And then I realized God was playing a joke...

Epiphanies Are Great

2006-08-17T07:56:00.000-04:00

While on the phone with Dell, after fixing the computer, I was writing down the case number of the call when suddenly I realized: why the HELL do I have a Winnie the Pooh notebook?

How do you say poseur in French?

2006-08-15T10:41:00.000-04:00

This past weekend I experienced Montreal for the first time and it was definitely a wonderful experience. There were, however, some things that I wish I could have changed. For example, when I went to the McDonald's in Dorion (a small suburb of Montreal) and went to order food. Here is the conversation I had with the worker there.

Me: Bonjour, Trios sept et huit, s'il vous plait.
Stupid McDonald's Worker: What?
Me: Sept et huit. (While pointing finger at the sign for combos)
SMW: What?
Me: Give me a combo seven and eight, please.

Now, by no means do I know French fluently but I think asking for combo seven and eight in French is pretty elementary. So after that, my confidence in my French was (wrongfully) shaken. Once we arrived in the small village where Ken's friend lives, my faith in my English wasn't very strong either. Here's a conversation I had with the worker at the local bakery.

Me: Hi, I'll have one cheese croissant and one chocolate.
Stupid Bakery Worker: Okay
Me: Oh, and can I have an orange juice too, please.
SBW: (Gives me a blank stare and says nothing)
Me: Orange...Juice?
SBW: (Continues to stare)
Me: Jus d'orange?

She still said nothing but she got me my orange juice. So, sure lots of things happened while I was in Quebec this past weekend but I seemed to learn that either I have no grasp on either of Canada's languages or they need to change the drinking water and/or mating habits in the countryside around Montreal.

Now that I've made my horrible ethnocentric comment, I'll continue on with the day. While Ken and co. went to the Warped Tour, Har and I went exploring through Montreal. We skipped Rue St. Catherine and its....er, shopping experience mostly because the majority of the shops were stores such as Thyme Maternity. I've never understood that about most people: they go on vacation somewhere else and then shop in stores that they have at home or they shop at places that basically carry the same things that are at home.

Anyway, I'm not about to list our itinerary for the whole day but I will just say that Har and I drank wine at 11:00 in the morning, ate poutine, bagels and fondue while there and also had the most beautiful waiter at the fondue restaurant. Unfortunately, we did not see Celine Dion but there were posters for Garou's new album everywhere we went. And by everywhere, I mean everywhere. I even saw one in a washroom I used.

Oh, and I got a shirt that says "Tabarnak!" It was the one time I allowed myself to be a horrible English person who buys a shirt that phonetically spells out a foreign swear word. And you all thought I wasn't white trash.

Musaq of my Heart

2006-07-12T18:09:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm stumped for what to write today but I want to write SOMETHING. So here goes Volume Two of my revealing, tell-all music preferences. MSN Messenger has decided to install a feature in the music player that lets everyone on your MSN list know to which music you're currently listening. I used the feature for awhile mostly because my friends and I would laugh at the horrible music I had but I noticed that some people who use the feature seem to only listen to music that is either ridiculously snobby or, at the very least, bordering the label of "music snob." Of course, then I have friends who willingly announce to the whole world when they're listening to Paris Hilton's new single and, somehow, the world seems alright again. Anyway, here we go:

1) Goodbye To You - Michelle Branch. No, I'm not a teenager. And I'm not angst-ridden. And I certainly don't write high school poetry. Yet, despite all this, here is Michelle Branch on my playlist singing about losing love at the tender age of 19. I particularly enjoy how "the last three years have been pretend" for her. From 16-19, I was at the mall and playing video games, not mourning the loss of the love of my life. Oh well, now Michelle is married to some 40 year old and is half of a country music duo. Sounds like she should be mourning now.

2) Since U Been Gone - Kelly Clarkson. Other than the horrible spelling, I love this song. Anyone who can't find some small amount of love for Kelly Clarkson is a monster in my books. A cold, unfeeling monster.

3) Kajre Re (Special Mix) - Bunty Aur Babli Soundtrack. Thanks to Hardika (well, and admittingly, Hanif Kureishi and Meera Syal as well) I have a new love for Bollywood. This particular song is from one Bollywood movie that is guilty of every stereotype (consciously, of course). This "Special Mix" is a sped-up version of the song in the movie and the video is exactly the same except it throws in clips of Aishwarya Rai's bare stomach dancing. Which reminds me of the Indian wedding I went to a few weeks ago. Two girls did a dance routine to some song (much to the chagrin of everyone on the bride's side) and, since I was so bored, I looked around and noticed that all of the "uncles" were watching rather intently. Proof that racism is unfounded: old men are perverts in every culture.

