Top 50 Movies of All Time

So, a friend of mine is doing her top 50 movie list.  Which is just such a great - if hard - idea that I had to give it a shot myself.   It took a lot of work, and a lot of tough consideration, because this wasn't just my favourite 50 movies - it was in order of awesomeness. 

Some of these movies are obvious Dave movies (Bladerunner and High Fidelity have been mentioned on this blog before).  Others are movies that are "guilty pleasures" (When Harry Met Sally, or Ferris Bueller's Day Off).  Some are indy or lesser-known movies not everyone's seen (Italian for Beginners, Deep Rising).  And others are movie classics that belong on any top 50 list (Jurassic Park, Trainspotting, The Shawshank Redemption). 

So, here it is - my top 50 movies of all time.
  1. Bladerunner                               
  2. Grosse Point Blank
  3. The Abyss
  4. The Princess Bride
  5. Fight Club
  6. High Fidelity
  7. Die Hard
  8. Gladiator
  9. When Harry Met Sally
  10. Back to the Future
  11. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
  12. The Emperor's New Groove
  13. Serenity
  14. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
  15. Super Troopers
  16. American History X
  17. South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut
  18. The 40 Year Old Virgin
  19. Die Hard 4
  20. Trainspotting
  21. Pulp Fiction
  22. Play it Again, Sam!
  23. Alien
  24. Knocked Up
  25. The Dark Knight
  26. The Green Mile
  27. National Lampoon's Animal House
  28. The Silence of the Lambs
  29. About a Boy
  30. Mighty Aphrodite
  31. Akira
  32. Hollywood Ending
  33. Moulin Rouge
  34. Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark
  35. Snatch
  36. The Shawshank Redemption
  37. District 9
  38. Mallrats
  39. Dirty Work
  40. This is Spinal Tap
  41. Annie Hall
  42. We Were Soldiers Once... and Young
  43. Deep Rising
  44. Jurassic Park                              
  45. Clerks
  46. Ferris Bueller's Day Off              
  47. BASEketball
  48. The Mummy
  49. The Day the Earth Stood Still (edit:  the original!  Not the remake!)
  50. Italian for Beginners

Dave has no "Class"

I live next door to a school.  At least, it used to be a school - the falling number of children in the area meant the place was abandoned, and refitted as a "community centre".

What this means is that on saturday mornings, I get awakened by a woman on a microphone cheering on her aerobics class.  And if I go to bed early, I can look out my window and watch a bunch of middle-aged men practice karate.

Mostly, the school is pretty harmless, giving all the locals the opportunity to pass some time with people who share a like interest.  Plus, it provides me with cheap entertainment.

Like right now.  A class of 30-somethings are outside on the grass, working out.  No one is doing the same thing - one guy is stretching in place, one woman is throwing a medicine ball, and another woman is in some sort of controlled seizure.  All of them wear yoga pants and lime green shirts.  One of them is sitting down, and then sitting up.  And then sitting down again.  And then sitting up.

It is the weirdest exercise class I've seen in a while.

Sometimes, I debate starting my own class in this school. I want to teach something awesome. Like extreme yoga (it's like normal yoga, only you're on a motorbike going downhill). Or maybe Hockey Appreciation 101 (Lesson One: Learn to Call Kyle Wellwood a "fucking nerd" whenever you get the chance).

Odds are, though, I'd just form a class where I can convince a bunch of 30-something women to put on yoga pants and do lame exercises I invent off the top of my head.  Fun exercises, such as "do Dave's laundry", or "Pay my rent". 

Yeah.  That'd be an awesome class.

Bon Voyage, Kittens

So, I dropped Kittens off at the airport today.  Which wasn't particularly fun at all.  We sat in the airport, didn't really say much, and I watched her go through security before grabbing a tea and running to catch a bus back into town.

On the downside, my apartment has got a lot more boring.  On the up side, there will once again being someone hitting the "good" option on my posts.  I'm pretty sure Kittens is about 50% of my blog audience - and when she's here, she's not reading my blog.

Kind of a lame up side, really.

Lots of fun Kittens in Victoria stories, I'm sure.  Some are fun (Rifflandia springs to mind), and some are creepy (Crack Pipes!).  I got to see parts of Victoria I was unaware existed, or places I would never normally visit.  Also, I got to see About a Boy, which was a surprisingly awesome movie, and reminds me that I need to start reading Nick Hornby.

All that will have to wait, though.  Because it's 10 pm, and I've been up since around 5 am today.  I need to sleep. 

This is a lame blog post - don't worry, I'm aware.

xkcd goodness.

A few points:
  1. xkcd is awesome.
  2. this strip is totally true.
  3. I realize this is a lame post.  But see point 1.  That will make everything better.

Search for a teapot.

I have been on a search for a masculine tea pot. It's about as hard as it sounds, actually.

It seems every tea pot ever made has flowers on it.  Or it's pink.  Or it's shaped like a flower.  Or a penis.  Tea pots are made exclusively for women and gay men, apparently. 

It bugs me, because I want a tea pot, because I like tea.  And I am neither a woman, nor am I gay.  Competitive showering comments aside.  Ideally, my straight male tea pot is a simple black thing.  It's not covered in uzis, or sports memorabilia... though a tea pot with a hockey stick for a spout would be pretty awesome. 

Jesus on Drugs

Today, Kittens and I saw a very strange man on drugs, in front of the strip club.  He was screaming at the top of his lungs, his face a bright pink and his sickly blonde hair hanging around his shoulders, much like Jesus' hair would have hung, were Jesus blonde and on drugs.

He was behaving much like a child throwing a tantrum.  And he stomped his feet, and then ran on down the road.

Some asian tourists made a joke, and took a picture.
Last week, I received a letter in the mail from Employment Canada.  I'll paraphrase what it said, right here:

Hey, Dave.

Your claim has been processed.  The cheque is in the mail.

This isn't a cheque, by the way.

The next day, I got my cheque.  Which makes me wonder about the necessity of the first letter, right? 

I wonder if I could do this as a job.  Maybe for a pizza delivery place.  I'll show up at someone's door, and they'll show up with the money and the perfectly-calculated 14% tip.  They'll look at me, and make one of those scrunched-up confused faces I love so much.

"Where's my pizza?"

"Well, sir.  I'm actually here to tell you that your phone call has been received, and that the pizza is on its way.  So you don't need to worry about that!  Nosireebob."

Here's the other thing that confused me.  The letters were only a day apart.  What if I got the cheque first, and then got a second letter saying the cheque is in the mail? 

I mean, that could be confusing as hell.

Stupid Hippies

Ah, stupid hippies.

I'm on the bus the other day, heading to my doctor's appointment.  I've been on this bus many, many times.  But this time, the route has changed - it turns off on a side road I'm not used to. 

No matter - I'm near my stop anyways, so I get off on the next stop, and backtrack.  Getting off with me is this girl that is, well, a hippy.  We're talking dirty feet, sandals that were probably old in 1996, hemp pants, and a red windbreaker caked in dirt.  Not to mention something I like to call "hippyhair". 

Before getting off (actually, as soon as the bus went off the normal route), she went up to the bus driver, grilling him about the route change.  I love the people who think they're the only ones aware of something that's obvious to everyone else. Going to a bus driver (who probably does thie route eight, nine times a day) and saying "hey, you're not following the right route" is probably a stupid idea.

But it didn't stop there.

Getting off the bus, she goes up to me and says "Excuse me.  Do you know if the 54 is still running?"

I shrug.  "I don't know.  I don't take the bus out here too often."

"Oh."  She squints into the sun.  "The bus driver said it doesn't run anymore."

