Saturday, May 07, 2005

Ladies and Gentlmen.....Commie Pinko.

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Today we look deep into the mystery that is Anthony Federov, one of the final four contestants remaining on American Idle. I was going to rip on that chubby guy, but he got the boot and is now back working the midnight shift at Dunkin Donuts. So instead I turn my attention to Mr. Federov who, for obvious reasons, will henceforth be known as either "Commie" or "Pinko" because of his anti-US ancestry. Truthfully, I am surprised Pinko made it this far with his socialist ancestry, an ancestry that will thus be stereotyped by yours truly.

Firstly, as is the formula for these rants, let us examine his appearance. You will immediately notice that he is wearing a brown shirt, no doubt in homage to his shit-brown singing ability. Or possibly he is sponsored by UPS, I dunno which. But people, unless they are over 80, should not wear brown. My parents had a living room set that was brown. It was the height of fashion in the 1970s when it was cool to drape yourself in brown, a statement against the glaring disco fusion that was hurting people's eyes.

Brown was safe, brown was boring, brown would have your daughter home by 11 with all her clothes in order. In essence, brown was lame and no one liked brown. Brown was the kinda color you would set your ugly stepsister up with, as you knew that mutual pity would make the relationship last.

So it is evident that Commie is bland, as one cane see from his brown shirt. However, he is trying to show that he isn't all 1950s Americana, as he does not have the shirt buttoned to the top, thus giving us a tantalizing view of his 'wild side.' Not Mo Lice hippie-wild, but wild like the kinda kid from the suburbs who gets drunk ass on Whyte Ave once a month and cabs it home. Just a little wild, but mostly poser.

His necklace indicates that he wears jewelry, which means that he pees sitting down.

His jeans are package-revealing tight, thus indicating that he will not be singing any of the "hip hoppers" music, as it has been scientifically proven by James Bond movies that there is not one single black guy in Russia. He likes the feel of tight jeans, as does his life partner. This plays well in the South, where being a cowboy is still cool. It also plays well with the club kid fashion geeks, and thus Pinko is straddling two genres of music here. A wise decision.

He also looks like a perfect example of the Aryan youth, all blond and good looking, thus indicating his ancestors were traitors to the motherland and fought for the Nazi side during the Battle of Stalingrad. So that makes him a double loser, as both Fascism and Communism lost out to the awesomeness of consumerism and buying a lot of shit that you really don't need and doesn't make you happy. Yay Capitalism!

Lastly, his pose in this picture indicates that he thinks he is Peter Pan and that he can fly. While I have no doubt that he is some kind of fairy-like creature, imagination and creativity is not what American Idle is about. This pose suggests that he thinks his career is about to "take off," which is totally not the case, as we already have Clay Aiken to fill the fairy-genre of the musical spectrum. It's like having both the Backstreet Boys and N'Sync, there just isn't enough room for all the shitty music they puke out at us. Thanks Pinko, one Clay Aiken is enough.

Plus he looks stupid. Humans, even ex-Soviets, can't fly. Moron.

Now onto his interview, which promises to be as enlightening, if not more, than both Mo Lice's and The Vonz. Which is saying a lot. I'm crossing my fingers for no sentence fragments. Let's see...

AI: Do you have any formal singing training?
CP: No.

No kidding, you sound like William Shatner.

AI: What other talents do you have?
CP: I'm pretty good in sports.

Like figure skating and injecting yourself with steroids, you Olympic-boycotting coward.

AI: If you don't make it on AMERICAN IDOL, what will you do?
CP: Continue to find other ways to break through and also continue to go to college.

Note: "College" refers to either the barber or clown variety. And "break through" means to fade into a cave-like obscurity.

AI: What are your personal goals in life?
CP: 1. Become a successful recording artist. 2. Have a family some day of my own. 3. Help my family out. 4. Find a way to combine relationship and my career to make it work.

Whoa, WHOA! A contestant that can count??? Somebody call Mensa!

Also interesting to see that he plans to both start and support a family. This assumes he can find a girl who doesn't mind when he dries his panties on the towel rack.

AI: What album would your friends be surprised you own?
CP: N'Sync.

Like fish in a barrel.

AI: Who is your AMERICAN IDOL?
CP: My American Idol is my mom. She was the one to bring me to life and give this opportunity to do what I enjoy.

Bring you to life? What?

AI: Favorite female pop artist?
CP: Mariah Carey.

Sigh.

AI: Most embarrassing moment?
CP: At Cleveland auditions, when I got my gold ticket I came out and tripped on the carpet.

It was probably a RED carpet you communist bastard!

AI: What has been your proudest moment in life so far?
CP: My proudest moment in life so far has been being a part of this show.

Your life is a waste, a vast Chernobyl-like waste.

Note: I may have crossed a line here, but my delete key is broken.

AI: If you couldn't sing, which talent would you most like to have?
CP:I would love to be a professional sports player.

Such potential sports include: Drinking vodka, sucking horribly at tennis, marching, supporting failed political ideologies, losing to Canada in 1972, and ballet.

AI: Who is your favorite judge and why?
CP: Simon Cowell. He's favorite because he knows what he wants and doesn't settle for anything less.

"He's favorite". So much for no grammar mistakes.

CP could have also added: Plus his country saved our asses in Stalingrad by dropping much needed supplies and ammunition. I however did not benefit because my ancestors had yet to bring me to life. Plus my grandparents were fighting for the Nazis.

AI: What would people be surprised to learn about you?
CP: They would be surprised to learn that I am not fake. I express how I feel. Basically what you see is what you get.

Did anyone keep the receipt?

AI: Do you think the audition process was fair? (sound of gun being cocked)
CP: I really think it was.

AI: If you win, who will you thank first?
CP: I'll thank my parents. It all started with them.

They brought me to life....

I think that once Commie loses, he will be easily found at the nearest hockey rink or vodka bar. Or possibly trying to date Anna Kournikova. I don't think he stands much chance of winning, as America is not ready to accept Russians into their collective embrace, unless it is to make fun of their country and the fact that it was the USA, and the USA alone, that singlehandedly brought down Communism, thus leaving the world unencumbered to pursue that magical thing known as "freedom."

