I’ve been wanting to blog about the Saturday, April 14 Globe and Mail for quite some time, but between work and travel, it just didn’t happen.
I realize that in a day or so, the newly redesigned Saturday Globe will be landing on my porch. I can hardly wait – will the books section look better? (It can’t look any worse.) What will happen to all the white space of the Focus section? Will the new look reinvigorate my flagging desire for the paper?
More important than appearances, however, is the content. What will the new Saturday Globe read like? As a benchmark, then, consider my A to T guide to the April 14 Globe.
Section A (News)
A2. Greenspon hypes the new and improved Globe. More interpretation, insight, “ferreting out” and context. Great. I hope he means it.
A3. Mumps in Nova Scotia.
A6. Justin Trudeau’s ass receives five paragraphs in Jane Taber’s Ottawa Notebook.
A21. Susan Swan writes open letter to Stephen Harper describing the importance of creating a global market for Canadian writing, and the financial struggle a first time Canadian author faces.
Section B (Report on Business)
B3. Article on Crocs. P.S. They’re a fad.
B8. The Financial Facelift is somewhat dull this week.
Section D (Books)
D1. Fairly ugly cover, which would be forgiven if the designer was allowed to weave the cover concept throughout the section, a la the New York Times Book Review. It would not be too much prettier, but the visuals would at least be integrated and have coherence and cohesion.
D4. Lynn Crosbie reviews the new thriller by Joy Fielding. Crosbie’s decision to write the review in common English is a welcome change of pace, and for that I applaud her. (Her recent Tie Domi feature in Toronto Life is also in common English. A good career move.)
D12-D13. Jessica Crispin reviews Lost Girls by Moore and Gebbie. The book is not exactly Globe-friendly, so all the better.
D12. Laura Penny has tone and style to spare. She reviews two books about sex. She is a very talented writer, and a sharp thinker. Still, I wish she would dial it back one notch, so that her writing becomes a perfectly equal mix of style and content, instead of the 60-40 ratio she enjoys. A little less alliteration would be a nifty start.
Section F (Focus)
F1. Crack in Ottawa. I wanted to read this feature. I had every intention of reading this feature, and yet… every week I suffer the same problem. Either I start a Focus piece and never finish it, or don’t bother in the first place. It’s me, not you Focus. Really.
F2. Laura Penny’s column starts strongly, so much so that I find myself reading it, not skimming it like I usually do. I start to skim when she abandons the Imus issue, which would have made a fine column, and switches to CNN and Anna Nicole wherein she loses force and momentum. She should be in the paper every week, however, not every two. More female voices in the Globe is a good thing.
F3. I read Doug Saunders four times a year, whether I need to or not. This was not one of those times.
Section L (Style)
L1. Are You Canada’s Most Stylish? Fuck Off. No, really, I mean it, fuck off. A prime example of why the rest of the country laughs their ass off at Toronto.
L6. Butterfly trend piece.
Section M (Toronto)
M1. The funniest thing I have read in the Globe and Mail in at least a year appears on the front page. R.M. Vaughan defends Toronto while taking hilarious and well-crafted swipes at the rest of the country. I laugh repeatedly. I wish I could be guaranteed something this sharp every week in the Saturday Globe.
Section R (Review)
R1. Yann Martel explains how Stephen Harper does not like artists. Really? I had no idea. He immediately loses my sympathy with his hectoring, Frankfurt schoolmarm tone. I urge you to read the witty deconstruction of his article here. I would add to this, however, that Martel had an opportunity to make a political intervention of material consequence by shouting “Do we count for nothing, you philistines?” in the House of Commons. (In his article, he mentions that he wanted to do so, but he has “no talent for spontaneous prophecy.” In other words, he was too scared). Martel was in the inner sanctum, and could have chosen civil disobedience, which would have meant something. Shouting at Harper from the visitor’s gallery is a spontaneous act of resolve; whining about him from the comfort and safety of your computer screen means nothing. Hope you donated your Globe and Mail cheque to the Canada Council.
While I’m on the topic, Martel mentions how the $18,000 he received from the Canada Council in 1991 has been recouped through the income tax he has paid on Life of Pi. You idiot. By allowing yourself to discuss the function of the Canada Council as an investment that should/will pay future dividends, you’re letting your enemy (the Tories) control the discourse of the debate. Does it not strike you that talking about grants in the language of appreciation and investment means you’ve internalized the very Tory ethos you pretend to abhor? (Margaret Atwood did the same thing on Tuesday when she attacked the Tories and said: “Would they like to guess how much Yann Martel's novel The Life of Pi generated abroad? Would they like to know … how much my foreign editions bring in?” Let me say it a second time: idiot. This will not help our cause. Read this.)