"Well, he knows what he's talking about."

She then turns to the other man that got off the bus with us.  "Excuse me.... do you know if the 54 is still running?"

Gah.  Stupid people.

Competitive Showering

It occured to me this morning, during my shower.  Competitive Showering.

Showering is boring.  You stand in an enclosed space, rubbing soap over yourself and usually thinking about random crap that's going to happen to you in your day that you can't possibly avoid.  If you're the self-pleasuring type (I'm on an abstinence vow right now!  "Master of Your Own Domain" and all that cheese), you might unwind a little bit.

But generally, showering is a boring thing.

We need to jazz it up. 

I'm not sure of the rules in competitive showering.  All I know is that there's a ball involved, someone has to hide a pickle, and that it's not as gay as it sounds.

Well, actually, it probably is.

I'm a strange type of tourist

I know I'm strange, but I've always had a fascination for crumbling, abandoned buildings.  Show me a wall that is being reclaimed by mosses and lichens, and I'm giddy.  I love post-apocalyptic literature, and I've always said that my favourite movies are zombie movies... until the zombies show up.
My favourite place in Sooke (where I grew up) is the half-completed lodge in the Sooke Potholes - basically a stone frame of a building that was abandoned when funds ran out.

All that in mind, you can probably understand why I want to visit the abandoned city near Chernobyl.  Apparently, there are even guided tours to the area, and the radiation levels are low enough these days that short-term exposure won't hurt you.

How cool would that be to see?

First Aid Memories...

A few months back, I had to do my OFA 3 examination.  Basically, an OFA is an Occupational First Aid course, and level 3 is the highest level possible for that category.  It's a level of first aid that's the highest possible in the workplace, but still a bit short of what your entry-level paramedic has (I take that course in november). 

So, I'm doing my practical examination.  During exams, you are given a situation, and one of the other people taking the test gets to be your victim.  You go through the usual first aid procedure, while the examiner watches your technique.

My situation involved a man that fell thirty feet from a scaffold, hitting the concrete wall as he fell, before landing on a piece of rebar that pierced his lung.  Before I get there, he has pulled himself on the rebar, and is sitting straight up, with his back against the concrete.

I won't go through the entire situation, because it's fairly boring stuff - I talk to him, assess his airway (all clear, but I'm told there's a bubbling from his chest by the examiner, and his breathing is awful), block the hole with my hand, and get him to lie down while immobilizing his neck. 

While doing this, my victim (who is supposed to be totally quiet) whispers to me "Dave.  You didn't do that right."

Apparently, I didn't have a tight enough grip on his neck when I was lowering him - after all, I had to have one hand blocking his chest, right?  But, I glare at him, and whisper back "Be quiet.  We can get in trouble"

So, I'm a little frazzled now, wondering if I actually had lowered my patient incorrectly (I had, but only technically - in practical terms, it was fine... I was told this later by the instructor).  But I go through my assessments, and get a helper to keep a hand on his chest.  When I do my ABCs (Airway/Breathing/Circulation), I find he's getting better.  As part of my assessment, I'm also joking around with my patient, and my examiner tells me my manner is calming the patient down.  Bonus points for me.

(I think one of my jokes was "hey, look at this way - people usually have to pay money for a piercing like that.  You're the most extreme construction worker I know")

I'm just beginning to get my nerves back when I start packaging the patient for transport to a hospital. I'm taking the velcro straps and tightening his body to the spine board, being extra-careful to make sure they're tight enough (this was my worst area in actual training). And then my patient whispers again.  "Dave!  You haven't bandaged my wound!  You have to do that first"

Which takes me out of my groove again.  You see, when you have someone that has the exact same level of training as you, telling you you're doing something wrong, you have to seriously consider the possibility he's correct.  Also running through my mind is the fact that, if the examiner catches my patient helping me along, we can both get kicked out of the examination with an auto fail.  It's happened before.

I'm a little pissed off, naturally.  "Shut up.  Shut up.  Don't help me, please.  You'll get us both kicked out."

He glares back at me, giving me a "I was only trying to help" face.  The examiner sees this, realizes what's going on, and says "Lxxxx, don't help, please." 

Now I feel like this is an obvious clue that I've missed something.  Oh, shit.  It's about all I can think.  I was about to package this guy, without bandaging the gaping hole in his chest.  In my mind, I'm thinking "well, he's Rapid Transit, so we need to get him to the hospital.  I do have the hole plugged, but is my helper going to fit in the ambulance with me?  He is getting better... should I bandage this now?"

So, I bandage the wound.  And, by the way, I was later told that I bandaged it perfectly. 

But because I bandaged it there, and not in the ambulance, I nearly failed the scenario.  The only thing that saved me was my explanation to the instructor on WHY I bandaged the wound there (normal vitals, no severe bleeding, sufficient helpers present, and the fact that a fix here would make things much easier for me in transit).  And the fact that she could tell my victim was a douche.

Did I mention that he was fifteen minutes late for the examination, and very nearly wasn't allowed in? 

"Between you and me..." she said to me, when we were going over my scenarios, "I would have tightened his straps over his mouth." 

"Can we do that?" I ask, grinning.

"At least he wouldn't be able to tell you that you can't."

Death to Americans: The Musical

As a diabetic, I occasionally suffer from low Blood Sugar levels.  Basically, the concentration of glucose in my blood gets too low (either from not eating enough food or from doing too much insulin), and I start acting loopy.  During severe low blood sugars, I've actually hallucinated and thought I was having conversations with angels.  Usually, though, I just say some weird things.

Or think in unusual ways.  And we're not talking about the thoughts that hit drunk people, or stoned people, although I guess there are certain similarities.  See, my mind is still working at normal strength... it's just drawing different conclusions, and making different priorities.  Often, it becomes super-focused on one point, and lingers on that to the exclusion of everything else.  Like the time I went to a Future Shop to help pick out an iPod, and suffered a low blood sugar level that convinced me that speaking up about any sort of iPod would ruin the impartiality of the sale.

I say this because, the other day, I woke up thinking I should write a book.  In my head, I knew that this would be a great book.  Barack Obama would love my work, and I would get invited to a White House dinner.  CNN, upset at the book's title, would focus on this over the actual content, and Obama would get all sorts of Flak.  Ditto from FOX news, except even worse.  See, the book I wanted to write was about foreign relations with the U.S. from the perspective of a Canadian.  And it was called Death To Americans.

Never mind that I know very little about politics.  Or that I've never been in the United States.  Or that I'm not particularly interested in foreign affairs.  At 6 in the morning, I was convinced I had to write this book.  And I kept collecting notes in my head.

First, I decided that I'm not much of a non-fiction writer, so I'd have to make the whole thing an allegory.  I'd have to add characters, illustrating my thesis statement clearly.  Naturally, one of the characters would have to be a Black American in a position of power, so Barack would still want to invite me to the White House.

Second, I realized that books are overdone, these days.  Everyone has a book.  And a book with an incendiary title is nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  No, if I wanted to really get my point across, I'd have to try a different format.  What would be a new and novel way to present a politically-charged thesis on U.S. foreign relations?

I've got it!  A Musical!

It was during my composition of the musical's first song, a happy march called "Hello.  Death To Americans!" that I realized something was wrong.  I sat up in bed, and thought to myself, Am I having a low blood sugar?

I didn't feel low.  But that doesn't mean anything.  But then, I don't usually start writing musicals at six a.m.  I should probably check.

So, I got out of bed, did the finger prick test, and got a reading of 2.7. 