So Pinko will join the rather scarce ranks of failed Russian musicians, quickly fading to obscurity not unlike those two Russian girls who made out with each other to hide the fact that their music was a 10 second loop repeating itself over and over again. Thanks for coming out (hee hee) Commie, but you and your communist kind will be best off "back in the USSR....You don't know how lucky you are, boy...."

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Friday, May 06, 2005

You know what pisses me off? Lots of stuff. But what REALLY pisses me off, today anyway, is the fact that no one can take a decent picture or video of Bigfoot. A couple of weeks ago some guy in northern Manitoba claims to have taken a video of Bigfoot. He sold it to the TV show A Current Affair, which is known for its top notch journalism, and the video goes on the tube. Guess what? No one agrees. Bigfoot? Yes. No. Maybe.

Then some guy in northern Idaho sets up a motion sensing camera to take a picture of Bigfoot if he/she/it happens to walk by. This is after he sees some footprints in the snow a week ago. Guess what? The picture looks like it was taken with a 1953 Polariod that was travelling at 150 miles an hour. And the comments "justifying" the picture seem to have been written by a monkey that was used in nailgun testing experiments. It looks like crap. Yes. No. Maybe.

Everyone except your cousin Cletus has a digital camera. My folks are the only people in North America that have never owned a video camera. The US government has satelites that can tell if I shaved today or not. Yet we still don't have a decent picture or video of Bigfoot. What the hell?

It could be that the people in the area that Bigfoot supposedly likes to frequent are idiots. Back country, hill billy, inbred ijits who think they can fool us urbanized folk. Or it could be that Bigfoot does exist and said ijits just suck at working anything remotely technical. But would it not stand to reason that these people that live in the bush (the humans, not Bigfoot) would have a gun or two? So why hasn't some redneck up and shot us a Bigfoot? I must say, suddenly the Jeff Foxworthy jokes are becoming a little too true to be laughed at.

I for one am sick of it. That is why I will pay 10,000 fils to anyone who brings me the head of a real Bigfoot. No pictures, no shitty video, I want the head. I also want it to be known that anyone who kills Marc X and brings me his torso will be instantly disqualified. It is a hairy torso, but it ain't Bigfoot-hairy.

I would also like to apologize to Marc X, who has really been taking a beating on this blog lately. He is a stud without peer and a rescuer of babies and old women. He also caught Osama and singlehandedly created interstellar peace among many alien worlds. This is true.

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I hate the English*. I really do. But only for the following 2 reasons. I was sitting on the beach today, wasting my time, when some guy next to me pulls out his cell phone and proceeds to call England and yakkity-yak about the "Board of Trustees", " the budget", "next weekend" etc etc. So obviously the guy is on my blacklist for using a cell on the beach, which to me kinda seems like taking the whole point of the beach and flushing it down the pooper.

But then he says, "We fly out tomorrow, I should be in on Monday, see you then." I hate this guy because that means that he will be home this weekend. I'm jealous. Usually I am pretty good at just focusing on life here, and I manage not to think about going home too much, as it only makes it harder. The clock on the website is pretty much my only idea of how much time I have left, although I find I have it pretty much memorized and ticking in my head as the days get less and less.

Being here is tolerable when everyone is in the same boat. We have a siege mentality that keeps us going. But today, listening to English yak about being home this weekend, well that was too much. I wanted to go to England this weekend too, because even though it still isn't Canada, it's far more like Canada than Kuwait. But alas, 41 more days. I know that doesn't seem like much, but it sure seems to be taking its sweet time. I'm always happy when I drop into another set of "tens" (i.e 50 to 49, 40 to 39) but then I just end up focused on the next changeover and in the end feel like I am just running on a wheel after a carrot, never quite getting there.

I'm not bitter, not more so than usual. I'm just tired and want to come home. That's all.

*I don't really hate the English. Not nearly as much as I hate the Chileans.

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From the NY Times...

White House and Pentagon officials are closely monitoring a recent stream of satellite photographs of North Korea that appear to show rapid, extensive preparations for a nuclear weapons test, including the construction of a reviewing stand, presumably for dignitaries, according to American and foreign officials who have been briefed on the imagery.

The intelligence official who reviewed the imagery, and others familiar with the evidence, said it was entirely possible that the activity was an elaborate ruse by Mr. Kim, to strengthen his bargaining position with the five other nations in the talks that he has boycotted: the United States, China, Russia, Japan and South Korea.

I suppose that only time will tell, but I think this is perhaps the most open nuclear secret the world has. North Korea has been upping the ante lately, test firing a missile earlier this week, much to everyone's surprise. So, if recent trends are any indicator, they may just be getting brazen enough to try a nuke test.

The Korea peninsula is one of the most heavily fortified in the world and the US has upwards of 60,000 troops stationed in South Korea, a presence that has been causing some anti-US backlash in South Korea, who would like to see a peaceful co-existence with the North. Even more so when most reports indicate that if the North decides to attack, the South would be, if not the direct recipient, caught in the crossfire and most likely utterly destroyed.

The US wants to restart the 6 nation talks with North Korea. The six nations include: The US, China, Japan, Russia, as well as North and South Korea. Paraguay wanted to get in on it too, but they suck, so no dice. The US has been criticized for going the way of the 6 nation talks instead of opening a more direct line of communication with the North.

North Korea has created a culture of fear in its population, effectively brainwashing them into believing that the US is preparing to launch an imminent attack and that the nation must be prepared to destroy the "capitalist bastards." While it may seem like a laugh, a cold war B movie, this is apparently reality, near as anyone can figure out from the secretive North.

The chances of North Korea launching an unprovoked attack on the US is next to nil, but the potential to do so is near at hand, if not already ready to go. The big fear that I have seen in the media is not the idea that the North has the nukes, it is the idea that the North has a missile that could hit a west coast US city like LA or San Francisco. This fear is justified, as it will only be a matter of time until the North for sure has this capability.

But would they do it? Not likely, as it would mean immediate and total bombardment and destruction from the US. Plus it probably would start WW3, not that the North would be around to see it. But although it is highly unlikely, one must take that with a grain of salt.

Even at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, Washington and Moscow were in communication, trying to talk themselves away from mutual assured destruction. The same cannot be said for North Korea, as there appears to be very little direct communication at all since Madeline Albright visited in 2000. Kim Jong Il, the Dear Leader, is not your normal dictator and may be very unbalanced mentally. Look at his haircut. Again, this is all speculative and has been reported by the somewhat biased South Korean press. However...