R5. Q&A with Johanna Schneller and Ondaatje. Sample excerpt:
JS: What is it like being a genius?
O: Shrugs off fawning question and discusses his craft with verve and intelligence.
JS: No, really, what is like being a genius?
O: Once again shrugs off fawning question and discusses his craft with yet more verve and intelligence.
R21. I liked the article on Mr. Bean. Really.
Section S (Sports)
Don’t read this section. Sorry.
Section T (Travel)
Ditto.
If you made it this far, congrats. Let’s meet back here in a few days, after the new Saturday Globe has been fully digested.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Do We Really Need a Gang-Rape Joke on My Name is Earl?
Apparently we do. On Thursday’s episode of MNIE, after Crabman complains that sex in the walk-in freezer of the bar caused his scrotum (yes, that’s my cute little allusion to this) to get stuck on a keg of beer, tongue on flagpole style, Joy says:
(From Season 2, Episode 18.)
Now, I assume the crux of the humour derives from the fact Joy has misinterpreted the brutal gang-rape scene from The Accused
as hardcore pornography. I “get” it. But how funny is “it”? I found the line shocking, but not funny. I actually paused the episode and said “I can’t believe they got that onto a mainstream network comedy.” I thought MNIE was better than that – at least the first season seemed to suggest this was the case.
I am also left wondering: Is the line supposed to reveal Joy’s inability to distinguish between coercive and consensual sex? Is it an expression of a rape fantasy? Is it a comment on the Hobbesian sexual practices of hicks? Or is it simply MNIE creator Greg Garcia (who wrote the episode) seeing if he could get a rape joke on mainstream television? The thrill of sneaking something past the censors perhaps?
I remember reading about how in the bad old days, you would have a network censor (Standards and Practices) who would read the script, and tell you what to remove. Anticipating this, you would stick something outrageous into a script, in order to ensure that your compromise joke would make it into the script. And that compromise joke was, in truth, the joke you wanted to use in the first place.
To me, the pinball line was a self-imposed challenge on Garcia’s part to see if he could make a rape joke without making it sound like, you know, a joke about rape. A writerly bet to see if he could do the impossible. I’m reminded of George Carlin:
What the Joy line demonstrates is how thoroughly uncensored network TV has become. (Christ, I sound like a social conservative at this moment, and I lack the time and patience to nuance my argument a little more effectively. Whoops.) And I think this is somewhat of a shame, because I honestly think the joke shouldn’t have made it to air. (The Accused is based on a real-life rape, which for me puts that extra bit of inappropriateness into the mix.) And I realize what a hornet nest that places me inside of. Having recently completed a thesis on Vice for my Master’s, I also realize that the moment you isolate or name a taboo, you create a cultural scenario in which someone will transgress it. As I was doing research for this post, I stumbled across Borat’s reference to The Accused as a sex comedy. I’m also reminded of Sarah Silverman’s rape joke oeuvre.
There is so much more to say here, but I’m still trying to puzzle through the Borat/Silverman cultural ascendancy in a meaningful way. I promise that in the future I will be better able to articulate what their particular types of transgressions mean. For now, I’ll stick to the undoubtedly unpopular stance of wishing NBC had censored a rape joke.
So we'll just wait till this place closes and you can do me on the pinball machine like in that porno Jodi Foster did.
(From Season 2, Episode 18.)
Now, I assume the crux of the humour derives from the fact Joy has misinterpreted the brutal gang-rape scene from The Accused
as hardcore pornography. I “get” it. But how funny is “it”? I found the line shocking, but not funny. I actually paused the episode and said “I can’t believe they got that onto a mainstream network comedy.” I thought MNIE was better than that – at least the first season seemed to suggest this was the case.
I am also left wondering: Is the line supposed to reveal Joy’s inability to distinguish between coercive and consensual sex? Is it an expression of a rape fantasy? Is it a comment on the Hobbesian sexual practices of hicks? Or is it simply MNIE creator Greg Garcia (who wrote the episode) seeing if he could get a rape joke on mainstream television? The thrill of sneaking something past the censors perhaps?
I remember reading about how in the bad old days, you would have a network censor (Standards and Practices) who would read the script, and tell you what to remove. Anticipating this, you would stick something outrageous into a script, in order to ensure that your compromise joke would make it into the script. And that compromise joke was, in truth, the joke you wanted to use in the first place.