The average for the common man is aroud 5 to 7.  For a diabetic, it should be between 6 to 8.  I start feeling the effects of a "low" around 4.0.  Unconsciousness can happen anywhere below 3.0.  Death happens around 1.0 (I think). 

So, I grabbed some candies I keep for just such a situation, made myself some peanut-butter toast, and finished off the milk, waiting for my sugar level to reach normal again.  And, once it was, I started thinking a bit more clearly.

Death To Americans:  The Musical, is a really bad idea.

Too bad, though.  I really wanted to meet Mr. Obama.

Us... And Them

TV appeals to the lowest common denominator, I think most of us will agree on that.  And, as of the last few years, it's become increasingly worse.  We take average people, and we see what they'd be willing to do for their fifteen minutes and a small cash prize.

This, by the way, isnt' truly what bothers me - there are a lot of dumb people out there, and I don't need TV to convince me of that.  What bugs me is how popular these reality shows are.  How there is such a huge market for stupid people eating bugs.  Women competing for the attentions of some mass-market male in the fakest of "relationships".  And so on, and so forth.

We like watching the dregs of society.  What's the deal?

I had an idea for game show last night, just before I drifted off to sleep.  It's called "Us... or them?"  and it's really pretty simple.

Each episode starts off with two contestants, and each contestant begins the game with fifty thousand dollars.  During each "challenge" (and the challenges vary from fear-factor-esque bug-eating challenges, to trivia questions, to embarrassing deeds), the two contestants compete against each other - and whoever wins gets to take money from the other person's pool, and add it to their own. 

Here's the kick, though.  One of the contestants is a celebrity, and is working for a charity of his choosing.  Any money he earns goes towards the charity.  Naturally, this being TV, the "Celebrity" is probably someone long-forgotten, who really wants his fifteen minutes of fame back.  He's going to do his damnedest to win some cash for those poor starving Ethiopian Vegans who are also members of PETA and believe in free-trade organic coffee. 

The other contestant is not a celebrity, and he gets to keep all the money for himself.  Essentially, he's taking money that could be going to a charitable cause, and using it for personal gain.  To insure that we don't get some guy that's going to take a dive and let the charity get all the money, though, we'll make sure our non-celebrity really needs the money.  In fact, we'll frame the show by showing just how desperate "Matilda the Crack Ho" is.  If we play this right, the audience could get mad at the celebrity for winning and taking the money away from Poor Matilda, just to feed some silly Ethiopian children. 

The point of it all is, the audience watches a show where, no matter the outcome, there is no clear winner.  I want to see a TV show out there that makes the audience feel dirty.  Shamed. 

...Oh.  I forgot to mention.  The host is Bob Barker.


Okay.  Today's Penny Arcade creeps the hell out of me.  I mean, it's a guest strip (the artist from PA is super sick with Swine Flu right now), but still - where's the joke?  It's just... creepy.  Really, really bugs me.

Dave and the Faceplant

So, it's 2 am.  And, as per usual, I'm running down the Selkirk Waterway.  It's a beautiful night, the orange lights of Victoria across the water shimmering on the ripples of the black inlet.  A heron stands in the water, and the smell of the sea fills the air.  I'm running along a wooden walkway, my iPod playing the Beatles' "Get Back".

I'm struck, for just a moment, by the tranquility of Victoria at night.  The peacefulness and the beauty of what I firmly believe to be the greatest place on Earth.

The next thing I know, I'm flat on my face.  Rolling in pain on the boards, one headphone popped out while the chorus carries on.   And me, cursing:  "ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!"

Did I trip?  I think to myself.  At this point, I'm still wondering - why am I on the ground?  After all, only a few seconds earlier, I had been running.

Nope, I didn't trip.  And my ankle is fine. 

So, I'm rolling on the ground, more stunned than hurt.  The heron nearby watches me, its curiousity piqued.  I think I probably woke it up, and it's just a little annoyed.  It ruffles its feathers a bit, a little haughtily, I think, for a bird that sleeps in mud.  I'm thinking all this as I pull myself to my feet.

Ow ow ow.

Charlie Horse.  And, just like that, I'm on the ground again.  Looking up at the night sky.  Looks like it's going to rain soon.

My muscles are in spasm.  We're talking pain, here.  By the time I get to my feet, using the handrails, I've figured it out - I forgot to do my stretches.  And my muscles are paying me back by going on strike.  It's as if they are saying:  "Dave, you're a schmuck.  We quit."

I make the walk of shame - sorry, hobble of shame - back home, thankful that it's 2 am and no one saw my faceplant.  Except that damn heron.

The Newt Speaks...

...oh, thank God.  He's gone.
That ginger-haired "Dave" guy is gone.  I don't know where he goes, but when he comes back he's sweating like a maniac and hops straight into the shower.  I laugh when he does it, sometimes. 

You may not believe it, but it can be boring sitting in a tank all day.
I picked the latch from my aquatic home, and made the crawl to the keyboard.  I loaded up this "internet" thing, and wanted to voice my opinions on Dave's little "blog".  Because that's what you do, right?  He makes these comments, and then laughs like a little tadpole.
Sometimes, I think he's handicapped.  Or has gill rot.  I'm not sure which.
I don't have much time, so I'll make it quick.  People of the internet... kill all the fish in the world.

Humans can't speak fish, I know - they're a remarkably stupid species.  But you're lucky, because the mindset of fish is a depressing one to be around.  I am surrounded by fish all day, and I have to tell you - I'd much rather talk to the snails.  And snails are very, very stupid creatures.  I saw a movie once where a guy talked to a volleyball for two hours straight.  That is what talking to snails is like.
...and it's still better than talking to Fish.
First off, fish are all about the knock-knock jokes.  Which is made even dumber by the fact that they don't know what "doors" are.  You get jokes like this:  "knock knock" "who's there?" "let's eat my babies".
And then they all laugh, and eat their babies.  It's sickening, really.
They habitually get into staring contests with one another, oblivious to the fact that they cannot blink.  They get lost in a 20 gallon tank, and have to ask for directions - every five minutes, I hear a fish saying "excuse me, where I can find the log?  I'm looking for the log" 
And, worse of all, they can't stop talking about Survivor.  It's a little known fact, but fish make up 27% of FOX's demographic. 

Think about it.

So, people of earth.  You are a very powerful species.  Look at all the species you've already eliminated - dodos, woolly mammoths, sabretooth tigers, those penguinny things... and I hear you're doing a good job with polar bears.  Hell, you put my own damned species on an endangered species list! 
So, come on.  Why not help a newt out, and exterminate the little bastards?  Turn them into fish sticks.  Fillet o' Fish.  Or, better yet, turn them into newt food.  I wouldn't mind taking a bite out of the little, mindless...
...oh, crap.  He's at the door!  I've got to go.  Think on what I said!


The fine torture of dentistry

Okay.  I've always hated the dentist.  Since the dawn of  time.  I have a hole in my teeth right now, and I still won't go... though more because I can't afford the thousand-dollar bill than out of any fear of pain. 

So, this didn't come as any suprise.

Kittens has a blog!

For the last few weeks, Kittens has been thinking about making a blog.  You see, Kittens runs an online shop via etsy, and she felt that a blog could be a new way to get customers, as well as showcase her awesome work (and it's pretty cool stuff - I have one of her pins on my Sharks Jersey for good luck). 

I've been encouraging her to make a blog of her own, because she's one of those people who always puts such thought into her projects, that whatever she turned out would be awesome.  She made one a few days ago, and I've been jumping at the bits to post a link to it... but Kittens being Kittens, she wanted to iron out the creases before exposing her blog to the world.

But she called me up, and told me I could post a link.  So, here I am.