In 1978, he ordered the kidnapping of Choe Eun-hee, a South Korean actress, and her ex-husband Shin Sang-ok, a South Korean director, to improve North Korean films.

So at the very least, I think that we can label the Dear Leader a bit of a wild card. I don't think that he is wild enough to attempt any sort of attack on the US right now. In turn, the US seems to be willing to let the neighbours (China and Russia) deal with the neighbourhood problems. Even more so when one considers the strain the US military is under right now, coupled with the fact that North Korea offers very little strategic or resource advantage.

So if North Korea does decide to test drive a nuke, I'm sure we will be inundated with the medias cries of "the sky is falling." The politicians will put on their best 'concerned' face and speak their soundbites. And the US populace will have another dark enemy to watch out for, further increasing their xenophobia. But the facts remain that the US is far more likely to suffer a nuclear attack at the hands of a small group of people who smuggle a low yield weapon into a US city than it is to be attacked by North Korea.

So don't panic too much, as it is all pretty much out of our control anyway. I say just sit back, enjoy the ride and wait until three-eyed fish finally becomes a delicacy.

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Thursday, May 05, 2005

It is pretty obvious, unless you are some sort of Hollywood-worshipping, Michael Jackson-supporting, disturbingly-long-fingered guy, that Russell Crowe and Kevin Spacey are the same person, thus exonerating my mistake of saying that it was Russell Crowe who was in The Shipping News. If you disagree with me, go work at Epcor.

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Well somedays I find it hard to rank the news stories I want to talk about. A lot of thought, weeping, and temper tantrums often go into deciding in what order I should rank the 2 or 3 stories that have caught my eye. Today is not one of those days, for today is a glorious day, a day of breakdancing, of boxing kangaroos, of endless videos of guys getting hit in the crotch. Yes, today was the day that we have all been waiting for......


Brother Jeff has his own blog.

Eat, drink and be merry. Brother Jeff has thus become the first to follow me into the blogsphere and will hopefully be an inspiration to such people as Marc "I love Kevin Spacey" X, Al "My pink shit is chafing me baby" Gibson, Marv "I'm too busy chasing Shelias" Kadrin, and Luie "They wrote a song about me" Rachafjdfsbdnklshdksjski.

So go visit Brother Jeff's site often. For the brothers Archibald are now on the interweb. And humanity gives a cold shiver.

Oh, and Tony Blair looks to have won an unpredented 3rd term as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. Whatever.

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The goal was $450, 000....

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Total Donors: 4791
New Ongoing Subscribers: 1157
New Donors: 1402
Total Dollars $480,705

To all our supporters, we say a sincere Thank You! Your generous financial support helps ensure CKUA's future. Your generous donation will be put to work immediately in developing our world class music library, repairing & replacing aging equipment and producing new and exciting music programmes. Again, we thank you and congratulate you for making our fund raising efforts so successful. YOU are amazing!

-From the Volunteers, Staff & Management at CKUA

You can still donate at www.ckua.com

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Some links, interpret as you like....

A quieter death than the last one.---- Reality setting in----But why else go to football games?------Soon to be a permanent link-----I continue to be a Matt Good whore-----Oops----

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Well there has been a landslide of news stories the last few days, and frankly even this news junkie is having a hard time keeping up with it. Mind you, writing meaningless rants about American Idle doesn't help either.

In brief....

- Private Lynndie England, the soldier pictured holding the leashed Iraqi prisoner, had her trial declared a mistrial, after the judge determined that she potentially did not know, or was not informed of, the proper handling of prisoners. In essence, there is some question as to whether or not she alone should be held accountable, as it is her superiors job to inform her of prisoner treatment. The case is now back to square one.

Although I think what Lynndie England did was obviously wrong, I cannot help feel a little sorry for her. Not to take anything away from what she did, but we all know that the military is very much a hierarchial machine, and bottom rung soldiers never are allowed to do anything without permission. Except be scapegoated, that's acceptable. I have documented the fact that the blame game has only gone so far up the ladder, encompassing a few commanding officers and going no higher. Lynndie England could be any young soldier, she just happened to be uneducated and in the wrong place at the wrong time. And for that mistake she will, eventually, pay the price while others will go free.

I want to comment here on something I was thinking about the other day. I hope that no one thinks I am against the troops that are in Iraq. By and large, most of them are good people that are just trying to get out alive and many of them only signed up to better their lives, pursue an education, give "one weekend a month" etc etc. While there are always going to be cases of troops abusing civilians, I think the majority are trying to do right. The troops are not to blame, and I hope I haven't come across like that. I blame Washington, and for every dead Iraqi and every dead US soldier, I hope something somewhere, be it God or Allah, Buddha, whoever is placing little checkmarks next to a very select group of individuals that work here.

- The United Kingdom is voting today. Will Tony Blair remain in 10 Downing Street? Most polls indicate that Blair's Labour party is going to win by a slim majority, with some polls even predicting a minority government. British polls are a little less predictable than North American polls, so we'll see, as there have been upsets in the past (John Major giving way to Blair in the early 90s) and there is a large group of both urban and rural voters who are undecided. Voter turnout is expected to be low. We should know the answer May 6.

I like Tony Blair. I know, he supported the war, but stil I like him. For one, he can speak off the cuff without sounding like a 3rd grade dropout, unlike bush. His party has shifted in recent years to the centre-right, perhaps not unlike Canada's Liberal party, thus ensuring that the Conservatives (UK's right winger party) is forced to either walllow in agreement with the Labour party, or take an even more right wing approach to British politics just to identify themselves as separate. Doesn't leave much option for the voters I guess. But I wouldn't mind seeing Blair in for one more term, as I do think he sees the world through a better and more balanced lens than bush. And because Blair supported bush in Iraq, Blair is in position to call in some pretty big favours form the US, something that could help mend the schism between Europe and the US.

