch to deafening heights beyond scientific explanation. Then she scrunched the bag up a million times and made really dumb comments to the man beside her, like when one of this character's name is flashed in cool letters on the screen because he's a bad ass, she goes "that's sooooooo Tarantino". That's the kind of thing that only a true butt hole would say. Then when one of the good guys died she started cheering, which I suppose means she sides with Nazis. Actually, it's more likely that she had no idea what was going on because we're already under the assumption she's an idiot, right?

Also, I wanted to hate Brad Pitt so bad in that movie, but he was the cat's ass! If there's one acting trait I really appreciate, it's the effective delivery of the word "fuck" and "Bra Pi" nailed every single utterance.

See you later and bring me some treats!

MORE WORDS

Yesterday's post was tough man. It took me like 2 hours to write and it wasn't even very good, which is how Liv must feel when she tries to cook anything other than an egg bagel sandwich. Huge burn.

I was in one of those moods where I felt like doing absolutely nothing and eating a lot, but I didn't have any food and doing nothing makes me feel worse because I'm a go-getter who feels uncomfortable with idleness -- I guess I'm pretty much a shark then and I'm fine with that because I'm certain that "sharks" show up in most animal top 10s. So there I was in what's called a classic "CATCH-22". The way to escape? The premiere of the new Melrose Place!

I didn't really watch the old one much, but I do remember thinking that Andrew Shue was cool and that Heather Locklear was a hot sex object. I think my favourite part of the new pilot was the shot of Dr. Michael Mancini lying awake in bed with a menacing look on his face, as if he never sleeps because he always has to be one step ahead of his enemies (every human). Also, Ashley Simpson-Wentz should stick to bad singing because her bad acting isn't nearly as funny.

I was in a store today looking for a new brush to wash dishes with but all I could find were toilet brushes. There was a mid-sized one that I thought might be suitable but then I saw that the tag said "toilet brush" and I immediately thought "gross" and put it down. That brush didn't deserve that kind of treatment. Until it actually meets a toilet, it's on the same level as more distinguished brushes -- tooth, hair etc., but once contact is made, all bets are off. It becomes an outcast, shunned by all until someone poos hard all over the place. So to you toilet brush at Zimerman's -- I apologize. But I regret nothing.

PERSONAL UPDATE

Yesterday I took a huge step toward adulthood by getting rid of some old t-shirts and jackets I've had forever. This shows I'm serious about finally updating my wardrobe and I think you should all praise me. The next, and probably toughest step will be replacing these pieces with more modern ones. It's going to be an uphill climb though, as I can't seem to stop bidding on black logo tees on eBay, such as this recent win:

One of the most criminally underrated films of all time.

IT'S 9/9/09 - SUCH A COOL DAY MAN

I hate to break it to you "beach bums", but summer is pretty much over. Kids are back to school, bears are eating a lot of fish and honey, and Halloween has kicked off in retail outlets around the world. Thanks to the magic of the brain, and the phenomenon of "memory" I will now briefly reflect on the summer of 2009 in Toronto as it applied to me.

His favourite is DEFINITELY the one whose butt is pressing against his abdomen.

If summer '08 taught me anything, it's that weather in June, July and August is by no means obligated to be fantastic. I spent the majority of last fall, winter and spring (cold, cold and wet, cold and damp respectively) licking my chops and practicing various sports serves in preparation for summer '09, which statistically couldn't be any worse than its predecessor.

But just after summer officially started in late June, our outside workers union decided to go on strike because a bunch of rich garbage men got pissed that the mayor was threatening to make them slightly less rich, even though all they do all day is toss around the worst stuff that no one wants.

That means the other half will not be any better than standing on a ferry for 10 minutes.