To me, the pinball line was a self-imposed challenge on Garcia’s part to see if he could make a rape joke without making it sound like, you know, a joke about rape. A writerly bet to see if he could do the impossible. I’m reminded of George Carlin:
Well, sometimes they'll say, well you can talk about something but you can't joke about it. Say you can't joke about something because it's not funny. Comedians run into that shit all the time. Like rape. They'll say, "you can't joke about rape. Rape's not funny." I say, "fuck you, I think it's hilarious. How do you like that?" I can prove to you that rape is funny. Picture Porky Pig raping Elmer Fudd. See, hey why do you think they call him "Porky," eh? I know what you're going to say. "Elmer was asking for it. Elmer was coming on to Porky. Porky couldn't help himself, he got a hard-on, he got horny, he lost control, he went out of his mind."(link.)
What the Joy line demonstrates is how thoroughly uncensored network TV has become. (Christ, I sound like a social conservative at this moment, and I lack the time and patience to nuance my argument a little more effectively. Whoops.) And I think this is somewhat of a shame, because I honestly think the joke shouldn’t have made it to air. (The Accused is based on a real-life rape, which for me puts that extra bit of inappropriateness into the mix.) And I realize what a hornet nest that places me inside of. Having recently completed a thesis on Vice for my Master’s, I also realize that the moment you isolate or name a taboo, you create a cultural scenario in which someone will transgress it. As I was doing research for this post, I stumbled across Borat’s reference to The Accused as a sex comedy. I’m also reminded of Sarah Silverman’s rape joke oeuvre.
There is so much more to say here, but I’m still trying to puzzle through the Borat/Silverman cultural ascendancy in a meaningful way. I promise that in the future I will be better able to articulate what their particular types of transgressions mean. For now, I’ll stick to the undoubtedly unpopular stance of wishing NBC had censored a rape joke.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Toro Goes Belly Up
That's a little joke there -- Toro is tuna belly in Japanese. The fact that Toro is dead, however, is not as funny. The press release was sent out today (Feb. 12) announcing that Toro is no more. The gist of the press release was that the best a high quality Canadian men's magazine can hope for is breaking even. After four years, the investment no longer appeared to be a smart one for publisher Chris Bratty.
Toro was distinguished for its lack of staff turnover. Editor Derek Finkle lasted four years in an industry that few would now describe as stable. Toro wasn't perfect, but it was a good place for good writing. I suppose I should insert something profound about the Canadian magazine industry here, but everyone with a pair of eyes and ears knows that prestige publications that pay writers a living wage are going the way of the dinosaur. This is not the observation of a pessimist, but a realist. It's not the canary in the coal mine (nor the tuna) but Toro dying should tell us something about the state of the glossy world. Something not so good.
Toro was distinguished for its lack of staff turnover. Editor Derek Finkle lasted four years in an industry that few would now describe as stable. Toro wasn't perfect, but it was a good place for good writing. I suppose I should insert something profound about the Canadian magazine industry here, but everyone with a pair of eyes and ears knows that prestige publications that pay writers a living wage are going the way of the dinosaur. This is not the observation of a pessimist, but a realist. It's not the canary in the coal mine (nor the tuna) but Toro dying should tell us something about the state of the glossy world. Something not so good.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Bigge (Trouble) in Little China
Yesterday I received an email from someone claiming to be the Chinese translator of my humour book A Very Lonely Planet. The poor translator was having understandable difficulty with North American sayings such as “rip off Kinko’s” and “indie-rock sad sack.”
I emailed Brian Lam at Arsenal Pulp Press and made sure this wasn’t a hoax. It turns out it isn’t – the rights to my book were recently sold in China. I emailed the translator back to let her know I’d be happy to help her as best as I could. Today she thanked me and wrote, “The hardest nuts I will put in the list and send it to you.”
It’s all very surreal and flattering, especially since the book was published in May of 2001. I promise to scan and post the Chinese cover the moment I’m able to do so.
And although this will sound small and petty of me, as an agentless writer I am obliged to say it: take that Ann Mcdermid.
I emailed Brian Lam at Arsenal Pulp Press and made sure this wasn’t a hoax. It turns out it isn’t – the rights to my book were recently sold in China. I emailed the translator back to let her know I’d be happy to help her as best as I could. Today she thanked me and wrote, “The hardest nuts I will put in the list and send it to you.”
It’s all very surreal and flattering, especially since the book was published in May of 2001. I promise to scan and post the Chinese cover the moment I’m able to do so.