- Looks like the Liberal's D-day is going to be May 18 when the Parliament goes to vote on the budget. Conservatives and Bloc Quebecois have stated they will attempt to bring the government down, which they can do if they get the support of the 3 independent MPs. (The NDP should vote en masse to support the budget, if it is ammended to include their social spending programs). Meanwhile, Conservatives have accused the Liberals of offering ambassadorships to Conservative MPs in exchange for support on the budget. This has to date been an unproven accusation and could backfire on the Conservatives if it is untrue and proven so. Latest polls show the Liberals rebounding, effectively making them and the Conservatives in a dead heat in the low to mid 30%- of -voters range.

I am sure that the government will be threatened on the 18 of May and will hang in the balance while the independent MPs vote. Let's remember that the Liberals budget included one of the largest increases in military spending in recent years and to bring them down over the Sponsorship Scandal might anger some Conservative voters who want a stronger military. One step forward, two steps back is a hard way to keep your voters loyal. Plus they would still be voting for Steven Harper, which is kind of like voting for a 2x4 with lipstick.

-News Flash!! Jay is still reading. While rumours had been circulating that Jay was no longer a book or two-book-a-week reader, we are happy to say that they were just scare tactics employed by his vast and extremely well organized group of enemies. Whew, bookworms rejoice.

I finished reading The Shipping News by Annie Proulx today. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award winner, as well as the winner of PEN/Faulkner Award. Plus being made into a Hollywood movie featuring that knob Russel Crowe.

"Eh yeah, I guess I'll give it a chance."

Good book, real good. Well written, unique, and with an utterly lovable loser as the main character. Or protagonist, if you will. Set in Newfoundland, the novel seems to capture it really well, from what I know of Newfoundland anyway. A good set of well-developed supporting characters too. Highly recommend.

Now just starting The House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus III. Also just about done Lloyd Axworthy's book, which so far has not really impressed me that much. Ok, now all of you get back to work, or whatever the hell it is that you do.

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I got this via Matt Good's website. Read the truth first, then read this shit. That is the only way I can describe it. And then go hug someone, because apparently it is still in vogue to hate people that have different beliefs than you.

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Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Well I had a totally rock 'n' roll day yesterday, Wednesday. Last day of skool for the week. I had the first period off, spent that creating a test for my G10 class. Periods two and three were regular teaching. Then lunchtime courtyard supervision with a Lord of the Flies/Inmates running the asylum-vibe. Then covering a period four class for my dean, who was away.

The class I was covering was 9B1, as I usually teach 9B2. The first 25 minutes they were off the wall, just insane, moving desks, coughing all together, stamping their feet, etc etc. Idiots. I lost it on them, gave the whole class a detention next week. Much begging ensued. I said that if they were quiet for the last 50 minutes, I would consider not giving them a DT. I also made sure to say that I was actually going to follow through on this threat, something very few teachers/admin do in this skool. That scared 'em, that and the fact that I probably look like a friggin ogre when I get real mad. They were quiet for the rest of class, not a peep. I still may give them a DT, just cause I'm still mad about it.

Then I had late duty after skool, which runs from 230-400pm and basically consists of me sitting out front making sure all the kids get picked up and don't get run over. Boring, but I managed to make fun of some of my G10s, so it wasn't a total waste.

Came home, fired up the computer only to find that something had gone wrong and all my files were gone. I'll try to describe it in a way that doesn't make my tech-savvy friends howl with laughter. Basically it was like all my internet and computer preferences and all my files (music, written, photos) had been crammed back into the C drive instead of being where they usually are. I panicked for a bit, but after some frantic emails with the Glorious Mr. T, who thankfully never sleeps or leaves his computer, I managed to save almost everything and set it up in a new user account, which was basically like starting from near-scratch.

The one thing that seems to be gone for good that I was a little pissed about are all my photos, from London, Ireland, Al's Party (I know, I know), and others. I was a little mad, but then I thought, hell, now I can make up history and people will have to believe me, as there is no proof to contradict me. So yes, as of yesterday, I had lunch with Tony Blair in London, just before singlehandedly re-uniting Ireland. And at the end of that night, Al was only wearing the pink shirt, nothing else.

Ah well, such is life. At least I remember Ireland and London, and most likely I wouldn't have looked at the pics to many times anyway, so I'm not crushed about it. Incidentally, speaking of pictures, I am going to take some pictures of Hilton/Kuwait today, as I drive around illegally. Will post them to the blog, no matter how inane they are.

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Just a note to say that I probably won't post again until Thursday, as my computer went all sideways on me and I am trying to get it back to my version of normal. Not dire, but it is going to take some time. Cheers.

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Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Regarding Alabama's proposed "Ban the Gay Books" bill....

No public funds or public facilities shall be used by any state agency, public school, public library, or public college or university for the purchase, production, or promotion of printed or electronic materials or activities that, directly or indirectly, sanction, recognize, foster, or promote a lifestyle or actions prohibited by the sodomy and sexual misconduct laws of the state of Alabama.

I'd say that is vague enough to cover almost everything. More here.

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As it stands now, there is a better than good chance that weary Canadians will be thrown back into the mix of another election in the near future. While by no means am I suggesting that we forget about the Sponsorship Scandal, as it is relevant to the very ethics of good government, we must also remind ourselves of the other issues that have been shuffled to the background. These issues, some hot button, some not, are still in play and very susceptible to political leanings. In essence, the Sponsorship Scandal is a only one piece of the pie.

It is with these thoughts in mind that I direct you to a link Brother Jeff sent me today. As he says, it is "very, very well put." I agree and hope that whatever your leanings in the political spectrum, you give pause and thought to the ideals of equality that we Canadians profess to hold so dear to our hearts. We must not and cannot be afraid to ask ourselves the tough question of whether we truly are the mosiac that we claim to be and if we are thus willing to support the idea of equality truly being for everyone.

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Election looming, like a pterodactyl in Grande Cache...

Conservative caucus members have agreed unanimously that they should act now to try to topple the ruling Liberals, party Leader Stephen Harper says.

Harper made the comment after the caucus met for two hours on Monday night, trying to decide if the time was right for a bid to oust Prime Minister Paul Martin and his minority government.

The decision comes despite public opinion polls on the weekend that suggested the Liberals may be regaining some of the ground lost due to the sponsorship scandal.

Some Conservatives had quietly questioned the logic of forcing an election that polls indicate many Canadians don't want.

One way to defeat the government is to vote against the budget – but it has to be amended to reflect the deal the Liberals have with the NDP.