The strike ended in late July, which didn't really matter at all because in a cruel twist of fate it pretty much rained all the time anyway. Explaining all this might be dumb because I think most of you are from around here. I'm having trouble with this entry man. It's Tuesday night and going back to work after a wonderful weekend is tougher than leather hats. Let's conclude:

I didn't let the bad weather and trash filled streets figuratively dampen my spirits. The theme of this summer can be summed up with our cottage '09 motto of "dip while the dippin' is good". I tried to make use of every sunny day and ended up with good outdoor experiences, including tennis matches, swims and raisin roasts . I think the only think I didn't really do was camp, which isn't too bad because camping is really just vintage sleeping. Total throwbacks guy.

Stay tuned tomorrow when I debut my new fall schedule, with flagship entertainment news program...
We play a couple named The Sandwiches and we go to events like the Calgary Stampede.

PITCH IN AND START SUCKING THE MUD OFF MY HELMET

This past weekend was not about me.

I had the pleasure of being involved in my friend Stein's "best week of his life", which concluded this past long weekend in the hamlet of Sarnia, Ontario, home of Liv and also Kim Mitchell, two people who used to have stupid hair. Just joking, Kim Mitchell's hair was alright. POW. Big gag.

We ate, we drank, we jet skied, we ice creamed, Alison got offered a lawyer job by a guy, we watched Louis CK and Michael Jackson, we played Stein rules bocce ball, and we all got boat licences. That's right, if you got a boat, I can drive the shit out of it in the most legal way possible.

It was a much needed weekend - I recharged my batteries (brain, lungs, heart) and erased much of the unnecessary stress I've been feeling lately. And I found a Bob Probert t-shirt at Value Village!

We also came up with two great album titles for Stein's solo project:

"Tanned As I Want To Be"
and
"Throw A Log On That Vacation"

Critics are already calling him the "Canadian Jimmy Buffet" and the "Curly Wanderer". Album covers to follow once we find a camera and a beach to shoot at -- or do I have a treat up my pants?

That's not it, but I think it's important nonetheless.

Here we go! It's more of a poster but you get the idea.

I was planning on posting something yesterday, but I totally forgot because I was so damn relaxed. That's what happens when your cares are washed away via boat license.

When I visited my parents last night I got to eat an authentic Mexican feast and my mom presented me with a rasta wig and a Roy Orbison record. If you can think of a better way to end a weekend, I'd like to know. I was also given my fourth copy of Huey Lewis and the News' "Sports", so if you want to own one of the best records of all time, call me at the barn.

GUMBO DINGER AND HIS GATOR BAND

This is the best weekend to go to the Canadian National Exhibition because this weekend is the Canadian International Airshow.

A shark plane with a gun in its mouth -- ladies in gentlemen, I give you my favourite thing

Unfortunately for me, an avid fan of awesome things, I'll be out of town, but I still get to enjoy seeing the planes practice from my window at work, which overlooks the Island Airport. I've heard a few people on various social networking sites complain cynically about the noise of the jets flying around, to which I respond -- fuck you.

There's plenty of room for cynicism in this world. Oh shit, just as I wrote that I giant bomber just flew over my building. If you think that a bunch of gigantic steel birds and supersonic flying guns zipping around at mach speeds isn't the coolest, then I think you probably have trouble with cool things in general, because my friends, jets rule. And now a jet fighter is doing spins while flying straight up. And now there are four jets in perfect formation and one is totally upside down. Not cool? Go back to grandma's pantry and slow cook me some beans.

HEADLINE NEWS WITH JOKES

One man bit off part of another man's finger when a health care reform demonstration turned violent in Thousand Oaks, California.
When reached for comment, the victim was in a surprisingly good mood, stating, "I came here to give the current health care system the finger and that's exactly what I did."

The Lingerie Football League and the Chicago Bliss make their local debut at the Sears Centre in Hoffman Estates Friday, and an announcement regarding possible Mike Ditka ownership is planned for before the game.
The announcement is expected to be brief, as Ditka feels no obligation to justify buying a LINGERIE FOOTBALL team.

Michael Vick will be reinstated into the NFL in week 3, when his Eagles face the Kansas City Chiefs.
The decision was a deliberate one, as the NFL wanted to avoid having Vick play during the dog days of summer.