4) White Houses - Vanessa Carlton. As if Michelle Branch wasn't bad enough, I also have her evil twin, Vanessa Carlton. I just wish I knew what the hell Vanessa was singing about in this song. I think it's about her losing her virginity but she talks about living with five people at some point too. I hope that doesn't mean it happened in an orgy or something.

5) The Adventure - Angels & Airwaves. Wow. I'm almost cool. Well, I would be if I were 15 years old and had a lip piercing and jet black hair. Hey, isn't that how Jared Leto looks now? Ew, I just mentioned Jared Leto in my blog. I need to take a shower.

What I did while I didn't write in my blog

2006-05-19T11:16:00.000-04:00

Nothing.

It's good to be back.

2006-03-12T21:46:00.000-05:00

I'm at Ken's right now, have been for the last week
I'm really hating my blog right now, the idea of writing in it makes me sick to my stomach
The woman at Tim Horton's today was rude but not to me directly but rude to everyone in general. It made me wonder what makes a person like that.
I'm listening to Ben Folds right now. It's incredibly depressing.
Ken cut my hair today and his brother put highlights in it. This is incredibly boring but I just felt like sharing. Somehow, I look years younger.
Caroline and I did a Lord of the Rings movie marathon yesterday. Whenever things got boring, we laughed about the porno version we made up in our heads: Bilbo's Dildo.
Thanks to Rob, I now see that Sugababes really is underrated.
I finally got a perfect game in Final Fantasy X-2. If you are a video game geek, you understand the immense joy I am now experiencing.
I should really volunteer somewhere. I need some sort of reminder that we're all the same. Ugh, that last line was so melodramatic.
Sometimes people should just shut up.

Womanly Troubles

2006-03-02T13:39:00.000-05:00

A couple of days ago my cousin, Ashley, came over and took my mom to her OB GYN appointment. I went with them and we dropped my mom off and went to do some errands and shopping.

We became extremely concerned when, 2 hours later, my mother still hadn't called Ashley's cell phone for her pick-up so we headed down to the medical centre she was at to make sure everything was okay. When we got there, I realized that I had forgotten the name of my mom's doctor so I was searching this huge list of names to see if any rang a bell. None of them did. But one doctor's name had "gynacologist" behind it so I figured that we would check that out. I found the office door for the doctor and tried to open it but it was locked.

I started to panic inside my head. Was my mom lying about the appointment? Or what if something happened to her? Any worries were washed away though when my cousin caught up to me, opened the mail slot to the office, stuck her nose in and started yelling, "Aunt Cheryl, are you in there?" I knocked on the door and a doctor came and told us that she actually didn't have any appointments that day.

Turns out I chose the wrong doctor. While Ashley and I were in the west wing searching for my mother through mail slots, my mom was on the third floor with Dr. Chan. I'm sure that neither of us had a good time.

Sorry, Suckers

2006-02-14T11:42:00.000-05:00

I'm so tired of reading blogs that complain about people who are coupled on Valentine's Day. So I wanted to take this opportunity just to point out that I am in a relationship. For those of you who aren't and instead must write bitter journal entries on the web; sucks to be you. Well, I'm off to listen to some Celine songs while I prepare my present for my hunny-bunny. Happy Valentine's Day, losers.

2006-02-11T09:35:00.000-05:00

I had only met her once and, even then, I spent more time with the adults than I did speaking with her. She had already been through a bout of treatments and the disease was in remission. From what I recall, everyone was relieved and happy. I overheard the father talking to Ken's mom, preparing a slideshow night in celebration of the tremendous feat his daughter had accomplished.

I had only met her once yet, when I walked into the room, her pictures everywhere, pained faces in every corner, and a slideshow playing in the back corner, that one memory was brought back and I felt, for a brief moment, that I somehow knew her better. Rather, I knew what kind of person she was from the reactions of everyone around me and it dawned upon me just what the world has really lost.

I spoke to the family briefly but found myself floundering for conversation with the brother. We shifted away from each other uncomfortably. I turned to the slideshow, and saw a picture of a little girl wearing a life jacket far too big for her body. I chuckled a bit, then realized that I was crying. I didn't want to be there any longer; the coffin was too small, the pain of everyone too real. Death thwarts us all; we can only meet it with silence and the foolish hope that flowers, or sympathic glances, will somehow fill the void that death creates.

A Gay Ole Time

2006-02-06T20:51:00.000-05:00

I remember the one and only episode of Queer As Folk that I saw; one of my best friends' brothers snagged a job as a script editor for the show and so we decided to watch in order to support him. Of course, I had heard mention of the show prior to watching but assumed that it would be fairly tame considering my friend's family is fairly Catholic. On went the TV, and soon after the screaming followed. I was certainly shocked but Sarah (script editor's sister) was unable to contain her surprise.