Liberal House leader Tony Valeri said he's not sure how and when the amended budget will be introduced. When asked if it would happen this week, he replied, "Probably not."

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Wicked sandstorm this morning, made driving fun with a visibility of about 30 feet.

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About 6:15am. The sun is up by the way.

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Ladies and gentlemen....The Vonz

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Today, on "American Idle: Why does it suck so bad?" we will examine the generic black stereotype that is Vonzell Solomon, aka "The Token Black Girl."

Firstly, much like Mo Lice, Vonzell seems to have a name that no parent in their right mind would bestow upon even the ugliest of children. Unless you want your child to eventually appear on the Jerry Springer show, waving her finger around, yelling at the crowd: "Y'all don't know me, I ain't like dat, I ain't be sleeping 'round with my cousin."

What the hell is a Vonzell anyway? I came up with a variety of possible definitions, as follows...

- It could be some kind of cheap German car, a generic Volkswagen.
- A bad Russian vodka perhaps? "I'm a cheap bastard. Can I buy you a shot of Vonzell?"
- Or possibly Vonzell is the name of one of Godzilla's monster enemies.
Now showing: Godzilla vs. Vonzell. Look out Japan!
- Maybe Vonzell Solomon is a new type of ski? "Solomon skis are proud to introduce the vastly overpriced Vonzell model. Rip it up to the xtreme ski bunnies!"

It is a safe bet that she was made fun of because of her drunk car-monster name all throughout her childhood. Her name reminds me of this guy, and as such we will call her the Vonz for the remainder of this post.

Onward to her appearance. From the picture above I think it is safe to say that she is one of those rare people who are truly "down" with Destiny's Child, as she appears to be trying to copy Beyonce with the "black girl with white girl hair" look. Can't much fault her for this track, The Vonz is after all a product of the American Marketing Machine. Still, I think she would look awesome with a hairdo like this. Or one of these. But now I'm just being silly.

As you may not have noticed from the picture above, possibly due to the glare of her shirt, The Vonz is fond of wearing clothes that resemble a disco ball, thus giving off the impression that she is a "clubber" or "club kid", a girl who can be seen dancing away her Friday nights at barry t's or some other damn meat market that has long since closed down.

This is a good image for the younger voters that watch American Idle, but The Vonz would not want this image to become too well known, lest she be dubbed a "raging sex whore" by the older generation of voters who are mad because they can't shake that ass like they used to. Or the religious right, who are mad because The Vonz's skank-ho appearance is causing baby Jesus to cry.

The Vonz, in the picture above, also appears to be wearing so very dangly earrings, leading to speculation from grandma that the Vonz is indeed a "woman of the night" and thus should be burned at the stake for her abomination against God. Mind you, grandma was pretty high on crack when she said this, so who knows?

Onward to her interview with American Idle, which is perhaps a better indication of why she sounds (and looks) like a rather mentally slow lovechild of an emaciated, alien-like Tyra Banks and John Travolta.

(Just a note that Fox, the media conglomerate that does American Idle, has a feature that won't allow me to right click and copy the interview text. But because I'm not a 13 year old idiot, I use the keyboard shortcuts and stick it to Fox like the suckas they be. I rule. Up yours Murdoch. My comments in italics.)

AI: If you don't make it on AMERICAN IDOL, what will you do?
TV: Continue to pursue my dream.

Your dream of.....what? Whoring yourself out to the mass media? Dancing around on a stage in skimpy clothes? I am a die-hard fan of yours and want to be able to stalk you once the show is over. I need details!

AI: What album would your friends be surprised you own?
TV: Shania Twain.

"Man, I feel like a woman" What a stupid lyric that is. I hate Shania Twain and by association, Timmins, Ontario.

AI: Who is your AMERICAN IDOL?
TV: My parents.

Pick one, mom or dad. They have their favorite child, right? All parents do (Me, not Jeff) Or do they both hate you and you are just trying to make sure you still have a bed to sleep in when you get the boot from American Idle?

AI: Most embarrassing moment?
TV: At a softball game I tripped over second base trying to catch a pop fly!

Oh the HUMANITY!! I would instantly stand up, grab a bat, and beat myself to death. I hope she didn't break a nail.

AI: Who is your favorite judge and why?
TV: Randy - he's cute and cool!

What, you got something against interracial relationships? Huh? Randy isn't cute, he's 400lbs of loser that says "dawg" as if it was some kind of super verbnoun that covers everything. An example....

Randy, Token Black Judge: "Yo dawg, that dawg song, was off the dawg hook, dawg, fo' real yo. Dawg. Dawg. Daaaaawg. Yo, word, Paula, you dawg, stop grabbing my gigantic ass, dawg. Dawg.

AI: Do you think the audition process was fair?
TV: Yes.

What is this, some kinda gag order that you must only answer in the affirmative for this question? Goddamn, tell it like it is:

"Well, first they asked me strip naked. I didn't want to, so I prayed to God and He said: 'I didn't create Hollywood without creating the casting couch, so get stripping.' Then I knew that God wanted me to be an American Idle. So yes, it was fair. Plus I am black and they needed a black singer."

AI: If you win, who will you thank first?
TV: God, my parents, family, friends, and coworkers from the Tice branch post office.

I am going to overlook the obvious conservative Fox slant of praising God for everything. For now. But I can't get past the post office comment. I mean, I'm pretty sure we all know what is going to happen if she doesn't win. Incidentally, I suspect that once she loses, she'll end up being a model postal employee.

The Vonz is a unique representative for American Idle. And by that I mean that she is black. This thus ensures that American Idle will appeal to the "ghetto" and "gangstas" that tune in every night from coast to coast. When of course, as the sterotype goes, they are not listening to 50 Cent or drinking malt liquor. Ah, America, where millions of people who all happen to have the same color skin can all be conveniently placed into a few narrow musical genres.

I hope the Vonz wins because I haven't heard very much about Whitney Houston's drug problems lately and I think American needs another drug addled diva that marries a has-been rapper. Just to keep the tabloid people employed, you understand. Maybe the Vonz could be the
next mentally unstable diva who manages to combine devastatingly bad movies with piss poor CD sales. No matter what road the Vonz decides to take, win or kill everyone in a postal-worker special, I'm sure we will have long since forgotten her name 12 months from now. And for that we can, truly, thank God.

