Because Sunday Nights Are Only Good For Drinking Beer And Having To Spend Time With Family And I’m Almost Out Of Beer


“Montreal -40C”; ‘Trompe-l’oeil’, Malajube (2006).

My parents got back from their vacation last night. They were in France discovering The Homeland. Both my mother’s family and my step-father’s family are French-Canadien, my French family pulled into New France / Quebec back in 1740, my step-father’s French family arrived in the early 1800’s.

Mom, being a Real Historian, knows the exact dates… she’s researched both sides of our family right back to the Old Country, which was why they chose France for this years vacation.

She actually did the entire family history of my step-father’s family back to when they got off the boat in Old Montreal way back when. The interesting thing about family ancestry, as many people are finding out as it becomes more popular and more companies are popping up doing DNA Ancestry, is we’re all related somehow. As mom did the research on her husband’s family it turns out one of our female ancestors married one of his direct male ancestors after everyone was settled here in the New World, making my step-father a distant cousin.

That was weird enough. But mom went further back in her research and while they were in France they stopped by the village where my step-father’s relatives came from, then the one where my ancestors came from, and — it turns out — the villages were separated by about eight fields.

So they had a great time. People noticed their spoken French was Canadien-Français, but no one got on their case about it… which means France has definitely joined the American-style Service Industry, because it wasn’t too long ago when no self-respecting Parisian waiter would acknowledge your existence if you spoke Canadien. Too ‘provincial’. Anyway, there will be a slide show… there’s always a slide show. I got a scarf.

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Posted in crazy people with no pants, Health, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, No Post Day, YouTube | Tagged | 5 Comments

Because Nothing Ever Happens On A Saturday


“Autumn Cannibalist”; ‘How To Kill’, Die Mannequin (2007).
Let me know if YouTube is being evil again…

Because nothing ever happens on a Saturday. This has nothing to do with anything but I’m entering an art show next spring. I haven’t paid for the space or actually told anyone except some close friends, but I’m going to enter six or ten photos into an annual art exhibition which takes place in my little Village. It’s been going on for twenty-six years now and it brings… well, it used to bring four to six thousand people to my Village over three days. My Village, at least on the sign, has fewer than 1,800 residents. For the past five or six years, since the original artists who started the festival stopped taking part, attendence has dropping by a little more than half. But the Art Show is still… Something. Or something.

A friend of mine — the only artist I know of who actually makes a living selling her work — is coming over tonight and she’s going to help me figure out what to do. It’s been an interesting summer… for the first time I actually feel comfortable seeing some artistic value in the things I’m doing. It’s a weird 180 degree change. The plan right now is to either enter ten concert shots from pre-2002, or enter some of my recent digital photography… possibly some of the flower shots.

I’m interested to find out what my reaction will be to seeing things hanging on a wall with my name on them. I’ve never really enjoyed, at all, being judged on my work, whatsofreakingever. For my first reporting award I was actually in the audience at the award gala. I was on my twenty-second rum and Coke when they called my name.

Holy crap I’m bored… I think I’ll post a bunch of YouTubes later on.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, crazy people with no pants, Health, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, No Post Day, Punk, YouTube | Tagged | 4 Comments

No Post Day: Just Two Questions About Blogging And No Freaky HTML


“High School Confidential”; ‘Avoid Freud‘, Rough Trade (1981)
she makes me cream my jeans when she comes my way.

I am totally ripping this idea off from Anita Marie, who mostly blogs at Irregular Bones. I’m going no frills — no fricking html formatting* and no mind-tearing truths** for a whole day. Ah, No Post Day… bliss.