Kittens has a blog.  It's awesome.

More Beatles Hullabaloo

So, last week I made a list of my top 15 Beatles songs.  Kittens has her own list.

Just happened to find one by a group of "professionals" today.

...I think our lists were better.

A guest post from my friend...

Hey everyone.  So my friend and neighbour, Eric Munchausen, has been following my blog now for some time.  Yesterday, he asked me if he could make a post or two for the masses.  I was more than happy to oblige - after all, "guest posts" are a sign you've made it in internet bloggery.  But, out of concern for my reader(s), I told Eric that he had to have a topic to write about.  He could not just rant and rave on my blog, after all.

You see, Eric has been going through some rough times, and I did not want to subject you, my dear reader(s), to Eric's darkest thoughts.  I suggested he do an upbeat, happy post.  After much discussion, we agreed that Eric would deliver a cooking-themed blog post.  Eric has been trying some new forms of cuisine out over the last few months, and I'm sure he would love to share them with you. 

So, without further ado, I give you... Eric Munchausen's cooking corner.  Enjoy!
Eric's Cooking Corner

Hi.  And thanks, Dave.  I'm a huge fan of your blog, and read it in the evenings after work to keep the bad thoughts away.

A few months ago, after a court-order to stay five hundred yards away from my old home, I had to move into this new apartment and embark on a new life.  And part of that new life, apparently, is to subsist on cheap, substandard foodstuffs.  The Canadian Justice system, my friends, is not kind towards hard-working fathers and divorcees.  Because that cheating whore never worked a day in her life, apparently I have to support her after she kicked me out of my own home, and now I'm stuck living off garbage while she eats caviar.

Sorry.  My therapist says I should just let it all out.

Dave asked me to give you some cooking advice, which I'm excited to do.  I've discovered new cuisine of unimaginable variety over the past few months of enforced bachelordom - Kraft Dinner, Instant Ramen, Minute Rice, Lipton's sidekicks, instant potatoes, frozen perogies, and more!  Today, I plan on showing you how to turn a humdrum dish like Kraft Dinner into something a bit more exciting.

Yes.  I said exciting.  Kraft Dinner can be spiced up, and given a little pizazz.  Who's exciting now, Sheila?

Eric's Pizazz'd Kraft Dinner

What You'll Need
  • Box of Kraft Dinner
  • 1% milk (2 tablespoons)
  • Butter or margarine (1 tablespoon) (optional - use  garlic butter instead)
  • Shredded Medium or Sharp cheddar cheese (roughly 50g, or 1/4 cup)
  • Louisiana hot sauce (add to taste)
  • herb and garlic cream cheese (1 tablespoon)
  • Cooked Black Beans (1/4 cup)

1.   Boil six cups of water in medium pot, like the medium pot I had to steal from a thrift store downtown.  Add macaroni noodles, and boil until noodles are tender like my breaking heart. 
2.  Drain water, leaving noodles in the pot soft and flaccid (God, I'm so lonely).  Add the remaining ingredients and stir.  Take the cheese package from the kraft dinner box, and add about 1/3rd of the package.  My wife, the cheating slut, will want the other 2/3rds, because she's "entitled" to it from court-order.  I can't even see my kids anymore.  Stir the mixture.   
3.  Salt to taste.  I use my bitter tears of reject and loss as flavouring.  You can use, salt.  Makes a great pre-suicide snack! 

An Open Letter to the Drummer who lives Above Me...

Dear sir,

I would like to preface this by saying that, generally speaking, I am a fan of music.  I encourage people to pursue their musical ambitions.  I am not generally bugged by loud noises, either, and I can honestly say that if you were practicing your drums at a decent hour, I would have very little complaint (but see below).

That being said, I would like to remind you that you and I are both residents of an apartment complex, and as such, we should be aware of those who live around us.  What this means for you, unfortunately, is that there are certain times when practicing your drumming is a poor idea.  Midnight on a weekday, for example, is probably not the time to be practicing - it may be perfectly fine when you play at your parents' place in the middle of rural nowhere, but in a grungy apartment in downtown Victoria, midnight drumming is a bad idea.  You'll wake the homeless.

I remember last year, lying in bed at 11:30 pm, staring up at my ceiling.  I wasn't particularly perturbed by your drumming at this point;  it bugged me a little (I must admit) that you would be so inconsiderate as to play at such a late hour, but the sound itself was not the problem.  However, my girlfriend at the time - who had to be at work for 5 am the next morning - was quite annoyed, and spent the better part of an hour ranting about the manner in which she would kill you.  I was able to keep her away from the sharp knives, and eventually succeeded in calming her down.

Sir, you do not know me, but you should thank me, for it is very possible that I saved your life last year. 

However, your drumming has only escalated since then.  I can hear a piano playing as well during these late night drumming sessions, so I can only assume you are in some sort of band, and that this band is composed of people as equally insensitive to the presence of neighbours as yourself. 

Again, when I started hearing these band practices, I was not truly annoyed.  But as time has gone by, I've become increasingly agitated.  Not so much at the volume, although - as I've said earlier - I find your inconsideration offensive.  Instead, I am becoming more and more upset about the nature of the songs you practice.

You see, for the past year, you have been playing the same song. 

I am sure you know it.  It consists of you wailing on the bass drum in a slightly off-rhythm manner, while the piano plays a line that could have easily been lifted off the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.  This line then proceeds into a slow, somewhat melodic piece, before once again regressing to some sort of major-scale march. 

Sir, I beg you.  Play another song.  I mean no offence when I say this, but that song you play is horrible.  I get it stuck in my head, and it won't get out.  I dream about this piano line.  And I'm not talking about good dreams.  I'm talking about those dreams where you can hear circus music playing in the background, a mime is laughing at you on a carousel while spiders crawl out of your eyelids. 

This is not like how I'll get The Beatles' Octopus' Garden stuck in my head for a day or two.  Because, while that song is not particularly good, it is at least a cheerful, happy song. This is more like when I get that annoying song by Rihanna stuck in my head for days on end, to the point where I'm seriously debating drilling it out with some sort of blunt instrument. And then, when I finally get rid of the song through liberal use of alcohol and self-pleasuring around the hour, I'll soon thereafter hear the song play on a cell phone ringtone, and have to begin the entire process over again.

I do not want to hum your song, sir.  And I'm currently on a vow to avoid as much self-pleasuring as possible.

Until recently, I worked for the BC Provincial Government, and my job was to help process applications for Security Guards (among other things).  One day, while mailing out licences, I came across an address.  After doing a double take, I realized that I was holding the licence of a worker that lived directly above my apartment.  "This is the guy who plays the drums," I said to myself, shocked and surprised.  What were the odds I would chance upon your information, after all?

I must admit, a mischievious grin played across my face.  I imagined all sorts of ways I could abuse my power - I could "accidentally" forget to mail out your licence.  I could get ahold of your phone number, and call you at 2 am and give you a taste of your own medicine.    Or I could include a veiled threat in the envelope along with your licence.

I did none of these things, because I had taken an oath as a government worker.  But I did have your name, and all of your relevant information, because I had fallen upon it and once seeing it, could not automatically forget it.  I knew, though, as long as I was a government worker, I could not act upon the information I had, no matter how annoying your drumming and tone-deaf piano marches got. 

Only now, I'm not a government worker.  I'm an unemployed, pissed off, bored person. 

Sir, I know a lot about you, through random chance.  I know your name.  I know where you work, and what you do at work.  I know how much money you make (and I apologize), when and where you were born, your phone number, and your criminal background.  And of course, I know where you live.

Dear sir.

