Apart from the art

A loud cow, a lowly blow, she lows, she knows what into her stomachs go.

A sombre sonata, dove named Renata, driven away by lout in a Mazda Miata.

A Celtic shrew, witches' brew, believes in the Ark and two by twos.

A proud man, totally tan, trips, unplanned banana peel rips dignity from his twisted hips.

A festering welt, karate belt, repeating dropkicks until after the April melt.


World Cup of Toronto 2010

A friend just reminded me of the existence of my 2006 Toronto World Cup blog.

In June 2010, I hope to resume my Toronto world football travels. Stay tuned.


8 ways to brighten your mood

[requires a few basic supplies and a semi-permeable membrane]
  1. Fire hoses spraying elephant dung - yes.
  2. Win a Toblerone for every cheetah cub you save on the way to work. Has to be yelping in pain or flailing in a trapper's net somewhere. Double Toblerone for saving the mother cheetah
  3. Leave extra space between you and the next car, allowing room for your pumped up sense of self!
  4. Eat only raisins and tell yourself they are the shrunken heads of evil dictators
  5. Spar with a old man, knock him unconscious if you have to. He's reliving his glory days, which is awesome.
  6. Sweeten the mood of a loved one by extracting all of his or her salt content. You will need a semi-permeable membrane, lots of water, and patience.
  7. Marvel aloud at the racetrack how sweaty the horses are and how nice it would be to wrap them in a puffy towel.
  8. Motion toward a stranger. When he approaches, offer him a box of paper clips. If he refuses, note it well, plant a tracking device on his coat, and add him to your database of People who Have Enough Paperclips. When the paperclip shortage hits, you have the 'intel' you need to navigate the crisis.


Every Tuesday

I go make lemonade for kids who were given lemons. They don't complain, and I am thrilled to bits. It shouldn't count as volunteering when you have that much fun.



[powered by pure wind]

Breathe what is better, borrow a letter, I knew Eddie Vedder's second cousin Bert Beethoven, massacred outside a 7-11.

Dramatic inches, Sidd Finch, the April Fool's Buddha, could throw 168 miles per hour wearing a hiking boot; could have had groupies in Bermuda or diamond-leather suit. The punchline: he didn't exist, but boy what a beaut.

Old guy with hot dame on arm got game, nobody remember his name. Crusade men, long swiss in leather, armed with big sharp spikes: we end up liking whatever they like. But I don't conspire in my spare time, which won't please the Dragon lords. We stood in back of church for Easter, punished for being bored.

We, like you, will pass, I don't think you mean to try. I'd shill like a midget on reality television; their happiness makes me cry.

Watered down in Twittered unison, nation known for barrels of bitumen, barnacles manifold, fructating cows, living like larvae on the cover of NOW. If Sid the Kid was a silver-haired Swede, I'd still love the way he leads; when we pot through five-hole those magic gifts from hockey gods the devil's eyes will bleed.

Overroasted toasters and sixty year old east coasters remembering their youth through the corner of a cover of Vogue, flattening wrinkles on foreheads 'stead of worrying about hospital beds -- we were lied to by the Mad Men, so I say AMEN - those merciful lies make life worth living; how else do we explain the continued employment of Jeremy Piven? [ok... stop]


On political correctness

Let's talk about political correctness. Political correctness is the most unprincipled, unintellectual stance I know of. Political correctness hates free speech.

Ultimately it's a tool to transfer power from 'oppressor' to 'oppressed'. Who's oppressed? Whoever you decide should gain power. Who is oppressor? Whoever you decide should lose power. The way power is taken: intimidation though incoherent guilt tactics. Whoever has PC-defined power is assumed to be guilty. All people are treated as members of stereotypical groups, fitting under either the 'privileged' group (whose motives must be suspicious), or 'underprivileged' (whose motives must be championed). Never mind that humans are individuals, and may bristle at being place in these groups, as though they can't achieve a thing through their own efforts. Everything is systemic to a PC person; all phenomena pre-explained through categorical lenses.

The hallmark of a PC mindset is obsession with defining what words mean, as well as which words are acceptable, and which are not. (This is a microcosmic example of a life of grandstanding on which actions are acceptable and which are not.) Their arguments hinge on obsessively defining each term so that there is no way they can lose the argument. PC persons are deathly afraid of how someone else might use words, and so eagerly pounce on and distort word definitions - so that they have the 'agreed upon' meaning.

They tragically think that 'bad' words in and of themselves create actual dangerous thoughts and trigger 'wrong' emotions (even though linguistic and psychological experiments have long shown this to be false -- thoughts are independent of speech; also, emotion centres of our brain evolved before the speech centres did) - and thus they see 'bad' words as weapons and spend their lives worrying about the 'harm' mere words may do. Their solution is to prevent people from doing any harm by controlling what they say (as a false shortcut to control what they do). They think that if only we ban meaningless token words like 'fag, retard, honky, wop', that everything will be well on its way to being ok. But in reality new words will pop up overnight to replace them as tokens of intolerance (example: 'retard' a few decades ago was the politically correct word to use!). They think that genetically-ingrained human emotions and attitudes such as hate and racism can actually be eradicated by a delicate use of words.

-Non PC-thug