And although this will sound small and petty of me, as an agentless writer I am obliged to say it: take that Ann Mcdermid.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Reminder Regarding My Feature Writing Course
I successfully defended my Master's thesis on Friday, which was an enormous relief. What this means for those who still read this blog is that I'll be able to update more often -- starting in two weeks or so.
In the meantime, I would like to remind you, dear reader, that starting February 6, I will be teaching Freelancing the Feature at the University of Toronto's SCS. Details here.
In the meantime, I would like to remind you, dear reader, that starting February 6, I will be teaching Freelancing the Feature at the University of Toronto's SCS. Details here.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
A Bunch of Great Ideas Going Nowhere
Rumour has it the New York Times Magazine is running out of ideas. Or, more accurately, they’re running out of space for ideas. There are significantly fewer pages in the 2006 Year in Ideas issue as compared with 2005. I was completely shut out of this year’s issue. Here are my favourite pitches (asterisk indicates an idea that actually appeared in the 2006 YII):
- End of the Clever Headline, The. Google news and other aggregators that use search bots respond better to literal headlines, rather than those with puns or tricky wordplay. In order to ensure high rankings, some newspapers are altering their headline style.
- Song Title Inflation. This year saw a number of lengthy song and album titles such as Yo La Tengo (I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass) or Panic at the Disco’s (There’s a Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven’t Thought of It Yet.) See also: Sufjan Stevens The Flaming Lips and Fall Out Boy.
* Mood Detectors. Two different inventions this year are designed for those who have trouble detecting emotions. A new mood phone for Asperger’s patients lights up in different colours, depending on the emotion of the person calling the sufferer. Meanwhile, a boring detector has been created for autistics, to let them know whether the person they’re talking is unimpressed by their conversation.
- Blipvert, The. In the futuristic show Max Headroom, blipverts were TV ads that compressed 30 seconds worth of info into 5 seconds. This year, five second TV ads were introduced to combat TiVO fast-forwarding, and Clear-Channel introduced one-second radio ads.
- Betrayed Consumer, The. A recent Journal of Consumer Research featured a study that explored how consumers attempt to gain revenge against corporations that have wronged them. Researchers from Arizona State University discovered strong parallels between consumer complaint websites and other civic protest movements. In other words, rather than speaking in the language of an angry consumer, gripe sites like walmartsucks.org frame their grievances in the language of citizen injustice.
- Viewer Generated Advertising. This year Ford launched viewer-created advertising online (it flopped). Meanwhile, both Chevy and Doritos are soliciting viewer-generated advertising (the winning entries will be broadcast during the Superbowl in 2007).
- Ringxiety. People are reporting hearing phantom cell phone ring tones with regularity. A host of environmental and psychological factors are believe to cause the condition.
- Death of Quiet Songs, The. This refers to the fact that over the past few years, CDs have been mastered louder and louder (using less and less of the dB spectrum) to make it easier to hear songs in iPod headphones. This has resulted in the death of loud-soft dynamics in most modern songs.
- Best Guess Radio. Last.fm has created hundreds of internet radio stations/streams based on aggregating user preferences. So even if they play a song you’ve never heard before, chances are you’ll like it.
- Excel For Rogues. GirlFriend X (GFX) allows skirt-chasing bachelors better manage their harem. Various romantic details can be tracked with an, ahem, spreadsheet of sorts. (See also: www.alibinetwork.com)
- Printable Organs. This sounds like pure sci-fi. Using bioinks and modified ink-jet printers, scientists are learning to spray cells suspended in liquid, allowing them to “print” tissue structures.
- Blogjects. Inanimate objects that can blog (that is, generate data) about the way they interact in their environment. According to Wikipedia, an example would be “your car, gathering data about distance, weather, road conditions, speed, as you travel.”
- Weight-Loss Camera, The. There’s a new “slimming camera.” It has a feature that compresses a photo in such a way to make a person appear to weigh less.
- Empathic Painting, The. Computer scientists have created a digital artwork that changes mood based on the facial features of the spectator. Webcams track eight different facial features. (See also: the Art-O-Meter a device that tracks the amount of time that people spend in front of an artwork compared to the total time of exhibition and then ascribes a qualitative rating to the piece.)
- Universal Password, The. Shibboleth is an open-standard authentication system. Basically, you log in once at the start of the day, and it has a record of all your passwords, no matter where on the web you visit. It also has some interesting privacy elements built into it.