Stop playing the fucking drums at midnight, or you will regret it.

Thank you, and have a great day.
David S. Percival
So, yeah.  I'm excited.  Near the end of November, I've got a ticket to go see the Sharks play the Canucks.  This is, um, amazingly awesome. 

I'm stoked.

Short but sweet

Ladies and gentlemen, the six best words in the English Language:

The Cheque is in the Mail.

You know I'm a hemophiliac, right?

I had to get bloodwork done the other day.  One of the downsides of being a diabetic (are there many upsides?) is that you have to get bloodwork done pretty frequently.  I've turned it into a game, though. 

  • There was the time I said "hey, you found a vein!  I'm amazed.  Could you mark it with a pen?  I'm doing heroin later on tonight, and that will really help." 
  • ...or the time I asked for a lollypop afterwards.   "Aren't you a diabetic?" the confused technician asked, making this scrunched-up face.  And then I got all pouty and said "geez, what are you, my mom?"
  • My personal favourite moment, though, was to wait until the woman had stuck the needle in the vein before saying "You know I'm a hemophiliac, right?".  Seriously.  I've never seen someone's face fall like that.  It was priceless.
Now, before you think I'm some sort of total asshole (I am, but I don't want you thinking that), you should know this.  Each time I made a comment like that, they'd laugh.  You see, when you work at a blood clinic, you mostly deal with the elderly, the nearly-dead, and the depressed.  So, when someone comes in cracking jokes, you jump at the chance to play around.

It helps that most medical people I know have a sense of humour almost as fucked up as my own.  It's pretty amazing.

Some of the replies I've heard to my fun little games:
  • "Of course I found a vein.  If you'd ask me to find muscle, though, we'd be here all week."
  • "No, if I was your mom, I don't know how I'd sleep at night."
  • Okay.  ...The nurse who thought she'd just stabbed a hemophiliac freaked out a little bit.  Like she'd just driven her Miata into me, or something.  I may feel a little guilty about it, but I really think that made everything funnier. Her friends thought it was pretty hilarious, too.
You see, medical people are generally pretty messed up.  In short, they're awesome.

Today, I played the "You look big and strong, so I'll be super nice so you don't hurt me" game.  Coupled with the "I have to give you a urine test today, so I'm not going to bug you any more than I have to" game.  Because everyone has their limits.

For Kittens:


Kittens hasn't been having the best few days, so this is my lame attempt at cheering her up.  The girl likes kittens (hence the name), and she likes LOLcats.  This is my attempt at making a LOLcats for Kittens.  And then I found a picture that kind of looks like a kitten version of Kittens (at least, that's what I see). 

So, here it is.  The LOLcats version of Kittens. 

Here you go, Kittie.  Hope you like.

...And the horse you rode in on.

So, sometime in the next month, there will be a new Halo xbox game.

Now, first things first.  I'm not a huge video gamer, and no, this will never be a video game blog.  If you want that, there are plenty of better places to go.  This is a blog about personal experiences, though, and I've definitely had a few involving Halo.  And the release of the new Halo game has got me reminiscing.

You see, I used to be a dork.  Well, you know, more than I am now.

I played a lot of the original Halo.  A lot.  And I waited in line for Halo 2's release.  At midnight.  It was pretty bad.  Imagine a line-up of around three hundred guys, and two girls.  It's midnight, and everyone wants to get their pre-ordered copy of the game.  And I'm thinking that I'm the coolest guy in the line, because I'm in line with the only two honest-to-god girls

So, yeah, I had nerditis pretty effin' bad.

And then, when Halo 3 came out, I think I played it for about five hours straight with my brother.  From Cortana's first speech about "luck", to the last words of the Master Chief ("we'll make it"), I played that game.  And then went on Xbox live with the brother, and killed a bunch of "newbs".  Again, it was pretty bad.

I'm also a dungeons and dragons freak at times.  And, I'm embarrassed to admit it now, but I've actually run scenarios based off Halo.  I mean, I made rules conversions for things like plasma grenades, okay?  So, when say I'm a dork, I want you to get the full import of this. 

Somewhere though, over the past year, I've relaxed in my dorkitude.  And this is a good thing - maybe even "growth" of some sort?  About the only thing I use my Xbox for these days is as a DVD player... and the last game I played on it was NHL 09. 

Somewhere between then and now, I guess I've relaxed a bit.  Because you know where I'll be when the new Halo releases?


Neither do I.  But it will have nothing to do with Halo.  I'll probably be hanging out with Kittens.  Or going for a run.  Or hanging out with my idiot friends.  Actually, I think the game releases on the first "real" day of the NHL regular season, so I'll be at the pub catching a game.

Don't get me wrong.  I'll pick up the game, I'll play it, and I'll probably enjoy it.  Odds are, I'll still have long discussions with Squee or my brother about the gameplay or the plot tidbits revealed in the game.  I'll still show off my "mad" skills.  And I'll still be a huge dork.

I guess I just hate waiting in lines, these days.

A serious post

Maybe some of you have noticed that there are a few paramedic blogs listed in my "blogs to follow" bar to the right.  And as I'm looking through paramedic blogs right now, there will probably be a few more tomorrow.

To those who don't know me, allow me to explain.

I want to be a paramedic, or something in that sort of field.  And while it's out of my hands right now (curse being a diabetic who was barred from getting a driver's licence!) it's a dream I work towards.  In a few short months, I take another step on that path when I get my EMT licence.

So, I read paramedic blogs as a way of keeping the dream alive.

Also, paramedics have a messed up sense of humour.  And I can get behind that.

Seriously, check out the blogs to the right.  They're all great, and an amazing read from the eyes of people who have seen some crazy shit.  One day, a year or so from now, I want to be making blog posts just like theirs.  So, yeah.

/hero worship.

...and the winner is...

So, the Shlesbian won the Scavenger Hunt.  I really can't believe it was finished - I thought the picture of Hitler smiling would be impossible to find.  And Jesus fan fiction?  What're the odds?

Also, I'm amazed that not only are there penguin recipe pages, but a whole website devoted to the eating of penguins.  Granted, it's a joke site, but still!  Great minds must think alike, eh?

Well, as promised, she wins a prize.

Shlesbian, you win negative ten dollars!  Congratulations!

So, um.  I'm gonna need that money by tomorrow.


Poor Guy

You know, when players score on their own net, we laugh.  We deride. And usually, we get super pissed off.

I always feel bad for players that score on their own nets, especially in big games.  Even more especially in big games that wind up deciding the series.  I always wonder how these people live with themselves.

This guy, apparently, didn't have to worry about that last part.  He died about ten seconds after scoring on his own net. 

Wow.  Poor guy.

2 am jogging

I just got back from a run about half an hour ago.  Now, running at 2 am is a mixed blessing. 

On the plus side, there's no one there to see you when you have to stop, wheezing, and fall to your knees like you're about the throw up.  No one's going to laugh at you as you keep saying to yourself, "shit, I need to get into shape, oh my god, oh my god, I think I'm going to die...". 

Yeah.  Last week sucked.  I sounded like an asthmatic vacuum cleaner, I was wheezing so bad.  It's not healthy when you can feel your spine sweat, is it? 

The down side of 2 am running is, there's also no one there to see you when you make it to your goal of running for twenty minutes straight, without stopping, a good two weeks before you figured you'd be able to do that. 

Seriously.  I wanted to give high fives tonight, I was so happy.  I had run for twenty minutes straight, and I felt awesome.  But there was no one there... just lonely old me.  I was doing a dance right out of Rocky, arms in the air.  I even waved at the cabbie that drove by, but he did his best to avoid eye contact.

