'Clitter' Is The Funniest Word I've Heard In A Long Time

So yes I am afflicted with The Sick.

It's not the bowel-shredding Clench or anything, but it's certainly making me feel cranky (or as Katherine at work put it, "Your elbows are sharp today.") and gross and somewhat weakish, but not so weak that I couldn't fend off my own body weight in midgets or something. It is also why, for the last few nights, instead of regaling y'all with tales of watching roller derby with Gemma and Jaime during our flash-blizzard on Saturday (sexy ladies on wheels + high speed collisions = Awesome City), or explaining why I only took one picture at the Comic Con (most of the guys' costumes were ho-hum, while most of the girls' costumes made me feel like I was a creepy old man for looking at them, but I bought Hazel a brand new Stuffed Bunny which she lurves so everything's okay), I've been staring at a blank computer screen with a head full of fuzz trying to figure out how to spell the word 'THE'.

Get off my back; it's tricky, gawdammit.

What this means is that my internet cleverness must wait for a while, so's I can wrap myself up in a blanket and use my formidable powers of Hate and Spite and General Surliness to defeat this sickness. Before I do that, though, I will succumb to Gemma's persuasive ways and say:

1. I'm not too sure what Vulva actually smells like, but this is just goddamned creepy.

2. Nor am I quite clear on why you would need a mint for your vagina.

3. I'm still kinda confused about what exactly Va-Jazzling is all about, but if I had a vagina to be va-jazzled, I really wouldn't want any of these people touching me down there.

Now I must go curl up into a shivering ball on the couch, watching playoff highlights and wondering what the male equivalent of Va-Jazzling might be. The best I can come up with in my unwell state is either Knob Polishing or Testicle Buffing, so I'd better just stop this right now before people start getting hurt.

Walking With Hazel: So Many Rocks.

(Currently it is seven o'clock in the morning on Saturday, and Hazel seems content with wearing nothing but a pair of fairy wings while flapping her arms up and down with her tongue hanging out, pretending she's a butterfly; so while she's doing that, I thought I'd tell you about yesterday's walk:)

Today on our walk we decided to start in the alleyway, because we were in the backyard anyway, and it was easier for Dad to take us on a walk as opposed to keeping Hazel from playing in the garden and pouring dirt on her head, which she has a tendency to do. We started by filling Dad's pockets with rocks, because we had secret plans for them, but we stopped after a few handfuls because they kept spilling out of Dad's pocket onto the ground.

We then found a stick that was very useful for drawing lines in the gravel, which we did many times.

We met a squirrel that played hide and seek with us! It started out on the top of a fence, then disappeared into the trees behind the fence, and when we looked around the fences corner, we could see it sitting in a birdfeeder, stealing the birdfood inside. It then jumped onto the garage roof next to the tree and scampered over the top, so we thought the game was over, but when we passed the garage, it came back out and chittered at us! Then it went away for good, but we kept our eyes open for it anyway, because squirrels are tricky.

We found a house that had a whole bunch of large stumps behind it, and we thought we'd stop by this house later and ask the people who lived there if they wanted to get rid of them, because they'd be perfect for having in the backyard for people to sit on, or using as a barrier to keep kids from running into the back alley when they weren't supposed to. We'll have to remind Dad about this later on this weekend.

We moved to the side of the alleyway and let trucks go by us on two occasions; the first person to go by was very nice, and waved at us, while the second person didn't even look at us, probably because he was too busy talking on his cel phone while he was driving. We thought this guy was a bit of a jerk, because he really wasn't paying attention to what he was doing.

Then we found the sewer grate! There's a round sewer grate in the middle of our alleyway, and this is what Hazel was saving all of those rocks for, because apparently it's fun to stand there and drop small rocks through the holes in the grate. We did this for a few minutes, and then Hazel noticed that there were a few larger rocks wedged into some of the holes, so she bent over to try to pry them out, and ended up overbalancing and rolling over smacking her forehead right on the grate, which made her very upset, so Dad carried her home where she could cuddle with Mom, because cuddles with Mom make everything better.

The accident left a huge bump on Hazel's head, which makes Dad feel like he's the worst Dad in the world for allowing this whole thing to happen, but we're gonna try and take a picture of it later, because it's always funny to look at old pictures of ourselves and laugh.

Then Dad went to work.

Oh, Right.

So, yeah, last night we did that whole New American Felines thing, and I guess a bunch of you were a little confused as to what was going on. I can understand, as everyone involved with The Straw seems to revel in being as cryptic and obtuse as possible, which, y'know, is pretty much the perfect description of what an artist is anyway. Wankers.

Whatever: it seemed to go well, at least for the brief moments that we were present for. Basically, it was an art show to commemorate the opening of the Straw Gallery, which is a fancy name that we've attached to Josh & Sean's garage; the theme was cats, because, well, it seemed funny at the time.