"Joey, oh my God, what are you doing," she yelled to the heavens as the scene of club bondage started and whips, blowjobs and asses abounded. Ten minutes later, we tried to continue watching the show and saw two minutes of porno-quality acting, a commercial, and more of the bondage club scene. So, we laughed while contorting our faces, went into the kitchen, grabbed some potato chips and returned for the credits in order to see her brother's name - while hoping that were were no pictures in the credits, of course. Sure, some will call us prudish but it was just weird to think of someone's brother (or, in Sarah's case, her own brother) reading over "Gay Boy #1 will then stick his penis in Gay Boy #2" and checking it off as A-Ok.

Medusa Triumphant: A Study of Ashlee Simpson's Autobiography

2006-02-01T14:19:00.000-05:00

When Helen Cixious wrote "Laugh of the Medusa," I'm quite certain she didn't anticipate followers such as Ashlee Simpson but on October 24, 2004, Simpson proved to the world that she had indeed kept up with her readings of feminist theorists. On that fateful Saturday Night Live episode, the MTV darling was stumped when her voice was heard throughout the studio but *gasp* she herself was not singing.

Of course, as soon as the incident occurred theories were being thrown around concerning Simpson. Could she sing? Does she really have acid reflux? I would like to propose that all of these theories introduced so far are actually false and instead suggest that Ashlee Simpson herself, as well as her albums, are her own reworking of Cixious' suggestion that women must reclaim the female body by using that which has been used against them for so long.

Many believed that the SNL incident was proof that Simpson could not sing but this is largely incorrect. In a desire to awaken the Western psyche to Cixious' writing, Simpson began a recording career using digitalized systems, air brushing techniques and a ironic MTV slot to create the embodiment of a 21st century female pop star. Ashlee Simpson's view of female pop stars was so dire, so disgusting in her eyes, that she clearly decided to create the shell of a MTV woman and release it to the world.

The SNL spoof was not so nearly isolated as many believe though. Simpson had been preparing the public for it in the lyrics to her songs on Autobiography. The ironic album title implies that she will reveal herself in depth through the songs but actually never scratches below, "Got stains on my t-shirt and I'm the biggest flirt," on the title track. By lacking any kind of real depth, the album title points to the pop industry's tendency to produce seemingly genuine artists when, in actuality, it's about as fulfilling as a Stephen King novel.

Further investigation of Autobiography allows the listener to experience Simpson at her best. The chorus of "La La," one of her largest MTV hits, reveals a woman angered with the sexual stereotypes to which she is asked to conform:

You make me wanna la la, in the kitchen on the floor
I'll be a French maid where I'll meet you at the door,
I'm like an alleycat, drink the milk up, I want more,
You make me wanna, you make me wanna scream.

By suggesting that she be a french maid, or an alleycat to her (presumably) male lover, Simpson is taking control of these sexual expectations, no longer allowing men to determine who (or what) the woman should be but instead deciding for herself. Not only does this song have a substantial message but its combined with a killer melody in order to lure in all women, in hopes of teaching them who they can be.

"La La," may be Simpson's time to have fun and let loose with her 1970's feminist credo but she gets serious on the bonus tracks of Autobiography. "I threw away the phone, I thought that you should know," she practically whispers in "Sorry," letting the men in her life know that she won't be a slave to stereotypes of women any longer. Women talk on the phone all day? Not Ashlee Simpson. Simpson goes on to admit she would "throw away [her] home if she had somewhere to go," expressing her immense despair and sense of imprisonment within domesticity.

She seems to plead with the men in her life, asking "Why should I be sorry...all my life I've been sorry for something, sorry gets you nothing and nothing's such a waste. All this time I've been saying I'm sorry but why should I be sorry for all your mistakes." Simpson does not see men as fellow victims of patriarchy but rather, wishes to emerge as a new Lady Lazarus, hungry for the heads of men everywhere.

Her lack of sympathy sees the tables turn near the end of the album. Though she laments her place in life in "Sorry," she points out that it's now the man's turn to suffer, the man's turn to

know what it feels like to bite your tongue.
Now you'll know what it feels like to be the one
who walks around with knots in your stomach
I've been there, and I've done it
And now you'll know what it feels like
To always be afraid
of everything you wanted to say
Who's sorry now
Who's sorry now
Who's sorry now.