Barry Shell, who won $4.4 million dollars in a Lotto 6/49 game, was unable to reach a deal in court yesterday to resolve an outstanding theft charge.
The frustrated judge spent most of the proceedings attempting to explain what a bribe was without actually saying it.

A Florida man who cracked open an ice cold can of Pepsi "indeed" found dismembered remains of a frog, the US Food and Drug Administration said on Thursday.
Despite the strange taste and texture, the man finished the can because it reminded him of his other favourite drink, Mountain Dew.

Michael Jackson was unable to father children after a painful operation to improve his sperm count failed.
If his other surgeries are considered "successes" then this one must have been really bad.

I MADE A MOVIE WITH MY DAD CALLED 'PALS'

Have you ever got the feeling that you're due for an award?

I have a spotless driving record, I visit with my family all the time, I praise my friends for their accomplishments, I buy cancer lottery tickets, I know my basic dinosaurs, I support gay marriage, I'm good with money, I have a steady job, I can cook, I love birds, I play the guitar, I shower every day, I'm nice to strangers, I appreciated the night sky, I don't dumb down things when I talk to children, I feel bad for old people, I only mock those who mock others, and I ride a bike.

So please nominate me for something. I don't need a trophy, but a gala dinner would be nice.

Check out this buried treasure:

This blog is going to have a lot of different features and fun interviews with your favourite celebrities.

I’m the author and I’m 25 years old. I’m going to use this blog to make you think I do more with my life than you do. I’m also going to use it as a hangout for my thoughts. It’s going to be the Wendy’s of the Internet, but instead of cheeseburgers you get Times New Romans and instead of paying money you pay me with attention.

I found that on my computer's "Documents" folder. It's from when I was first formulating this blog a couple years back, along with a new kind of cola that also works as a marinade for lamb. Turns out kids don't like the cool taste of oregano.

My prophecies were true! Tthis blog truly IS the Wendy's of the Internet, and we've all had a lot of fun with some great celebrity interviews over the years, haven't we? Who can forget this classic with Survivor's Jeff Probst:

WIDAHIA - Hi Jeff, I noticed you're not wearing your signature khaki adventure wear.

JP - Yeah, weird! No big deal though. It's my daughter's wedding today and as they said in Survivor Australia, "Different pants for different evants".

WIDAHIA - When's the wedding?

JP - We're about ten minutes in now.

WIDAHIA - Shouldn't you be there?

JP - Who says I'm not, Buster Brown?

WIDAHIA - Okay, even if you are there, you're wearing a old t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Where's your tux?

JP - Up your butt and around the corner. You know where I first heard that retort? Three Rivers Stadium, Pittsburgh, 1976.

WIDAHIA - Can you tell us anything about the new season?

JP - Autumn?

WIDAHIA - No, your show on CBS - Survivor?

JP - Baby, that's real life!

Mr. Probst then exited, leaving behind an autographed 8x10 of himself and three packages of unopened Upper Deck baseball cards with a note that said "In your dreams big guy".

HIGHER EDUCATION BLOWOUT SPECIAL

Exactly eight years ago today I started university -- one of the bricks of life that has helped build my memory hut. In the hut, this blog represents the "accoutrements" in the twenty-something sitting room next to the sports experiences fireplace. Are you with me so far? Don't worry, we'll now leave the abstract behind and head toward the...THE MEMORY HUT AHAHAHAHA. Okay, so university...

It was a really weird time for me because unlike most people, I actually had a great time in high school and was totally "cheefed" that it was ending at the height of it all. Most of my friends went to other universities in packs, so I felt extra nervous, even though pop culture had assured me that post-secondary institutions were home to the easiest, most buxom babes in the world and all you can eat fries and gravy on every corner.

Looking back, I was justified in being upset, but I did overreact a bit, thinking that we'd all drift apart and I'd miss all sorts of fun stuff at the other schools like lobster chugging contests and tuxedo beach volleyball. If you look at my friend line-up today, nothing much has changed, so if my past self is reading this somehow, don't worry, things are fine and you end up living in a big place with an actual girl - no dudes.