Now, I'm not an artist. I tend to think most artists need to stop playing with glue and get real jobs, but Josh wanted something from me, so I figured I'd give it a shot, and ended up getting all the kids that Rachel looks after on Thursdays (aka the New American Feline Appreciation Club) to colour and sticker over some pictures of felines that I'd cut from a magazine, then glued them to some construction paper and got Josh to hang them up.

Thankfully, everyone else took the thing a little more seriously. You can find more pictures here.

I gotta cut this short, cuz I am actually boiling ribs AS WE SPEAK. I know! I'm gettin' all culinary on you guys lately. See ya later.

Walking With Hazel: Because Peej Asked.

Today on our walk we decided to collect as many sticks as possible to feed to the dog down the street, but once again he was a no-show, so we threw them in the street and kept walking. We found a tree that gave us even more pine cones than the on last week, but Dad's pockets were full after four, so we left the rest there for later.

We said hello to a man who was sweeping his walk, and he had a puppy on a leash, but when we asked if it was okay to pet the puppy, he said he didn't know, because he didn't trust dogs. We decided not to listen to him and said hello to the puppy, but the puppy seemed to be only interested in Dad and kind of growled when Hazel held her hand out, so we decided to keep walking, because we have no time for mean puppies.

We found a house that had about five or six birdfeeders,and we watched all the different birds fly around, and we decided that it'd be a good idea to make our own birdfeeder to hang in our front lawn.

Then we went home and had strawberries, and when Mom got home we noticed that she'd gotten her lip pierced and everyone agreed that she was very pretty, indeed.

Now Dad has to go cook fish.

New American Felines.

So, tonight: The Straw presents: New American Felines.

It's a group show located at the newly-minted Straw Gallery, located at 1506 6th St SW.

Here is a manifesto for the show as written by an aspiring supermodel/America's Next Top Model candidate who may or may not have dropped out of high school due to everyone being mean to her and not appreciating her free spirit:

"The New American Feline is all about FIERCENESS.

That’s right, baby, when you talk about the New American Feline, it better be in capital letters and it better end in an exclamation mark, because the New American Feline is not here to fuck around. We’re here to take ACTION and take POWER and maybe take a shower because it’s a nice day out and we’ve been running around and now we all smell a little funky, but it’ll be a FIERCE shower, damn it. With lots of bubbles.

The New American Feline is all about BOLDNESS.

No stretching lazily in the sun for this kitty, we’re on the prowl, knocking over your garbage can, leaving dead mice on your pillow and having loud horrible sex with anything that we find. Because no one can tell us not to, unless of course they’re throwing shoes at us, in which case we’ll stop, or at least move down the street so that you can’t hear us.

The New American Feline is all about EMBETTERMENT.

The New American Feline is redefining your language, irregardless of what you think, or what school you went to, unless it’s the school of LIFE, HARD KNOCKS, or a small alternative high school where everyone was equal and you weren’t graded on how well you followed the lesson but rather how you felt about the colour blue.

The New American Feline is all about RADITUDE, BADITUDE and PHATITUDE.

The New American Feline is YOUNG. Pat Benatar young; heartache to heartache we stand, no promises, ALL DEMAND, so listen up, people: the New American Feline doesn’t ask, it takes what it wants and tells you to just DEAL. The New American Feline doesn’t bother to listen to both sides of an argument, because if the New American Feline is RIGHT, then why listen to those that are WRONG?"

So, yeah, come on by, check out the show, have a beer. You'll have to bring your own beer, though, but, y'know, we won't stop you from drinking it.

Walking With Hazel, Saturday April 10/10.

(In which I begin to document the many adventures that Hazel and I have when we go for walks, including the people we meet, the things we discover and everything in between.

I can do this because it's my blog, and: shut up, you love this shit.)

Today on our walk we found seven different types of sticks, including one that looked all wrinkly like a caterpillar and one that was perfect for using as a walking stick; it was also perfect for use as a hitting stick, and we spent a long time hitting the sidewalk, hitting the grass and, in one instance, hitting a tree. We took these sticks down to the small puppy that lives down the street, because the puppy likes to chew on them in order to brush it's teeth, but the puppy wasn't outside today, so we just left them by the fence where we normally see him.

We also found a whole bunch of pine cones at the other end of the block, and we grabbed a few of them, but ended up dropping most of them in the alley while we walked. We did keep the best one, though, because it was the perfect shade of yellow-brown.

Hazel also found a pale blue marble, and decided it was best to keep it in her pocket.

We saw a couple of kids playing on a balcony across the street. One of the kids was threatening the other with a gigantic water gun, but no one actually got wet, which was good, as it was a very chilly day.

We wiped our noses quite a few times, and Dad has learned to keep a lot of kleenex in his pockets.