- Viral Marketing Immunity (or VM Paranoia or VM Hypochondria). When the LonelyGirl15 phenomenon first started to unravel, immediate theories/suspicions involved a viral marketing scheme of some type. The hypochondria/immunity refers to the notion that user-submitted videos above a certain caliber or threshold of creativity are now suspected of being created by an advertising agency. There is also something to be said about the online buzz for Snakes on a Plane not translating into ticket sales (which would be viral marketing immunity).
- Tiny Electricity. University of Birmingham microbiologists have found a bacterium that excretes electricity-generating hydrogen when fed sugar. Another set of scientists, in Japan, meanwhile, have created "bacterial-propulsion units," a strain of Mycoplasma that crawl clockwise in a groove underneath a motor's rotor, tugging the motor in a circle.
* Incidental Electricity Generation. A Japanese railway is experimenting with special floor pads in their train stations that can generate electricity from the mechanical pressure of their commuters walking through the station. (http://tokyomango.blogspot.com/2006/10/commuter-generated-electricity.html)
- Words on Water. This is a strange one. It’s a circular tank developed by Mitsui Engineering in Japan called AMOEBA (Advanced Multiple Organized Experimental Basin), that allows users to "write" letters on stationary waves of water.
- Anti-Brand Bonfire, The. In August of this year, Neil Boorman set fire to every last branded item he owned. He’s writing a book about the experience of living brand-free for the rest of his life.
- Tourist Remover, The. A new photo service removes tourists from photographs, leaving behind the landmark or architectural marvel you wanted to preserve on film, without all the rabble ruining your view.
- Anti-Fogey Ringtone, The. A high-frequency cell phone ring-tone was released this year that adults can’t hear, due to the natural deterioration of their hearing. Teenagers, however, can hear the ringtone.
- A Bribe for Watching Commercials. This fall, CBS is launching a contest that requires viewers to watch television ads to find clues. They’re offering over $2 million in prizes.
- Hipster Library, The. A new library in Minneapolis has iTunes and movie downloads and a reading lounge for teens that allows drinks and snacks. Meanwhile, librarians wander the stacks with wireless communication devices.
- Intelligent Egg, The. The British Egg Information Service developed an egg emblazoned with an invisible ink label that turns black when the egg is fully cooked (they have hard and soft-boiled versions, I believe).
- End of the Clever Headline, The. Google news and other aggregators that use search bots respond better to literal headlines, rather than those with puns or tricky wordplay. In order to ensure high rankings, some newspapers are altering their headline style.
- Song Title Inflation. This year saw a number of lengthy song and album titles such as Yo La Tengo (I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass) or Panic at the Disco’s (There’s a Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven’t Thought of It Yet.) See also: Sufjan Stevens The Flaming Lips and Fall Out Boy.
* Mood Detectors. Two different inventions this year are designed for those who have trouble detecting emotions. A new mood phone for Asperger’s patients lights up in different colours, depending on the emotion of the person calling the sufferer. Meanwhile, a boring detector has been created for autistics, to let them know whether the person they’re talking is unimpressed by their conversation.
- Blipvert, The. In the futuristic show Max Headroom, blipverts were TV ads that compressed 30 seconds worth of info into 5 seconds. This year, five second TV ads were introduced to combat TiVO fast-forwarding, and Clear-Channel introduced one-second radio ads.
- Betrayed Consumer, The. A recent Journal of Consumer Research featured a study that explored how consumers attempt to gain revenge against corporations that have wronged them. Researchers from Arizona State University discovered strong parallels between consumer complaint websites and other civic protest movements. In other words, rather than speaking in the language of an angry consumer, gripe sites like walmartsucks.org frame their grievances in the language of citizen injustice.
- Viewer Generated Advertising. This year Ford launched viewer-created advertising online (it flopped). Meanwhile, both Chevy and Doritos are soliciting viewer-generated advertising (the winning entries will be broadcast during the Superbowl in 2007).
- Ringxiety. People are reporting hearing phantom cell phone ring tones with regularity. A host of environmental and psychological factors are believe to cause the condition.
- Death of Quiet Songs, The. This refers to the fact that over the past few years, CDs have been mastered louder and louder (using less and less of the dB spectrum) to make it easier to hear songs in iPod headphones. This has resulted in the death of loud-soft dynamics in most modern songs.
- Best Guess Radio. Last.fm has created hundreds of internet radio stations/streams based on aggregating user preferences. So even if they play a song you’ve never heard before, chances are you’ll like it.