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Monday, May 02, 2005

Megan was not pleased with her first superhero link, so I have caved and created another link to show just how super and heroic Megan is before, during, and after the move to Red Deer. But the real question is if I am out of the dog house yet.....

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I have decided, upon very little reflection and a wee bit of perusing the American Idle website, that I have hit a comedic gold mine. These contestants are the biggest knobs ever. So I will make fun of them, mercilessly. Maybe not to the extent that I did with Mo Lice, but we'll see.

Soon to be mocked: Vonzell Solomon aka "The Token Black Girl"

Tune in next time, or possibly the time after that.


PS- The Glorious Mr T, great job regarding the 'defective' drill. Swish!

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I've been getting a lot of flak, mainly from The Glorious Mr. T and Jeff the Brother, about the piano that was invoved in the move to Red Deer.

First of all, I would like to point out that Robocop hasn't emailed me to complain. Sure he may not have my email address, but that's totally beside the point.

Second, I honestly, truly and for real, forgot that we even had that piano in storage. I would have mentioned it, I swear. I am being serious about this point.

Thirdly, I campaigned to leave the piano with Megan's folks. I argued, I begged, I pleaded. I may have even wept, as I looked into the future and saw nothing but me, lugging this piano all over the place throughout the upcoming years. But in the end, I folded faster than Superman on laundry day. And for that, I am sorry.

So, again, sorry about the piano. Perhaps one cold winters day, when all the guys are together again, sitting around doing our scrapbooking, we look to the piano and then look to the fireplace, contemplating what might be.

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Ladies and gentlemen....Mo Lice.

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Loyal bloggies already know how much I hate American Idle. Yes, I choose to spell it that way, because it indicates just how much "get up 'n' go" this show has. Yet I will continue to point out why American Idle truly is worse than catching Ebola right before you are scheduled to test drive the brand new Ferrari F430 Spider with two totally hot chicks riding shotgun while listening to the newest Franz Ferdinand album.

I haven't been unlucky enough to be near a TV this year, thus being able to avoid American Idle for the most part. Yet, because it is a hegemonic show, it pervades even this cave-like existence. For example, I know that Paula Abdul started acting all "whack" and people said she was on drugs. She then claimed that she had some brain disorder or her silicon had leaked into her brain or something. Or that she was indeed just cracking like an egg because she was getting too old to seduce plucky young singers that mistakenly walked into her dressing room. I'm sure it is some horrible medical condition that I am choosing to make fun of, but Hollywood is ass, so I don't care, especially when 100 kids in Africa don't know how to write their names because their moms died of AIDS and they were never taken to school. Yea, Hollywood is ass, and so are Abdul's problems.

I also wondered if Paula Abdul was Arabic, what with her last name being Abdul and all. People said I was dumb, but they don't know me.

Anyway, back to American Idle and why it blows. I saw a picture somewhere of one of the loser contestants. Upon researching, I found out his name was Bo Bice. I thus renamed him Mo Lice. This guy, as evidenced from the picture, looks like a puke up of some 1968 hippie, Axl Rose, and early Eddie Vedder, possibly with a little bit of Lenny Kravitz thrown in.

First thing that you notice is that he appears to be wearing some kind of African rug or mumu. It is not long before you feel your eyes begin to melt from the obvious color nightmare that he drapes over his torso. This could be the height of fashion or he could have found it when he was digging for bottles in the dumpster. Frankly, and this is just my opinion, I wouldn't let my sissy ass dog chew on this mumu, lest the colors run and she die from "overcolorfication," which by the way is a true disease.

Mo Lice also seems to be unable to find a barber or shave/bathe himself on a regular basis, hence the name Mo Lice, as his head is surely some kind of super colony of lice. I would suspect that he is one of those guys who kinda got stuck in grunge era, except no one told him that the grunge lifestyle did not include bathing only once a month. No doubt he reeks of BO and Brut perfume and it is quite obvious from photos that his mumu can stand up on its own and possibly doubles as a tent when he sleeps behind Denny's.

He also has remarkably big ears, which is probably why his hair is long like a girls. My grandfather would probably say something like "What he needs is a good long hitch in the army." (I dunno if my grandfather would say this, but Abe Simpson said it and that's good enough for me.)

Mo Lice also appears to be as tall as Ryan Seacrest, who we all know is 7 foot 8, thus making Bo Bice abnormally huge and weird looking. No doubt he tried to play basketball in high school but was told "that kinda hair belongs on the girls team" and he thus went crying into the changeroom, where he peed his pants. Thus he joined the ranks of other freakishly tall white guys who can't play basketball.

But once you get past his seizure-inducing appearance and pee-wet jeans, you find out that he is also remarkably shallow and vain, something no one would expect from an American Idle contestant. Some excerpts from his interview with American Idle, my comments in italics because I am Italian.

American Idle: Do you have any formal training?
Mo Lice: I have been performing since 9 years old. Formal training in high school choir.

Apparently Mo Lice speaks like a robot, a robot that constructs evey second sentence as a sentence fragment after grammatically destroying the first one.

AI: If you don't make it on AMERICAN IDOL what will you do?
ML: Find a job in music somewhere.

A driven, goal-setting sort of guy, that is our Mo Lice. And why the hell does American Idle have to put their name in capital letters? I'm already on the website, chances are I have some idea what show I am watching. Morans.

AI: What album would your friends be surprised you own?
ML: Metallica

This assumes that Mo Lice doe have friends, something I am doubtful of. And which Metallica album is it Mo? Not that any of Metallica's CDs are worthy enough to use a a coaster for my beer can. Now I will be sued.

AI: Who is your AMERICAN IDOL?
ML: My mom

You are a pussy.

AI: Favorite male pop artist?
ML: Matchbox Twenty

Matchbox Twenty, who by the way sound like a cat being put through a thresher, are a band Mo, not one artist. Yeah I can tell you are HUGE fan of that male pop artist Matchbox Twenty. Idiot.

AI: Most embarassing moment?
ML: Fell off stage during a show

Landed on your head, eh Mo? You fail to mention that the show you were playing was actually you standing on top of your single bed, singing into a toothpaste tube and you fell because you mom knocked on the door, telling you it was time to go to your regular enema appointment.