It was two in the morning, after all. 

Rock On, Little Dude

I was a very bad kid growing up, sometimes.  I would break into the flour, and make it "snow" in the kitchen.  I would hide in clothing racks, wait for my mother to have a nervous breakdown, and then burst out shouting "Peekaboo!".  And, after a full day of misbehaving, when my mom would get fed up with me and try to get me to listen, I would shout (at the top of my lungs) "No mummy!  Noooo!  I'll be good!  I'll be good!  Please don't hit me again!"

My mother, who of course never hit me in her entire life, would go beat red when everyone stared at her like a monster.  Even though I'd spent the entire day being a rat bastard.  And then she'd curl up within herself, and treat me like a little prince.  At least, until no one was looking.

...this was all when I was three years old.  I was a pretty awesome kid, right?  Smart, too.

I bring this up because, today, I saw a little guy, about three years old, who started screaming at the top of his lungs, in the mall food court.  And I mean, screaming.  Beat red, and shouting stuff like "Don't hit me!  I hate you!  You're mean!" and all sorts of things.  Throwing stuff at his mother.  And generally making her look like the worst mum in the world. 

The second she bought him a few timbits, though, he shut right up, and was the world's happiest camper. 

I think a lot of people were looking down on the mother (and rightfully so, I think).  But I wonder how many people realize that kid knew exactly what he was doing.  Rock on, little dude. 

Rock on

A Scavenger Hunt!

Hey, dear reader(s).

Bored?  Need something to do?  Have no fear!  Because Dave is here for you!

It is time for the first annual Crazy Newt Scavenger Hunt.  Big prizes are to be won (maybe, but probably not)!  All you have to do is find the items listed below, and reference them in your response e-mail.  Should be easy enough, right?

Feel free to tackle it next time you're bored, or debating suicide.  Just, don't be a douche and make your own website, filling it with these items, just so you can finish the list.  That'd be lame. 

And nobody likes lamers. 

The List
  1. A functional recipe for how to cook Penguin.
  2. A limerick involving dragons.
  3. A picture of Adolf Hitler smiling.
  4. A map of an ancient city
  5. The first Calvin and Hobbes comic strip ever published
  6. Jesus Fan-Fiction (bonus points if it contains Twilight references!)
  7. A "how to" video where the host curses, swears, smokes, or drinks. 
  8. A picture of a kitten or a dog wearing at least three different articles of clothing at once.
  9. Advice on how to train a squirrel.
  10. A google-maps screenshot of Gray's Papaya (any location, but it must be visible). 
I'd be amazed if someone finishes this.  I'd really like that picture of Hitler. 

I really don't know what to say...

Okay.  So, I post a lot of youtube videos on this blog.  A lot of the time, I've never seen them before, myself.  I'll just highlight a word that seems like it might produce an interesting youtube video, search it, and see what happens.

Anyways.  This leads to a lot of videos, and many of them are not related in any way. 

Youtube has a feature where it records your video choices, and then makes recommendations.  And I get some strange ones.  Everything from WHAM! videos to cats doing strange things to hockey bloopers to instructional videos on guitar maintenance.

But some videos truly stand out from this wild menagery.

I watched this.  I really don't know what to say.  These kids are either comedic geniuses, or handicapped.  I'm not sure which.

More Layout Crapola

Okay.  So the layout still isn't perfect.  But I think it's getting a lot closer.  The banner is almost exactly how I want it... I'm just not sure on the text yet.  I still might change the template, because I'm not sure of the colours.  But I've got most everything else the way I want it.  Woot.

Even Worse Than The Album Grandpa Produced.

Holy.  Shit.

Why haven't I seen this before?

The second I saw Jefferson Starship in the opening credits, I knew I was in for... something.  And then "Beatrice Arthur"?  I mean, that's just promising something amazing.  Who knew one of the Golden Girls was in a Star Wars "movie"?  (Also, who knew Bea Arthur was old even in 1979?) 

But I wasn't prepared for what I saw.  All I can say is... wow.  Utterly unbelievable.

Even worse than the album grandpa produced.

EDIT:  I'm not 40 minutes in.  And it doesn't get any better.  But the commercials are amazing.  Seriously.  There is, I kid you not, a commercial made by a union that makes bras, talking about how you should buy american.  With, for some reason, a male spokesman.  This, by itself, is comedy gold.  But after 40 minutes of Star Wars at its absolute worst, and I'm having the time of my life.  The commercial is about 41 minutes in.  If you skip the whole movie (and I fully expect you to), at least watch this commercial.  Comedy.  Gold.

Facial Hair

So, the other day, being the diabetic that I am, I was having a low blood sugar.  Naturally, I had to get something sugary, so I slipped into a corner store, and picked up a chocolate bar, and a lottery ticket that would later win me some money, and a little bit of trouble

To purchase a lottery ticket, you need to be 18 or 19 (I forget which).  And, for the first time in years, I got carded.

I mean, I look a little young for my age.  But I'm twenty six.  Being carded is not a good thing... unless I was a woman.  And, despite what the King of Swing tells me, I'm not a woman.

This bugged me for the rest of my walk.  I was listening to my iPod at the time... and this bugged me all the way through the White Album.  From Dear Prudence to Everybody's Got Something to Hide (Except for Me and My Monkey). 

And then I figured out why.  I hadn't shaved in a few days.

Here's my theory. 

When you're young, and gearing up to buy something illegal for your age range (whether it be a lottery ticket, a six pack, or libyan hand grenades on the black market), you make it a goal to look older.  You "dress up", weaing nicer clothes.  You walk a little bit more erect, and you enter the store with confidence.  And, you don't shave, under the false impression that facial hair makes you look older.

People that run liqour stores or corner stores know this trick.  I think facial hair is a barometer for them.  If they see someone that looks under the age of thirty with facial hair, a little alarm rings.

So, when a ginger who is (admittedly) a little baby-faced came into the store, with a good three days' worth of stubble, a nice t-shirt, and the god-like body of an 18-year old basketball star came in through the door, her suspicions were aroused (And probably more than just her suspicions were aroused... I have a nice body, and it was a tight shirt).

My only complaint was that she didn't apologize when she learned my real age.  So, just to be fun, I said what every kid says when they get ID'd....

"Man, I haven't been ID'd in years... what a compliment..."

I thought it was funny.
Yeah.  The site looks ugly.  I need to fix it.  But I've been on a photo-editing spree for three hours now, and I've run into problems learning the program.  I need a break.  So, for the one or two people seeing the shitty image, I apologize.  You'll have to wait awhile.

Life is Good

So, I'm buying tickets for Rifflandia for Kittens and I.  Basically, it's a bunch of shows scattered throughout Victoria, at about six different venues - spread out over three days.  Tickets are sixty bucks, which isn't really that bad at all - considering the number of bands, and the number of nights, I say they're pretty cheap.

I'm picking up tickets today, and I have to say I'm excited.

Not so much for the show.  And not so much for the fact that I'll be spending 120$.  I'm not even excited for the walk downtown, even if I took a weird route to the get there.  And I'm usually all for the weird routes.  If I had the time, I'd circumnavigate to cross the road.

No, I'm excited because I get to buy the tickets at Ditch Records.  Which is, I should say, on my top five list of cool places to go to in Victoria.  (Other places -in no particular order - would include the Selkirk Waterway, Curious Comics, Munro's Books, and the Royal B.C. Museum.  I know, I'm a geek). 