I just have two questions for anyone willing to answer. Last night I left a long comment on a blog I don’t read as often as I’d like. When I comment on a blog where I don’t know the blogger I get nervous… like I’m about to walk into a job interview nervous. Like I’m about to ask a woman over for coffee and heavy petting nervous. I’m not sure it’s a “fight or flight” thing, but I know when I’m on the Lithium my reactions to certain situations seem different. Like adrenalin kind of triggers some weirdness in the stability of my body. As I was writing the response on the blog last night, for example, my neck was seizing and my left hand was shaking a little more than usual. The response itself was, kind of, a defence of the blogger. They had been unreasonably — in my opinion — attacked so I was being a little… ‘forceful’ in my response, so maybe there was a “fight or flight” response in there. But the nerves, the stomach stuff and the really, really heavy self-doubt about the quality of my response hits every time I post a comment for the first time…

There’s also a blog I comment on fairly frequently, but I never get responses back… which kind of bugs me. But the dude never erases them, so I figure I’m doing alright and continue to post responses. In 11.5 months of blogging on WordPress I’ve only ever erased one response… a good friend of mine left a 2100+ word response to someone else’s comment. ‘Good Friend’ has bouts of paranoia and an irrational hatred of all things American (and French Canadian), and his comment was just utter fucking nonsense and insulting to many blogger friends of mine. So I axed it… I gave him the option to rewrite, but his response was “you can’t handle my truths”, then he went and smoked his three grams of weed — seriously, he smokes three grams a day. He’s actually a government licensed weed dealer… it’s not too late to move to Canada.

I’ve never considered any of the comments on any of my blogs to be personal attacks. Even during that weird Ic@rus moment a few months ago the swearing took place on their site. So across my three blogs I’ve received 2,053 non-spam responses, and only burned one. I know I’ve been extremely fortunate because I’ve read attacks on other blogs. Trolls, morons, idiots, passive aggressive pieces of dog waste… but I’ve noticed a lot of people will leave the negative and insulting comments on their blogs. Sometimes, of course, the blogger has a witty, funny and devastating response that only makes sense with the dumbass comment still there. I’ve even seen one blog where the blogger takes all the vowels out of the offending comment. But a lot of the time it seems to me it would just be easier to erase the message and move on.

So my two questions are:

1) what would it take for you to erase a non-spam response, and;

2) What do you go through the first time you respond to a blog you’ve enjoyed for awhile?

*there was some html… but only because the default text size for this theme is silly.

**that stuff about “fight or flight” was kind of personal.

...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, crazy people with no pants, Depression, Health, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Medical Marijuana, No Post Day, YouTube | Tagged | 18 Comments

The Lesson Of The Bloor Street Bicycle Pimp And His Walking Hooker


Making love is something to be shared… with multiple partners and cocaine.

So I nudged the other girlies off my shoulder
Went for Tootie cuz the girl was much older
East to the Benz, I slowly walked;
Clearing out my throat so I could start my smooth talk
Sex in my mind, I was sure of it…
I wanted to tax that ass like the government!
Anything goes when it comes to hoes, they go:
Pimpin’ ain’t easy, pimpin’ ain’t easy
Well, it’s Friday night, ain’t a damn thing funny —
Bitch better have my money.

“Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy”; ‘It’s A Big Daddy Thing’, Big Daddy Kane (1993)

$15 Bucks And She’ll Do Whatever…

How fucked does your life have to get where spending your early mornings riding your ten-speed, trolling for johns who will have sex with your wife, makes sense? The last few months I lived in Toronto was in a rooming house in Etobicoke, which is only nominally a part of the City. Generally, after a night out with friends, the regular transit service would be done, so I’d walk for a couple of hours out of downtown until I found one of the 24-hour buses.The after-hours bus service in Toronto — the “Vomit Comet” or “Blue Light Special” — was not worth waiting for.

On the early morning walk home, which was actually very enjoyable and went through a minimal number of gang areas, I’d occasionally run into the Bicycle Pimp and his Walking Hooker. The first time he asked if I wanted to fuck his wife startled me, but I just said “no thanks” and kept walking. A few weeks later, after I said “no”, he asked for a couple of cigarettes. I had an extra pack so I gave him the half-pack I had been working on. I’m fairly sure, at that point of the evening, she was hooking to buy a pack of smokes.

I must have met him at least another five or six times. He was youngish, skinny-ish and pretty ragged. He would ride until he found a willing john then, while his wife serviced the john, Bicycle Pimp would ride ahead looking for another. I only saw her a couple of times, but Bike Pimp would ride up and ask if I wanted a blowjob “you know, from my wife”, and after I said “no thanks” and there were no other people in sight, he’d kind of hang around and talk as I walked.