Editors Note: If I was Mo Lice, I would say that my most embarassing moment was when I wake up everyday and look in the mirror. But that is only if I was Mo Lice which, thank god, I'm not.

AI: Who is your favorite judge and why?
ML: All of them

Partial credit. Listen to the entire question Mo! Good god you are dumb. Why? Why can you not pick one and instead take the easy way out and say they are all your favorite? It is obvious that you hate the black guy, you racist sob.

AI: How has this changed your life?
ML: Changed for the better

Thanks for elaborating Mo. I guess even making an ass of yourself on a whore show like American Idle is a step up from carrying the grease buckets out at the end of a long shift at Denny's.

AI: Do you think the audition process was fair?
ML: Yes

Welcome back C3PO. Simon is awfully glad you didn't say you made it onto the show via his bedroom. Thanks for all the insight into how the auditions are run.

Well it is quite obvious that Mo Lice needs to win American Idle. His looks will not get him very far, especially when he is dressed like some kind of African witch doctor. Nor will his brains be of any help in a profession that requires him to breathe and blink at the same time. I have no idea if he is a decent singer or not, nor do I much care.

So good luck Mo Lice, I'm sure that if you win you follow in the esteemed footsteps of Clay Aiken, now known as the gayest guy still in the closet, and Rueben Studdard, who is currently at the bottom of a 4 gallon pail of Ben 'N' Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream. And hey, if you lose you can always go back to Denny's, periodically emerging for some "where are they now" shows that feature that Asian guy who sucked ass on American Idle a few years ago.

God-DAMN I hate American Idle.

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Sunday, May 01, 2005

I just got some emails saying that the move to Red Deer went smoothly, so I'd like to make a public acknowledgement of the fine studs and studettes who helped out. It means a lot to me, being away and all, that I have friends and family that will help my better half out a stressful day. So lets give a round of applause to the following....

Brian

Dianne

Marc X

Al

Ryan

Jeff

just kidding Jeff

Todd

Kelly

Dace

Matt

and of course, Megan

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Write me a story, something new, something I haven't read before. I'm tired, everything is tired and what's worse is that everything has almost been done, save for a few freak accidents. Free association mindstretches, pour vous....

I'm waiting for the elevator in an empty lobby, feeling the eyes of the clerk boring into the back of my neck, my dirty neck. And I'm waiting, trying not too look at the dwindling numbers as they rain-trickle down to my feet. My feet. And when the doors open, the little cubicle of transportation will surprise me, like a sudden melting of ice cream on a sunny day in the Northumberland Strait.

I step into the lift, the dumbwaiter for humans, and press a colored button, still refusing to turn around and look at the clerk. I already saw her once, its not worth a second look, trust me. I stare at the back left corner of the elevator floor, as if there is something beside the blue carpet that had gained my glance. I wait for the doors, to ashamed to hit the 'close door' button because everyone knows its just there for show. As if the doors shutting 2 seconds earlier would save your day, get you ahead somehow.

The doors shut and I breathe again, the clerk fading from memory as the lift starts to lift. To the heavens, or at least the 12th floor, which was the button I stabbed, making him feel special, the chosen button, mocking all the others. And away we go, the doors open and I am ejected by the unseen assumption that when the elevator doors open, well, one should get out. I feel like I should stay but then I would remind myself of those people who chickened out on the ski lift and rode back down to the bottom. No one wants to be that person, not when your 13 or 35.

I step out onto the cranberry carpet, the walls a neutral color that probably cost a mint to slap on. It's art-deco, as if anyone can define that past a few wine-laden sentences at a party you would rather not be at. The hall curves to the left and I wonder if its a political statement or perhaps if I have finally lost touch with all sense of reality, this reality that tells me I am unique in the world. My crossed eyes made me unique. No one wants to be unique, trust me, I've been there and its kinda like being the last kid picked for whatever sport the gym teacher is making you play on the last day of school in June.

So I go left, down the hallway, the carpet killing the sounds of me. I am silent and I pretend I am a secret agent. I'm not, of course, if I was I wouldn't be wearing this over-starched pizza delivery shirt, gray around the collar because I could care less. 67A. Unique, different than 68B, someone has carved out their life inside a overpriced cube of urban blight. I knock and hold my breath. I hate this part of the job.

There is music playing behind the door, loud dance music that all the kids are dancing to in the clubs that have smoke machines and sweaty bodies, girls in white tube tops. I hear laughter. They are laughing, maybe at the fact that the pizza is here. Or maybe they are more nervous than me, as they are trapped in the box with friends who look at them with sideways eyes and nod behind their backs. Or maybe something is truly funny, like a old person falling down on the TV. Another box.

I hear the chain rattle, one of those brass chains that offer piece of mind and not much else. A swear. More fumbling with the locks, more swears and I know they are drunk. It is a Friday night after all, and if they don't like their friends, well hell, get drunk and pretend, its just a whole lot easier that way, no one gets hurt until the morning hangover.

The door opens. I hand the pizza over, like it was a hostage on a clock to a guy who probably beat me up in school. The door shuts. I am looking at the 67A and wishing I said something witty, maybe get a tip or something less than a slammed door. I haven't been paid, he said "Just a sec" in a slurred voice. They may have forgotten about me, but no, the door opens. A girl, she's pretty and her eyes are apologetic, as if she was responsible for my life as a pizza boy.

"Here"

"Thanks."

The door shuts again and the laugher continues on, a tinny sound through the door with 67A on it. I am on the outside, a sweaty $20 bill grasped in my shaking left hand. I back away from the door as if I have done something wrong, as if I was unstable instead of unsure. I turn to walk down the hallway again, curving my way to the elevator. I can't be up here too long or the clerk will suspect me. It's my skin color, I suppose. Or perhaps she has gotten in trouble before for not monitoring the transient pizza boys that come by the dozens on the weekend evenings.

I decide to take the stairs down, its only 6 flights of stairs and the darkness of the stairwell is more comforting than the harsh lights of the elevator. I stumble into the lobby as I trip over the carpet. The carpet in the lobby only goes up to the stairs door, then it is a cement floor. Life's like that, it always looks cleaner, comfier on the outside of the utility door.

