June 29, 2007

Why do I care so much about this Paris Hilton ordeal? Well, if I don’t, who will?!!?

Here, David Letterman points out the numerous inaccuracies in the Larry King/post-prison Paris interview. God bless his little soul.

Also, I’ll get around to posting some actual content here eventually. Maybe tomorrow? Maybe not.


June 26, 2007

Genius often reveals itself in strange and subtle ways. While I certainly let out a hearty chortle over this, I’m not going to deny that I’m at least a bit curious. A-hyuk!

June 22, 2007

Oh, and as to not come across as a total doomsday nay-sayer, I’ve added this amazing video.

Plaque Panthers

June 22, 2007

Toronto’s Emergency Services supports its troops. Or does it? No one’s really sure, and it’s turned into an interesting debacle amongst Torontonians, as well as within my own psyche.

A recent article from the National Post states that “Support Our Troops” decals, which have been placed on many Emergency Services vehicles in the GTA, will be removed as a response to the mass pants-shitting of Torontonians over the municipal government’s publicly assumed stance on the war in Afghanistan.



Now that Mayor David Miller has agreed to have the decals removed with each EMS vehicle’s quarterly inspection, there is another segment of citizens that feel the gesture is a “slap in the face” to those who support the war, and even more so, those who have family and friends fighting abroad.



Mayor Miller says in a letter that he, as an individual, supports those fighting overseas and dying, but feels that after witnessing the deep divide that Canada’s role in the war has caused amongst its citizens, EMS and the municipal public sector as a whole shouldn’t have a role in what really amounts to war PR. (Yes, that is my own interpretation of what he said.)



It brought me back to when we started sending soldiers out there by the hundreds. I had very mixed feelings about siege. At first I thought “Well, of course I support the troops. These are good kids out there. They have families and friends that love them, and they’re dying every single day, for a cause they believe is worthy. Who can’t get behind that?” But, then I thought “Well, I certainly don’t support the military action as a whole. And supporting one’s troops is often misconstrued as being sympathetic towards policy itself.” (And I believe that, in ways, it is.)


I found myself in a sort of ethical dilemma, and couldn’t figure a way out of it—or at least a firm stance to take on it. Then I read this quote from Mr. Noam Chomsky:


The point of public relations slogans like “Support our troops” is that they don’t mean anything… That’s the whole point of good propaganda. You want to create a slogan that nobody’s going to be against, and everybody’s going to be for. Nobody knows what it means, because it doesn’t mean anything. Its crucial value is that it diverts your attention from a question that does mean something: Do you support our policy? That’s the one you’re not allowed to talk about.”



And so it goes. I feel that Mr. Chomsky has eloquently defined my dilemma in a way that no amount of critical thinking on my part could. Upon reading this I went a step further to determine that by creating a PR slogan so powerful, yet empty in any real meaning, and garnering mass-approval for its supposed message, you effectively eliminate a huge wave of political dissent via indecisive pacification. Not that dissent is non-existent—any eavesdropped casual conversation will tell you resistance to policy is alive and well—it’s just not as loud and obnoxious as it would be if we didn’t have these weasely, albeit smart politicians creating propaganda that blurs, shortens and packages the truth into something we can all bite into and swallow without getting physically ill.



One of my favourite artists, Sage Francis, expresses the same sentiment in a more condensed, but no less powerful way:


“You support the troops?

By wearing yellow ribbons?

Just bring home my mother fucking brothers and sisters!”



Karl Rove, the Deputy Chief of Staff to the President of the United States of America, who was previously a direct marketing consultant, has perfected the art of modern propaganda. He’s the mastermind that brought us such memorable moments as “War on Terror!” and “Mission Accomplished!” amongst many others that escape me at the moment. Again, all designed to simplify and distort the complicated and often unpopular truth to rally behind in droves.


The bigger problem is that there is no such thing as truth. At least not for you or me. We can sit down and analyze and dissect source after source, after source, and then compare the information, but at the end of the day, it’s the major media outlets with swelling political biases, from all parts of the spectrum, that are delivering the “facts”. Again, there is no truth. There is only what we believe. The truth, unfortunately, is reserved for a handful of powerful elites. It’s always been that way, and it’s never going to change.


And I think that the only way to loosen the shackles of that saddening evidence is to be aware of it.