Simpson clearly wants men to experience the pain she as a woman has endured and only then can there be sexual equality for her. No longer will she adhere to others' expectations and rules and, despite her ode to her sister Jessica, "Shadow," she'll no longer live in the shadow of anyone's dreams, MTV and SNL be damned.

I'm An Ass Man Myself

2006-01-20T14:29:00.000-05:00

A disclaimer should really follow the beginning of this blog. Firstly, I don't like Friends nor do I find the show's (and every other sitcom's) tendency to use sexual jokes which imply big breasts or penises are necessary. It doesn't matter what size gift God gave you, just be happy that you got a present at all. The fact remains, however, that big breasts exist. And that, my friends, is where our tale begins today.

I recently ventured onto Queen Street in Toronto with Marina and, for the most part, it was a very typical day. We ate lunch at this (fairly) new restaurant, East, and we were laughing the entire time. I have this strange tendency to run into at least one person I know no matter where it is that I travel so, even though we were in Canada's largest city, I was ready to run into someone. Halfway through our meal, I noticed a girl at the table behind Marina who looked strangely familiar so I looked at her, trying to remember if perhaps I went to school with her, or maybe worked with her at a summer job but nothing rang a bell inside my head. Finally, after 5 minutes of staring, Marina turns around to see who is taking my attention away from her.

"Adam, stop staring."

"I'm sorry, I think I know that girl."

"Yeah. She's a Muchmusic VJ."

I was torn between wanting to laugh hysterically and needing to puke immediately. I'm sure she noticed me looking at her and I'm sure she thought I was one of those MTV-wannabes who just couldn't wait to meet a super cool VJ. I suck.

Marina quickly changed the subject (which is unlike her- usually she would make fun of my stupidity for as long as possible) and lunch was uneventful, fairly unbloggable even, until the girl beside us loudly proclaimed, "Maybe I'm pregnant." Wow, I was I was so slutty that I could add that into one of my frequent reasons for why I've gained weight. Go buy a pregnancy test, mom, I just gained 5 pounds.

After lunch, we did the most typical thing a gay man and his girlfriend can do in any downtown metropolis. We shopped. And shopped. And shopped. And didn't buy anything really. But we shopped.

Well, maybe it wasn't that typical since we were really only on the hunt for t-shirts. I found two and Marina found one for her sister but, sadly, none for herself. That's probably because, unlike the rest of us, Marina has to fit three people into her shirts; herself, and her two breasts. Yes, you were wondering when the breast-talk was coming back, I know. Well, here it is.

Sometimes I forgot about Marina's blessing from above, so when she asked me to come into the change room in order to see what the top looked like, I was nearly blown back. Literally. (Marina is going to kill me, but this story must be told.)

My favourite moment though was when she tried on a Care Bears t-shirt which read "All About The Love." Once on Marina, however, it read "All About The LOVE." Yes, I never thought it could happen but I watched someone's breasts change the writing on a shirt from small caps to capital letters.

I demanded that she remove that shirt immediately as well and both of us agreed that, unless she were entering a mud wrestling competition, she should never wear a t-shirt like that. As we were leaving, the salesman at the store had a completely different opinion.

"Are you getting the Care Bear t-shirt?"

"No, it's a bit small."

"Oh, I thought it was flattering on you."

Ew. But I guess it goes to show that there will always be a Marina-shaped hole in the staff at Hooters.

Better than Musaq!

2006-01-09T12:07:00.000-05:00

Remember when everyone was adding moods and current songs playing to the end of their blogs? I imagine that it must have been a really cool idea when the first person did it but now it partly seems like a ploy for people to prove just how punk/hardcore/deep/non-mainstream they are. So I decided that, for my blog, I'm going to periodically list 5 songs I actually have on my computer. These will be songs that I should be ashamed of having but, quite frankly, I'm not. Judge all you want but keep this in mind: the more you make fun of me, the more we'll all know that you have the same songs on your computer. Sucka.

Okay, so let me just press shuffle on my media player and let's see what comes up.

Song #1: Maybe - Emma Bunton. Ah, yes. How convenient. A Spice Girl song could have come up but what's even better is the song of a former Spice Girl. You can almost hear the desperation in her voice, the need for another hit. And yet it's this perfect slice of neo-sixties pop. Support your local Spice Girl.

Song #2: I Won't Walk Away - Jewel. Before the sluttiness, before the bling, before she started following her heart, her intuition, Jewel was the posterchild for pretentious social-conscious music that really just wasn't that deep. This song, for example, is a love song but she manages to judge others who go clubbing, claiming that these couples are "resisting being one." Yes, I listen to Jewel to remind me of the many things that make me better than the rest of the world. Now, if she's done being all 0304, maybe we can get back to our judgmental bliss.