Here are some unearthed THIS DAY IN LIVEJOURNAL HISTORY'S from that fateful first day, Sept. 2, 2001

Big cheap beers were popular with students and so were nouveau lamps

In this first snippet from 1:45am (the night before I left) I was being overly sentimental and really eulogized the shit out of my high school years:

I'd like to say thanks to everyone in my life these past four years because they have been the funnest ever. For the first time in my life I felt genuinely comfortable around my friends and I felt like I was myself. It was like in the Blind Melon video for no rain when the bee girl finds the other bee girls in the field.

I'd post more from that entry but it's highly embarrassing, and I don't want to undo any of the hard work I've put into not being a wiener over the last ten years.

I got to McMaster and met my new roomate. Here are some passages from 2:35pm:

Then I met my roommate, who is a nice guy. He likes good tunes and plays guitar. He's pretty shy like me so conversation is a little awkward.

I really don't know what to do with myself. I think I wanna take a nap but I;m scared I'll miss some big event or something.

Boring. At nighttime I summed it up:

I've never been so overwhelmed with spirit in my whole life. It was like a fucked up daycamp. I'm so tired right now I spent the whole day doing cheesy games and cheers, which all in all wasn;'t that bad.

I wrote for the McMaster paper when I was there, which is a seed of this blog along with the website we used to have and a desire to be the next Dave Barry. I lost my faith in journalism when an editor removed a Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase joke from one of my articles, which I don't really remember except it probably had something to do with money and/or the Intercontinental Championship belt.

Next time I'll recount my first trip to a farm and the first time I tasted a "chicken strip".

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS COOL

"Tell me your fantasies and I'll eat a peach"

Today I was in line at the local grocers, and there was this fit lady in front of me who was wearing little shorts and a sports brassiere. Predictably, she was buying a shitload of fruit and when she tried to fit a bushel of peaches into her little, already stuffed backpack they spilled all over the place. One such peach disappeared somewhere under the checkout conveyor belt table (?), lost forever amidst pennies, dust and maybe a lost world where tiny dogs dress in silk caps. Not one to give up, Ms. Sports took it upon herself to get down on her hands and knees and search for the outcast peach with me standing awkwardly behind her, wondering what I should do while waiting for a register to open up.

It occurred to me to help her find it, but I had already retrieved one for her, and as mentioned, I didn't really support the expedition to begin with. I'd like to think my lack of participation sent a clear message that the search was in vain and that 6-8 surviving peaches remained intact and ready to be eaten, pied or hollowed out for a traditional Malloween (First Wednesday in September. Have you painted your jelly beans yet?) decoration. Plus, I doubt her little bag would've supported an additional peach, so unless she was planning on a post-shopping chow down, transportation most certainly would've been an issue.
But I felt weird just standing there at her feet doing nothing. Also, since this woman was wearing barely any clothes, I was aware that perhaps my standing over her could be misconstrued as "pervy", leading to heightened anxiety. I pride myself on my ability to scope babes without them, or anyone around me noticing and the situation I found myself in seemed almost like a test of these abilities, like a guy on a diet who finds a pie or a hamburger cooling on an unattended window sill.

Just as I was reaching the point when I had been standing there longer than I felt comfortable, I was summoned to the next available cashier and the pressure was relieved. In conclusion, if you drop a damn peach and you can't get it - give up, because peaches DO grow on trees and your backpack probably isn't big enough anyway.


Did anyone else watch the Degrassi Goes Hollywood TV movie? It was no School's Out and unfortunately no one died, but it was dumb enough to be entertaining, but not dumb enough that it was unwatchable. The best part was how easily it was to predict what was going to happen next. It was essentially one big cliche with a few totally crappy cameos thrown in for good measure - sounds like my ill-fated sweet sixteen masquerade, hosted by Alfonso Ribeiro with musical guests "Mr. Mister".