- Excel For Rogues. GirlFriend X (GFX) allows skirt-chasing bachelors better manage their harem. Various romantic details can be tracked with an, ahem, spreadsheet of sorts. (See also: www.alibinetwork.com)
- Printable Organs. This sounds like pure sci-fi. Using bioinks and modified ink-jet printers, scientists are learning to spray cells suspended in liquid, allowing them to “print” tissue structures.
- Blogjects. Inanimate objects that can blog (that is, generate data) about the way they interact in their environment. According to Wikipedia, an example would be “your car, gathering data about distance, weather, road conditions, speed, as you travel.”
- Weight-Loss Camera, The. There’s a new “slimming camera.” It has a feature that compresses a photo in such a way to make a person appear to weigh less.
- Empathic Painting, The. Computer scientists have created a digital artwork that changes mood based on the facial features of the spectator. Webcams track eight different facial features. (See also: the Art-O-Meter a device that tracks the amount of time that people spend in front of an artwork compared to the total time of exhibition and then ascribes a qualitative rating to the piece.)
- Universal Password, The. Shibboleth is an open-standard authentication system. Basically, you log in once at the start of the day, and it has a record of all your passwords, no matter where on the web you visit. It also has some interesting privacy elements built into it.
- Viral Marketing Immunity (or VM Paranoia or VM Hypochondria). When the LonelyGirl15 phenomenon first started to unravel, immediate theories/suspicions involved a viral marketing scheme of some type. The hypochondria/immunity refers to the notion that user-submitted videos above a certain caliber or threshold of creativity are now suspected of being created by an advertising agency. There is also something to be said about the online buzz for Snakes on a Plane not translating into ticket sales (which would be viral marketing immunity).
- Tiny Electricity. University of Birmingham microbiologists have found a bacterium that excretes electricity-generating hydrogen when fed sugar. Another set of scientists, in Japan, meanwhile, have created "bacterial-propulsion units," a strain of Mycoplasma that crawl clockwise in a groove underneath a motor's rotor, tugging the motor in a circle.
* Incidental Electricity Generation. A Japanese railway is experimenting with special floor pads in their train stations that can generate electricity from the mechanical pressure of their commuters walking through the station. (http://tokyomango.blogspot.com/2006/10/commuter-generated-electricity.html)
- Words on Water. This is a strange one. It’s a circular tank developed by Mitsui Engineering in Japan called AMOEBA (Advanced Multiple Organized Experimental Basin), that allows users to "write" letters on stationary waves of water.
- Anti-Brand Bonfire, The. In August of this year, Neil Boorman set fire to every last branded item he owned. He’s writing a book about the experience of living brand-free for the rest of his life.
- Tourist Remover, The. A new photo service removes tourists from photographs, leaving behind the landmark or architectural marvel you wanted to preserve on film, without all the rabble ruining your view.
- Anti-Fogey Ringtone, The. A high-frequency cell phone ring-tone was released this year that adults can’t hear, due to the natural deterioration of their hearing. Teenagers, however, can hear the ringtone.
- A Bribe for Watching Commercials. This fall, CBS is launching a contest that requires viewers to watch television ads to find clues. They’re offering over $2 million in prizes.
- Hipster Library, The. A new library in Minneapolis has iTunes and movie downloads and a reading lounge for teens that allows drinks and snacks. Meanwhile, librarians wander the stacks with wireless communication devices.
- Intelligent Egg, The. The British Egg Information Service developed an egg emblazoned with an invisible ink label that turns black when the egg is fully cooked (they have hard and soft-boiled versions, I believe).
Thursday, November 02, 2006
What the Big Ikea?
I have a ha-ha-ha piece in the current issue of the Walrus that involves my long-standing bête noire, Ikea. If that isn’t enough semi-disposable humour for you, then you’ll want to also read the following detective noir parody that was supposed to be published in Matrix magazine, for their fan friction issue. Yep, that’s right, I didn’t make the cut at Matrix.
Ouch.
Tear Jerker
The birch blonde’s name was FLÄRKE. A cute little number – 500.817.44 if I recall correctly. She was 171 centimeters tall, with a tidy 59 centimeter waist, yet she weighed only 19.5 kilograms.
She was a model – a floor model, that is. Covered in fingerprints. But that filthy FLÄRKE would wipe clean with a damp cloth and some non-abrasive cleaner, if you get my drift.
But I flirted with so many others in the showroom that I forgot all about her until I stumbled down a dimly lit alley – aisle 17, row 9 to be exact – and spotted her wrapped in cardboard. Kinky, this one was, waiting for a smooth looking guy with a flatbed cart and a credit card to roll past. Me, in other words.