We also discovered an old barbecue that someone had left in the back alley, but upon closer inspection, Hazel decided that it was the type that goes "beep-beep" and therefore we should keep our distance, so we kept walking.

We also found a great many types of rocks, but since the alleyway is littered with them, we decided to leave them where they were.

We also saw two birds, one cat, and a man sorting through bottles at the end of the street. Then we came home because Mom bought Girl Guide Cookies, which is always a good way to end a walk.

Spring Cleaning Of Sorts.

Meet Bob.

Things I Shouldn't Think About After Working A Twelve-Hour Shift

So.

I'm trawling the internet, because apparently I have so little to do with my life that I can spend hours watching videos that cause my brain to blister, and I find this particular scene.

There's this kid, right? And, well, he seems to be upset about something, so he goes online and he posts a video of himself ranting about whatever it is that's bothering him, because I guess that's what kids do these days instead of sitting behind the 7-11 huffing spray-paint out of a paper bag, or sneaking into your neighbour's garage to steal the porn collection he keeps hidden from his wife, or stealing a smaller kid's bike and riding it into the reservoir and then blaming it on the home-schooled kids down the street (not that I'm speaking from experience in any of these instances so shut up). Go watch it, it's, um, well, it's something.

See what I mean? It's kinda funny, it's kinda pathetic, but mostly it's kinda just, y'know, there.

The thing that strikes me, though, isn't the fact that there's yet another person desperately wanting to roll around in a furpile pretending he had six tits and a tail or whatever; that's nothing new, sadly. What struck me was the image of this kid's father sitting in the recliner behind our sad little protagonist, not really paying attention to the kid's rant, just sitting and petting the cat and maybe thinking about having a beer. If you didn't notice, go back and watch.

See, I feel for this guy, because he's got this kid, and I'm gonna project some of my own feelings onto this guy now, so bear with me: he obviously loves his kid, but right now he's at a loss, because he raised this kid thinking that he'd probably have to watch the kid go through the same things he went through when he was a kid, and he'll have to have talks with his son about alcohol, and drugs, and sex, and a thousand other topics that every parent is scared shitless to discuss with their children, but he's willing to do it because he loves his kid and he wants his kid to be happy.

Never once, though, did he ever imagine having to deal with the fact that his child wanted to dress up in an animal costume and have weird fetish sex with other kids in animal costumes. I guarantee you, that thought NEVER crossed his mind. So here he is, listening to his son come out of the furry closet, and he wonders to himself, when did my life go from OKAY to WHAT. THE. FUCK.

And: did I somehow cause this to happen?

So I'm gonna crack open a beer and have a drink in honour of this poor man, and when Hazel comes asking me about boys, or girls, or any of the Big Important Topics, I'm just gonna tell her to go ask her mother.

I have to go lie down now. My future is scary.

Jared Larsen Will Eat An Entire Pigeon Alive!

So.

Jared Larsen. Centrism book launch. Tonight at 6:00 pm at Comrad Sound.

Oh, hey, look, there's a Facebook page about it, maybe you should click here and find out what's going on. What's that? You can't read? That's okay, it's a book of pictures!

Jared's that guy at Beano who looks like he'd be equally at home either telling you about the gnarly wave he just nailed off the coast of Maui or sharing with you the good news about his personal lord and saviour, Jesus Christ; the irony is that he probably wouldn't talk to you about either of these things in real life, as he's so skinny that he'd snap in two if he even looked at a surfboard, and you can often hear him grumbling about how Jesus owes him five bucks. Regardless, Jared's pretty approachable, is what I'm trying to say, and he's just published his first book of photos, and you should sell all of your Dean Koontz and Tom Clancy novels so that you can give him $30.00 for it.

His book, Centrism, is all about choices. It's about what happens when people stop being nice, and start being Real. Mad real, yo. It's about the love that's shared between a man and a woman and John Wayne, and about that small niggling doubt you have in the back of your mind that asks if you remembered to turn the stove off when you left the house this morning. It's about the death of Santa Claus, and how the culprit is most likely Glenn Beck. It's about America, people. Mad America.

The book launch promises to be pretty fun, with readings from Josh Barsky (The Nicest Angriest Man In The World), Micah Stone (He of A Thousand Bad Jokes and One Good One) and Sean Macalister (aka Mistah Rubbahface!), as well as music by some street urchins to whom we've paid good money to look both heartbreaking and heartwarming. There's a suggested donation of $5.00 at the door, but it's just that: a suggestion. I know how cheap y'all can be sometimes.

I will not be attending, as I have to man the fort at Beano and serve swill to men with too much money and too little fashion sense, and women who really should know better. I will most likely be in the back room with my ears glued to the radio, listening to the hockey game and wondering if my heart can take any more disappointment, so you probably don't want to bother me, as I'll most likely throw a demitasse spoon at you.