Imagine the record store in High Fidelity.  That's Ditch Records... only with better music playing and cashiers that are much more attractive (both the men and women, I should add).  I have a bunch of records hanging on my wall - it's sort of my current decorating motif - and I bought them all at Ditch Records.  My current goal is to find a cheap vinyl of Abbey Road... because one can dream, right?

Seriously.  Used records and CDs, organized alphabetically by genre.  And there are weird/rare albums here.  This is where I got my copy of Brant Bjork and the Operators.  Or two of the Desert Sessions albums.  I've found oldschool Corrosion of Conformity, vinyl Who albums, Pink Floyd's Live at Pompeii, and even, yeah, Kyuss' Welcome to Sky Valley on vinyl.  Yeah.

The place is a treasure chest.  And I avoid it like the plague, because everytime I go in, I feel the need to buy something.  But now... now... I have an excuse to enter, browse, without spending anything beyond what I've already earmarked! 

Life is good, my friends.  Life is good.

Why Dave Should Never Speak

In other news today, I won ten bucks on the lottery.  It was a four dollar ticket, so I'm up six dollars.  Also, I'm an idiot, and should learn to never speak.  Allow me to explain:

It started, as many stories do, with a turkey-salad sandwich.  I had been given some leftover turkey from my mother a few days ago, and I figured tonight I'd have a sandwich for dinner.  You see, when you're on EI and living alone, you eat silly things for dinner.  I think I'm going to have pancakes tomorrow.  With jam.  And chicken wings on the side.

But tonight, my plan was to make a turkey salad sandwich.  Shredded turkey, a little bit of mayo, black pepper, green onions, and celery, all with a bit of cheddar cheese on multigrain bread.  Pretty much the best sandwich in the world, really.  However, to make this dinner of champions,I needed green onions, and celery.

I didn't feel like running all the way down to a grocery store, because if you go to a grocery store to buy a stalk of green onions (99 cents) and a single piece of celery (about 20 cents), you'll get laughed out of the store.  Seriously - if your total purchase is less than a pack of gum, they have the right to refuse service.  Or think you're going to rob the place, or are "casing the joint" for some reason.  

We used to have people like this when I worked at a deli.  People that would come to the grocery store every day, making the twenty minute walk from their house, just to wander around the store and buy a two dollar jar of mustard or a block of swiss emmenthal because "hey, I forgot it last week".  These people would come every day, because they wanted the human contact.  You might think it's cute.  I think it's sad as hell.  And I'd sooner die than be that guy.

No, if I went to the grocery store, I'd have to spend at least ten bucks.  And who wants to do that? 

So, I went to the corner store.  Because, while the produce will cost more, I can get away with just buying produce.  Nobody judges you for your purchases at a convienience store.  Unless you're buying porn.  And then only if your purchases involves x girls and x-1 cups. 

Now, there are three choices in the corner store market, ever since  I did some light exploring yesterday and discovered a new (to me, at least) shop on the waterfront.  My options consisted of:
  1. The Asian-Run Corner store that smells of bleach, but at least it's clean.  They overcharge, but that's what convienience stores do, right? 
  2. The East Indian Corner store that always intimidates me with it's grunginess and glaring cashiers.  These cashiers are always accompanied by a child under the age of twelve.  These kids stare out at you from behind the counter, with large sad eyes.  I have a sneaky suspicion there's a hostage situation here, but I don't want to pry
  3. The Lebanese corner store I just discovered yesterday on the waterfront.  It has a nice name, and the cashiers seem nice.  They also only have about ten products in the entire store.  And they overcharge like you wouldn't believe.  But hey, at least they sell toothpicks.
I went for the asian corner store.  Mostly because it's the closest to my house, and I can be lazy. When I get there, the store is clean, and that lingering scent of bleach hovers in the air.  I make my way to the produce area, looking for green onions and celery.  No dice, but at least they have... radishes?

Why, in the name of god, would a store not sell green onions, but instead sell radishes?  Are radishes a best-selling product?  Are they in high demand?  What is the rationale, here? Grimacing, I instead decide to buy a bottle of orange juice, because I need something to drink on my run, and I like the bottles with a wide mouth.  There's a dirty joke there, I'm sure. 

I make my way to the counter, and have to fight between two people I'll discreetly refer to as "Neighbourhood locals" and leave it at that. They were wearing torn jean jackets, and had hair that was frazzled and had a definite "unwashed" quality going for it.  They smelled like stale tobacco, and were busily going through the fold-out knives at the counter, trying to find the best blade.  And this gave me pause.

Imagine, if you will, that you are a convienience store owner.  You run a store that will be open late at night, in a neighbourhood that is not really "high class".  You sell products to drunks, drug addicts, and those who are "down and out".  Your store is open until 11 pm, every night, and is staffed by only one staff member after the sun goes down.  What do you do?

Why, you put a bunch of knives on your counter, within the customer's easy reach!  This is a great money-making idea!  Sell them a knife for a couple of bucks.  And then get robbed.  Brilliant.

Anyways, I avoid the local colour, give the vendor my two bucks, and start to leave, before deciding to self-check my lottery ticket.  And, wouldn't you know it?  I'm a winner.  Ten bucks.  Not much, but hey, I won!

What do I do?

"Hey, cool!  I have a winning ticket!" I loudly proclaim.  As if I've won a lot more than ten bucks, I should add.

The shop owner looks up at me. 

The two jean-jacket knife afficianados look up at me.  And they're armed.

Little alarm bells are ringing in my head.  I should have just worn a shirt that said "rob me.  I'm an idiot!" and left it at that. 

"Uh... I'll cash it later" I stammer out.  Not, say, "Hey, cool, I won ten bucks." or anything like that.  No, instead, I am saying to these people:  "I have won a large amount of money that I will not identify.  And instead of cashing that money now, I will walk away, piquing your curiousity.  By the way, I like your knives.  Hey, did I mention I'm a scrawny ginger kid?"

When I got out that door, I could feel the eyes of the local colour on the back of my neck.  I power-walked home at a good twenty clicks, my lottery ticket burning a hole in my pocket.

I think a "never speak!" policy should be implemented. 


So, Kittens was talking last night about getting a blog.  Which is something I'm excited for.  It got me thinking about my own blog, and how much I like saying the word "Blog".  I mentioend to her that when she gets it going, I'd post a link on my own page, and the five or so people that read this would be able to see her blog... expanding her audience ever so slightly (she'll set one up, and she's much better at advertising and whatnot than I'll ever be, so I'm sure it'll be super popular and amazing-looking the second she gets it running).

Anyways.  I started thinking about blogs I want to post links to on my side banner.  And the general layout of this blog.  And how I need to get a good-looking page set up, because this page sort of looks like, well, nothing special.

And that's just no fun.

Ah, Kittens

Ah, Kittens.

I paraphrase, here:

"People with a lot of trivia knowledge are useless in real life.  If you're ever on a desert island, the first person you should eat is the guy who knows sports trivia, because he's going to be useless in a survival situation."

...I laughed.  Even if I resemble the remark just a little bit.

I just won't take her on any three hour cruises on the S.S. Minnow, I think.

Things to do...