The clerk is away from the desk and I walk quickly to the door, outside in the minus 35 weather to my old Nissan hatchback. I have to crawl through the passenger door because the drivers side is jammed shut from last weekend when those kids poured beer on the door jams, freezing it solid. I start the car, and it protests as usual. I would protest too I suppose if I was neglected outside in this weather. Damn, Winnipeg is cold. My music blares from a cassette deck. Old tapes I have made, dubbed off the radio, complete with half-done advertisements.

I stuff the money in the pencil case that passes for my wallet. Its 830pm and that means only another three hours or so until I can go home. I don't live in 67A, or 68B for that matter, not on a pizza boys salary. No I live in a basement apartment with another guy named Tom, who seems to never leave his room. I think that he might not like me, so I always pay more than my share for rent. He never says anything.

My girlfriend, well not really, Melissa, she works at the dispatch for Enzo's Pizza, where I work. Where was I going? Right, Melissa, anyway, she isn't really my girlfriend or nothing. Its not like I've kissed her. I'd like to, but you know. She talks to me sometimes, says I could move out if Tom is weird. I say I'm not sure that's a good enough reason for leaving him high and dry for rent. She just rolls her green eyes and sighs, telling me I have to look out for myself. I think to myself that I'm usually too busy looking out for other people, the other drivers, to look out for myself, whatever that means. I think she likes me but I've been wrong about that kinda stuff before.

My cell phone rings. Well it's Enzo's cell phone, I just borrow it for my shift. Big surprise, another delivery, this one on the other side of town. Great. Enzo barely covers gas, usually only after a begging session. I sigh and pull up in front of the pizza place, leaving my warm car running as I go inside. I get the address, dammit all the way just for a medium pie. No tip, or a pittance of one anyway.

It is Friday night and I am too old to be doing this. I should have done something else, maybe I could be behind the door of 67A, laughing with my peers. I could be in comfy clothes, warm inside, instead of my pizza-reeking shitbox car with the frozen door and half commercials. I'll deliver this pie, this slice of grease and cheese, and then no more, that's it, I'll quit. I'll call Enzo on his cell and say I'm done.

No I won't. I'll meekly hand over the pizza, this medium pizza and the pizzas still to come. I'll beg my car to start one more time and hope that the next time the cell rings it will be Melissa. I will drive to and fro, handing you your pizza and hoping you aren't drunk enough to say anything besides "Here" as you hand me the money. Its easier that way, if we just pretend that I was never there, the invisible, the secret agent who no one sees until its too late. "A business transaction," I say to myself in my spy voice, pretending yet again that I am someone else.

I glance in my review mirror, checking. An accident, I catch my own eyes. You do the same when I hand over tonight's meal, look away that is. Because sometimes the status quo is just easier to contemplate than what might have been. I pull onto the road, the ice cold snow cruching under bald tires.

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This is my life. Thank goodness I'm a heavy sleeper.

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Hypocrisy #1

Seven months before Sept. 11, 2001, the State Department issued a human rights report on Uzbekistan. It was a litany of horrors. The police repeatedly tortured prisoners, State Department officials wrote, noting that the most common techniques were "beating, often with blunt weapons, and asphyxiation with a gas mask."

Separately, international human rights groups had reported that torture in Uzbek jails included boiling of body parts, using electroshock on genitals and plucking off fingernails and toenails with pliers. Two prisoners were boiled to death, the groups reported. The February 2001 State Department report stated bluntly, "Uzbekistan is an authoritarian state with limited civil rights."

Immediately after the Sept. 11 attacks, however, the Bush administration turned to Uzbekistan as a partner in fighting global terrorism. The nation, a former Soviet republic in Central Asia, granted the United States the use of a military base for fighting the Taliban across the border in Afghanistan. President Bush welcomed President Islam Karimov of Uzbekistan to the White House, and the United States has given Uzbekistan more than $500 million for border control and other security measures.

Now there is growing evidence that the United States has sent terror suspects to Uzbekistan for detention and interrogation, even as Uzbekistan's treatment of its own prisoners continues to earn it admonishments from around the world, including from the State Department.

Hyprocrisy #2

The car carrying the Italian journalist Giuliana Sgrena that was struck with a deadly hail of gunfire as it sped toward Baghdad International Airport on March 4 ignored warnings from American soldiers who used a spotlight, a green laser pointer and warning shots to try to stop it as it approached a checkpoint, the American military said in a report released Saturday evening.

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I had a garbage sleep last night, awake from 150am-330am, which is really unusual for me. I'm thinking it may be delayed jetlag, but that is probably a buncha BS. Made this morning come waaay to early. Half (well not half, I'm lying to you) our teachers are sick, including my roomie, who I'm avoiding like the plague.

So that meant that I taught from 730-12noon today, then 15 minutes for lunch, then I had to set up for the period four class I was covering. Then I taught a girls (ewwww) class for 1/2 of period four. Smelled like a whorehouse, so much perfume wafting through the air. And the next 3 days, Monday through Wednesday, I am at the skool late each day, either for meetings, parent meetings, or late duty. I figure Allah must hate me. I don't much blame him. Her.

Mind you, I am relatively up to date on marking and planning and such, so that is a good thing. I think the next 2 weeks will be hectic, but after that it should be fine, once the G12s leave. They have already left mentally, but they are still here physically. I keep telling them to skip my morning class, but no deal so far. Goody goodies.

I know Meg is moving today, with the help of a lot of good souls, all of whom will be recognized and celebrated on the blog, once I get a final list of who showed up and who showed up hungover. Jeff.

Anyway, now it is 330pm my time and I am going to the Hilton to chill in the spa. La dee da, but its not too girly, so don't think I've gone all X meterosexual (or however the hell its spelled) on you. No, not me, I ain't no 1986 Toyota driving yuppie. Soccer mom.

Its hot here. 36 today. I'm actually getting used to it, as it doesn't seem to kill me as much anymore. Mind you, when its June and 51, I'm sure my ass will get handed to me on a daily basis. But no one will give me sympathy, so thanks for nothing jerkos.

I'll write more later, if you're lucky. Jay, over and out.

If Al had a blog and he signed it "Al, over and out" I'd put a comment saying "....of the closet" and everyone would laugh at him and buy him more revealing pink shirts. Like the one below.

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I am NEVER deleting these pictures from my computer. What a conehead.

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