Oh, she was cheap. Twenty-nine dollars cheap. And more importantly, she would fit into the backseat of my Yaris. So I took a chance on her.
Or was it that she took a chance on me?
***
That night I slowly removed layer after layer of cardboard and read the manual. There were dowels to be inserted, some screwing, and a variety of contortions and awkward positions required to nail her to my satisfaction.
The next morning we went for $1 breakfast.∗ She barely touched her scrambled eggs, home fries, sausage and miniature croissant. I found her reticence charming. A challenge. Some might have found her pretty plain, sure, but I thought she was plain pretty.
There had been others, of course. ANEBODA 1 and ANEBODA 2, a pair of bedside tables that made the nights less lonely. Those Swedish twins were incredible, but … well, ahem. Then there was a wild redhead named TYLÖSAND that my roommate eventually took off my hands.
And who could forget NIVA, with the dark brown highlights. Somehow we drifted apart, until one day she was outside, at the curb, looking for someone new to pick her up.
There were even a few one night stand tables. Impulse purchases I’m not proud of, paid for with my magic yellow credit card. The next day, with bloodshot eyes, I’d be back at the Returns desk, sheepishly waggling the receipt at the clerk, regret etch-a-sketched across my face.
“I thought it would be different,” I said to the clerk, avoiding eye contact.
“You men are all the same,” she replied. And yet, with a quick swipe, the mistake was erased. Every year, my pressboard skeletons growing more populous in the AS-IS area.
The clerk glanced at my receipt before handing it back. “Here you go Allen. Have a good day.”
***
Those first few years with FLÄRKE were incredible. She filled a space in my apartment – an otherwise dusty corner near the living room window. My place had been missing something. Something called FLÄRKE. She had an effervescent, quirky personality, like a cool glass of lingonberry soda. There was a GLIMMA in her melamine eyes. She was stacked – full of décor porn and books about buildings and food. We had a clear understanding and appreciation for what each of us brought to the relationship.
And then one bright spring day, I flicked the living room light and saw books scattered across the floor. FLÄRKE was face-down. She had toppled forward, despite the safety bracket that mounted her to the wall. The impact had dislocated the joint connecting her top right corner. She was scratched and bruised pretty bad. Already I could imagine what others might say if they saw her like this.
“I’ve come undone. But you can put me back together,” she seemed to say. “Make it like it was in the beginning.”
I recalled our first night together in the apartment. The initial flush of pleasure and satisfaction. The memory made me smile. But now, passed out on my ULDUM hand-tufted rug, like a common drunk, I wasn’t sure about FLÄRKE anymore. Years of sunlight had faded her birch foil finish.
She was looking old.
Tired.
Unmodern.
“I’m not sure I can put the pieces back together again,” I replied.
I swear I heard her sob.
I grabbed my BOOZY hip flask and took a swig of Svedka. The next few hours weren’t pretty.
Dissembling a long-term relationship never is.
***
Alone again. My apartment empty without FLÄRKE.
But this time, it’s gonna be different. I’m not going to drive to that big blue whorehouse, or call the 1-866 number or talk dirty with Anna, the personal online assistant. And as for that damn catalogue, it’s no longer hidden underneath my mattress. I finally found the strength to throw it away.
Tomorrow, when the hangover lifts, I’m going to EQ3.
------------------
* Served daily until 11am
Ouch.
Tear Jerker
The birch blonde’s name was FLÄRKE. A cute little number – 500.817.44 if I recall correctly. She was 171 centimeters tall, with a tidy 59 centimeter waist, yet she weighed only 19.5 kilograms.
She was a model – a floor model, that is. Covered in fingerprints. But that filthy FLÄRKE would wipe clean with a damp cloth and some non-abrasive cleaner, if you get my drift.
But I flirted with so many others in the showroom that I forgot all about her until I stumbled down a dimly lit alley – aisle 17, row 9 to be exact – and spotted her wrapped in cardboard. Kinky, this one was, waiting for a smooth looking guy with a flatbed cart and a credit card to roll past. Me, in other words.
Oh, she was cheap. Twenty-nine dollars cheap. And more importantly, she would fit into the backseat of my Yaris. So I took a chance on her.
Or was it that she took a chance on me?
***
That night I slowly removed layer after layer of cardboard and read the manual. There were dowels to be inserted, some screwing, and a variety of contortions and awkward positions required to nail her to my satisfaction.