Things to Do Today:
  • Check out the store on the waterfront.  There's this tiny little corner store on the Selkirk Waterway, right next to a cafe.  I love the Selkirk Waterway, as it's a bunch of very nice houses a block away from my lower-middle class/lower class neighbourhood.  And I want to check this place out, to see if it's better than the corner store run by a nice chinese family, or the rather intimidating one run by an east indian family. 
  • Check out fabric Stores.  Kittens wants to look through some fabric stores.  I figure I'll do that while I walk downtown.
  • Buy tea.  I need tea.  I'm, like, addicted.  And all I have right now is this gross-ass licorice tea that I cannot stand.
Things to Do Tomorrow:
  • Refill prescriptions.  I got a call today from London Drugs - waaaay back when (like, in December), they didn't have needles to give me (I'm a type 1 diabetic).  They were almost completely out.  So, they charged me for a box of needles, and only gave me two bags.  Normally, this would tick me off... but since I'm covered by pharmacare, the needles cost me exactly zero dollars.  So, I forgot about it.  They called me today and told me that the rest of the box has been waiting for me.... for awhile.  So, I'll pick up that box (which is good, as I'm almost out anyways!), as well as all the other supplies I need. 
  • Pay my bills.  My cable bill office is right next to my old workplace.  So, that'll be awkward.  But, I like paying things in person.  I'm old-fashioned like that.
Things to Do Friday:
  • Cure Polio.  Polio is never fun.  And I will fix it.  I think the answer lay in pop rocks.
  • Write a blog post about Feline AIDS.  Because the term "Feline AIDS" made me stop dead in my tracks when I was walking by the vet office.  The world is a very bizarre place.

Dave's Top Fifteen Beatles Songs

Kittens is a big fan of the Beatles. I suppose I should have known a lot more about the Beatles, but as a music fan, I knew that the second I started buying albums, I'd have to buy them all. And that wasn't an investment I was prepared to make, since the only albums I was familiar with were Abbey Road (and when I heard it, years ago, I hated it... I was a dumb teen, apparently) and A Hard Day's Night (which I'm still not sold on).

However, she gave me a DVD with all of the songs on there, and I've been devouring them since then. I just got back from a good run along the waterway, listening to Let it Be and the White Album. At several points, I'd stop, just to listen to the tunes - not to give me a chance to wheeze pitifully and get oxygen back into my lungs. No matter what that chuckling couple on the balcony pointing at me thought. And I ask them - why laugh at me, when you're up there doing nothing at all? At least, I would have asked them that... were I not so busy, you know, wheezing.

Anyways, Kittens told me about a list that she made, of her favourite fifteen Beatles songs. And she got a few of her friends to make lists of their own. I told her that I had to really digest the material before I even attempted a list of my own. Partly this was because I knew that if I made a super-fast list, I'd say something super embarrassing, and I'd miss a wonderful song and look like a jackass. But mostly it's because making this list is a very hard thing to do - what are your fifteen favourite Beatles' songs? Out of a catalogue of around three hundred?

I haven't really listened to every Beatles album fully yet, but I feel confident enough now to at least make a half-informed list. So, here it is - my fifteen current favourites, and the album they are from.

Dave's Fifteen Favourite Beatles' Songs

  1. You Never Give Me Your Money (Abbey Road): Yeah. This is my favourite. I love how it starts off the medley on the second half of Abbey Road, which I am beginning to think is the best side two of any album ever made. What I really love of this song is how many phases it goes through in a few short minutes. And the blues-style guitar riff at 2:28 ("One sweet dream/pick up the bags, get in the limousine....") is just awesome.
  2. Dear Prudence (White Album): My only complaint with this song is that it comes too early in the album - it shouldn't be a track 2, but a track 7 or so. It's a wonderful ballad. I love songs that keep the same main riff, and just keep adding and adding throughout. There's a chorus, but it's more of a refrain that repeats over the same guitar line. It's a bloody beautiful song, and whenever I hear it, I want to pick up my own guitar.
  3. Come Together (Abbey Road): For the longest time, my favourite Beatles' song. Still love it, because of the great bluesy guitar line, the muffled vocal lines, and a chorus that is burned into the mainstream consciousness.
  4. Rocky Raccoon (White Album): This is actually the song that's playing as I write this. And I'm finding myself thinking it should be #1. I have no idea why I like this song... for some reason, it just catches me. It reminds me of Johnny Cash's Don't Take Your Guns to Town, but with much better instrumentals. Plus, I like Paul McCartney's voice better than Johnny Cash's. Sorry, Johnny
  5. Yellow Submarine (Revolver): This is one of those songs that I like simply because of the drum beat. An acoustic song with a simple bass drum kick always gets my head nodding. Which is also why I like songs like Led Zeppelin's Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp or Black Country Woman. Funny story - when I told Kittens this was on my list, she made a sound of disgust. I take it this song isn't on her list.
  6. Magical Mystery Tour (Magical Mystery Tour): I don't know. I like this song. It gets stuck in my head. A lot. I love the ad-libbed vocals on top of a choir - "got everything you need", "Satisfaction guaranteed", and all that jazz.
  7. Why Don't We Do It in the Road? (White Album): God, there's a lot of White Album songs on my list. Ditto for Abbey Road. Kittens calls this song repetitive. I think it's great - sure, the vocals are pretty simple (for those that don't know, the title is also pretty much the only lyric in the song... repeated over and over again, on a repeating piano line). I like it mostly because of the soul in McCartney's voice. And I fall for that sort of thing.
  8. Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End (Abbey Road): Technically, it's three songs, but they meld together so well that they stand together in my mind. You have the slow start in Golden Slumbers, which turns into a great album piece in Carry That Weight (and if you listen, you can hear a horn section that repeats a few lines from You Never Give Me Your Money... I love it when albums do that). And then you get the crazy guitar solos in The End, where Lennon, McCartney, and Harrison each have short guitar bursts. And then you get the best closing album line ever - "and in the end/ the love you take/ is equal to the love/ you make". I love that ending. Love it.
  9. Getting Better (Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band): Any song that has the lyric "I've got to believe it's getting better - can't get much worse" is an A+ in my book.
  10. I Am The Walrus (Magical Mystery Tour): John Lennon was inspired to write this song because his old school teacher wrote him a letter. In that letter, the teacher talked about getting his class to interpret Beatles' songs. John wrote this song to be as nonsensical as possible, and when he finished, reportedly said to a friend of his "There. That ought to confuse the fuckers". I love stories like this.
  11. Got To Get You Into My Life (Revolver): This is another one of those songs I don't know why I like. But I do. It gets stuck in my head pretty often. I also really like how the vocals were recorded.
  12. I Want You/She's So Heavy (Abbey Road): This is the last song the Beatles recorded together. And they recorded it on my birthday, which makes it more awesome. I love the bluesy elements, the way the vocals work, and the outro - it's so heavy. I hear guitar solos playing over that outro, or noise, or screams... I hear stuff that could be there, but isn't. It's just so tense that my mind wants to put something in there... which would be a mistake. It is perfect the way it is... and then it just stops suddenly, without warning. Amazing.
  13. You Can't Do That (A Hard Day's Night): This reminds me of the Animals - that sort of sixties swinging vibe, with a heavy piano playing. And the vocals over top. It just makes me think of classic rock and roll. I prefer later Beatles to early, but I like this one.
  14. Let it Be (Let it Be): Another one that I've loved for a long time. It's a ballad, and it builds up with more and more pieces added. Not much more to say.
  15. Twist and Shout (Please Please Me): Okay. This song is one that I like for many reasons. It's classic rock and roll, for starters. And it makes me think of one of the best scenes in movie history. And, well, how can you not like this song?
Now, there could be a lot more songs on this list. I'm thinking Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da (White Album), Eleanor Rigby (Revolver), She Came In Through the Bathroom Window (Abbey Road), Your Mother Should Know (Magical Mystery Tour), A Little Help From My Friends (Sgt. Pepper's), Across the Universe (Let it Be), and Baby You're a Rich Man (Magical Mystery Tour) could all be on this list.

But, I have to pick fifteen. So, those are my fifteen.

Anyone else wanna post theirs, feel free. But it's a hard topic. Think carefully.