He told me the whole thing was her idea and he was just following along behind her out of a weird form of love and devotion to keep her safe. It wasn’t a continuous conversation, I was Someone New every time. Usually he’d tell me all about the dangers of being a small time pimp, and how he wanted her to stop… but there were the drugs and the debts and the cigarettes and the rent and he couldn’t work and hadn’t worked in years and his family was in Alberta and hers were dead and it was only thirty dollars then twenty then fifteen and she’ll do whatever you want then it’s ten… and then he’d circle back to make sure she was alright.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, crazy people with no pants, Depression, Health, Humor, Humour, Inappropriate Humour Day, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Poverty, Punk, YouTube | Tagged | 10 Comments

How To Avoid Being A Writer In Five Steps Plus Everything You Wanted To Know About Writing Because Nita Wasn’t Afraid To Meme Me

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“This is a short book because most books about writing are filled with bullshit. Fiction writers, present company included, don’t understand very much about what they do — not why it works when it’s good, not why it doesn’t when it’s bad. I figured the shorter the book, the less the bullshit.”
“On Writing, A Memoir Of The Craft”; Stephen King (2000).

Nita has tagged me with a meme. She, and the people who tagged her, want to discuss writing and what it means and takes to be a writer. Nita, God bless her, believes I’m a writer. It took a long time until I considered myself a Writer… weird but true. Weird because it’s so obvious being a writer is who I am, and who I have been, not just what I do. For example, my brother’s leather high school jacket had four different sports on his sleeves — track, volleyball, basketball, sex. My sleeve, however, had “Poetry”. Which, to be honest, was mostly interpreted by the girls in my high school as “sex”. But that’s a whole other issue.

The meme has been changed slightly by each successive meme-r. The Original meme was about the strengths a writer must have to be successful. For myself, looking back over twenty-one years of Writing, the major successes I’ve had came from anger, bitterness, cynicism and sometimes spite. At least that’s what got me the Humour Columnist Award.

There are actually very few things a writer absolutely must have, other than a grasp on the nuances of their language. So…

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Posted in Art & Depression, Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Classic, crazy people with no pants, Health, Humour, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Meme, Writing | 24 Comments

Totally Inappropriate Salted Humour Day: Pulp Friction


‘Pulp Muppets
“Starring Kermit The Frog, Mrs. Piggy, Gonzo, Eric Stoltz, Fozzy Bear…”

The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.
“Pulp Fiction”; (1994) written by Quentin Tarantino and Roger Avary

How Cold Is It? It’s Canada In The Fall, Baby.

I’ve lived in some pretty fucking weird places in my life. Not weird like “hey… your house is floating”, but weird like “holy shit, would you look at that… people live there.”

The second place we lived after the 1979 divorce was the second floor of a massive eighty-year old house. The front to back hallway could have doubled as a runway for small planes. And we — mom, my brother and I — were poor. Really poor. Like “here’s the rent, could I borrow ten bucks” poor. So to save a few bucks mom turned the heat off at 8pm, then back on at 6am, but only until we left for school. We were allowed to turn it back on when we got home from school. So, on an average day, we had heat for about six hours. But by “heat” I mean “…well, I guess I mean there wasn’t much heat.”

Even before the divorce money was tight enough where heat in the winter was not always… known. But that was in Southern Ontario and Vancouver. Weather-wise neither are actually a part of Canada. Vancouver is actually part of a rainforest and, as an adult, I lived in the Toronto region for six years and used my winter jacket once. Ottawa, however, is the second coldest national capital on Earth.

This isn’t really a fair comparison, it being based on one day and all, but yesterday it was 29C in Toronto, and 6C in my Little Village which, in Fahrenheit equals out to JesusFuckThat’sReallyFuckingCold… but with an American accent.

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Posted in crazy people with no pants, Entertainment, Grand Theft Auto, Health, Humor, Humour, Inappropriate Humour Day, Lithium, Poverty, Punk, UmBiPMaD Stories, YouTube | Tagged | 5 Comments