You know how sometimes you can just look at someone, and without even exchanging some much as eye contact with them, easily determine that they’re a douchebag? They just have a certain way about them that screams “I’m a fucking prick!”


There are plenty of people that I don’t get along with—whether it be as a result of a disagreement, personality clash, or even my big fucking mouth. While I may not like them, find them annoying, vice versa, or other, I’m aware that there’s nothing intrinsically bad about them—I just don’t like them.


However, there’s a certain breed of human that I can just look at and tell that they’re an all around shitty person. They carry a certain holier than thou aura about them that’s usually given away by small, normally unnoticed quirks about them.


Case in point: There’s a new fellow that works at my office. He appears to be in his early thirties, well-dressed and accessorized (read: nice watch and vintage leather laptop bag). I take the same bus as him every day, so I happen to see this peacock interact with the masses on a daily basis. Everyday, he has to be first in line to the bus. Today, he was first in line but when the very light sprinkle of rain started coming down, he covered his head with his newspaper and rudely pushed his way through the line and displaced an old lady in an area where there was cover. I was so tempted to say “Phew! Close one there—you almost got your inch-long hair a little wet!” Not exactly a grade-A zinger but effective enough to make him feel like a peice of shit.


Upon arriving at work, he pushed his way to the front of the bus to get off first. We all walk into the warehouse-turned-office building and I follow behind him to the cafeteria. I pick up a breakfast wrap and get behind him in line to pay. He looks at my wrap and sneers a little then orders a super-half-caf non-fat, low-calorie, frothy caramel soy latte (take note: the ONLY time it’s ok to drink one of these is when your girlfriend offers you a sip of hers. Otherwise you’ll grow a vagina), then starts getting pissy with the woman behind the counter when his masterpiece of a fucking coffee takes more than 30 seconds to create.


This isn’t just a case of someone waking up on the wrong side of the bed—it’s a daily occurrence. I’ve never seen anyone with such an obvious case of only-child syndrome in my life, and I’m an only child. This is the type of adult that has temper tantrums. The type of person that puts himself before anyone else, in any situation, regardless of the circumstances. The type that never holds doors open for people, but gets pissed off when no one holds it for him. This is also the type of person that goes home, gets naked, covers himself in rose petals and jerks off to pictures of himself on a daily basis.



I, however, have only done that twice.

Contrary to female consensus, Lululemon pants do NOT look good on everyone. Admittedly, they can take moderately unshapely bum and make it a little easier on the eyes, but just because they’re stretchy and you can push the limits of their elasticity by pulling them up over that buffalo honche/hoof/rump combo you call a lower body doesn’t mean that they’re doing anything to diminish your size–they’re just smoothing it out. And, realistically, at that size, nothing but a moo-moo is going to be less offensive.

It’s as if some of the more rotund women here in Vancouver feel obliged to wear these otherwise sexy pants as a badge of honour because the company was founded here. It’s not. It’s gross. And it makes God mad at you.

As for this weekend, I’m peacing out to Tofino:

I’m in an unusually good mood today. “Why Andrew!?”, you ask? Well, as I’m sure everyone on the Western Hemisphere and beyond knows by now, Paris Hilton was ordered back to court from her short stint on home arrest, and was then sentenced to serve out the original 45 day term of her offense, in jail, rather than the 23 or 25 day sentence she got for “good behavior” (read: carrying around a self-help book and bible whilst donning an overtly expensive suite not unlike a nun’s smock). I don’t have to get into all the details; One picture says it all–and this very picture made my day ten times over. Enjoy.

A thread that’s found here, at my favourite website, Fark.com, contains what I can only assume is the best commentary on the whole debacle: http://forums.fark.com/cgi/fark/comments.pl?IDLink=2855164
I highly recommend taking an hour out of your day and reading it from top to bottom. At the time of blogging, there was 1901 comments–and they’re all gems.

It’s the weekend. Go enjoy your sun and beer and all the debauchery that’s sure to manifest itself as a result.

Oh, and on a side note, apparently people read this thing and have been recommending it! Thanks! (Hi Dad!)
Now, if those who read it tell their friends, and those friends tell their friends, and friend’s friends and such, I might be able to sucker a large cornucopia of small online companies into advertising here, then live off those earnings so that I can further provide you with stellar content that carries no consequence to anyone,nor makes any contribution to anything outside of the mild amusement of the 10 (at best) people that come here.

Just kidding. I’d only drink a lot more.