The next morning we went for $1 breakfast.∗ She barely touched her scrambled eggs, home fries, sausage and miniature croissant. I found her reticence charming. A challenge. Some might have found her pretty plain, sure, but I thought she was plain pretty.
There had been others, of course. ANEBODA 1 and ANEBODA 2, a pair of bedside tables that made the nights less lonely. Those Swedish twins were incredible, but … well, ahem. Then there was a wild redhead named TYLÖSAND that my roommate eventually took off my hands.
And who could forget NIVA, with the dark brown highlights. Somehow we drifted apart, until one day she was outside, at the curb, looking for someone new to pick her up.
There were even a few one night stand tables. Impulse purchases I’m not proud of, paid for with my magic yellow credit card. The next day, with bloodshot eyes, I’d be back at the Returns desk, sheepishly waggling the receipt at the clerk, regret etch-a-sketched across my face.
“I thought it would be different,” I said to the clerk, avoiding eye contact.
“You men are all the same,” she replied. And yet, with a quick swipe, the mistake was erased. Every year, my pressboard skeletons growing more populous in the AS-IS area.
The clerk glanced at my receipt before handing it back. “Here you go Allen. Have a good day.”
***
Those first few years with FLÄRKE were incredible. She filled a space in my apartment – an otherwise dusty corner near the living room window. My place had been missing something. Something called FLÄRKE. She had an effervescent, quirky personality, like a cool glass of lingonberry soda. There was a GLIMMA in her melamine eyes. She was stacked – full of décor porn and books about buildings and food. We had a clear understanding and appreciation for what each of us brought to the relationship.
And then one bright spring day, I flicked the living room light and saw books scattered across the floor. FLÄRKE was face-down. She had toppled forward, despite the safety bracket that mounted her to the wall. The impact had dislocated the joint connecting her top right corner. She was scratched and bruised pretty bad. Already I could imagine what others might say if they saw her like this.
“I’ve come undone. But you can put me back together,” she seemed to say. “Make it like it was in the beginning.”
I recalled our first night together in the apartment. The initial flush of pleasure and satisfaction. The memory made me smile. But now, passed out on my ULDUM hand-tufted rug, like a common drunk, I wasn’t sure about FLÄRKE anymore. Years of sunlight had faded her birch foil finish.
She was looking old.
Tired.
Unmodern.
“I’m not sure I can put the pieces back together again,” I replied.
I swear I heard her sob.
I grabbed my BOOZY hip flask and took a swig of Svedka. The next few hours weren’t pretty.
Dissembling a long-term relationship never is.
***
Alone again. My apartment empty without FLÄRKE.
But this time, it’s gonna be different. I’m not going to drive to that big blue whorehouse, or call the 1-866 number or talk dirty with Anna, the personal online assistant. And as for that damn catalogue, it’s no longer hidden underneath my mattress. I finally found the strength to throw it away.
Tomorrow, when the hangover lifts, I’m going to EQ3.
------------------
* Served daily until 11am
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Halloween Costume Suggestion
Looking for a quick, memorable and very frightening Halloween costume? Dress as you normally do this October 31, but place a large white graph on your chest, with an big red arrow climbing upward. Along the X-axis, list a successive set of months, beginning with October 2006. On the Y-axis, indicate a series of percentage points, from 5 to 12.
When asked what you're dressed up as, you should reply "Rising interest rates."
This will send a chill up the spine of most Torontonians over the age of 28.
Muah ha ha ha ha.
When asked what you're dressed up as, you should reply "Rising interest rates."
This will send a chill up the spine of most Torontonians over the age of 28.
Muah ha ha ha ha.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Rare Music Plug
My friend and former bass player Brendan put me onto Soft Copy. I like them because they're exactly the kind of band I'd like to be in at this moment in my life. (If I had the time and the guitar talent.) They sound like the bands I loved in the 1990s and they sound like they're having a lot of fun.
Anyway, their entire album is available for free as a podcast, and it's very, very good.
Update: their album is now available as separate MP3s. I recommend On The Outside which begins with the simple but effective:
we're getting older / so let us win
we're on the outside, the outside / looking in
Or you can sample their songs at this newfangled thing called myspace.
Please have a release party gentlemen of Soft Copy! I will attend and buy your CD.
Anyway, their entire album is available for free as a podcast, and it's very, very good.
Update: their album is now available as separate MP3s. I recommend On The Outside which begins with the simple but effective:
we're getting older / so let us win
we're on the outside, the outside / looking in
Or you can sample their songs at this newfangled thing called myspace.
Please have a release party gentlemen of Soft Copy! I will attend and buy your CD.
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