Song #3: Lovely Ladies - Les Miserables. I'm a gay man who listens to musicals. Quick, someone call Ripley's; they're never going to believe this.

Song #4: These R The Thoughts - Alanis Morissette. Alanis was bound to show up, considering that I have about 150 of her songs. Yes, I'm probably obsessed and she should probably file the restraining order before anything happens but I just love that Alanis accomplishes what Jewel can't without sounding precious.

Song #5: Buenos Aires - Evita. It's the Madonna version, yes. Honestly, I had no idea that this little experiment would prove just how homosexual I am. Not only is it a musical, but it's a musical with Madonna. That makes it way gay, as some would say. Maybe I should just end it all now while listening to a Cher song or something.

And now a Coldplay song comes on. Damn, there goes my chance to appear cool.

Confessions, Part Two

2006-01-05T10:20:00.000-05:00

The last time I made a confession on a blog, it was admitting that, yes, I am a gay man who loves country music. Moreover, I often listen to irritatingly encryptic and poignant lyrics so it was shocking to some that I enjoy the rootin', tootin' cowbells of the 'Homeland.'

So, my friends, I may be skinnier, whiter and more Thorold than Motown-wannabe but I'm following in the shoes of Usher and providing some more confessions. I promise mine aren't about sleeping with women (that would be both disturbing for me and for all of my closest girlfriends' boyfriends.)

No, no. Today I admit my deep love for video games. That's right, you don't have to be Asian or some white, overweight twenty-four-year-old virgin to be a lover of video games. Here I am, proof against the stereotype. I'll scream it to the wind, I'll go tell it on the mountain. Well, actually, I'd love to do all that but my new Playstation 2 is too demanding of my time. Anyway, while on a break from my video games (only to ensure I don't get bedsores) I thought I would just make some observations about the video games.

First of all is that the stereotypes are pretty much true. I am a gay rose among Asian and geeky white thorns. I went to Electronic Boutique the other day and saw a meeting of the stereotypes. An Asian came walking in and starting talking to the white worker.

"Any SOD (or something with three initials) in yet," the Asian asked.

"We sold out. But I got mine last week," the worker replied.

"Yeah, me too. Those poor suckers looking for it now." Both of them then laughed in this irritating geek laugh, then snorted, then continued laughing. I was so appalled I was almost ready to give up video games just so I could avoid scenes like that. Almost. Instead, I'll keep playing, and praying that more people like me fall in love with video games. Really, this is the world I dream of; in one hand, The Tempest, and in the other hand, the controller that allows me to play Final Fantasy XII. And what a beautiful dream it is.

Christmas is over: let the killing begin!

2005-12-29T19:31:00.000-05:00

I've been sitting here for almost 10 minutes, trying to determine what cliche would best serve my post-Christmas post. "Christmas is over! Yay" just seems far too Scrooge or annoying. "Another year, another Christmas" is too stereotypically jaded in a Simple Plan kind-of-way. Hmm...I guess I'll have to settle for this.

Well, Christmas has come and gone once again. My goodness, time flies.

I hope that makes you sick enough. I just finished working at a kiosk in a mall by my house and I don't really have much to say about the seasonal job. I just want to ask one question about Christmas. When will parents learn that children are actually terrified of Santa Claus? Whenever I passed by Santa's Workshop (though, if you ask me, it was a little too happy and seriously lacking in slave labour to be the real one) you could almost predict the way children would react to the old Fat Man.

At the back of the line, children were excited, telling their parents what they're going to talk about with Santa. Trouble started once you reached the sign which read "10 minutes to Santa" though. I think that was the point where the kids started to get glimpses of him. They'd suggest that maybe they really didn't want to see Santa, but the parents would reassure them and remind them of the things they wanted to ask Santa about. Once you moved up to the entrance to Santa's castle, it seemed almost as if you told every bloody kid in town that Dora the Explorer had been cancelled and that she contracted an STD. Screams erupted, children scratched and clawed, and parents' faces turned bright red as they forced their offspring onto the jolly philanthropist lap. Santa, being the sadistic bastard he is, just laughed his way through it all while the children begged God for sweet, sweet forgiveness. At the exit, children ran as fast as they could from Santa's Land, curled into the fetal position and were carried off by their parents.

Kids like getting presents from Santa but they don't like the guy himself. So I say, screw the kids! Let's transform Santa into a beer-loving, chicken-eating man for the masses. And that's all for today.

Come on yaar! Let's totally balle balle!

2005-12-22T21:54:00.000-05:00

Awhile back I went to Har's and we watched a bunch of Indian movies. Well, mostly clips of Indian movies but we did watch all of "Bunty Aur Babli." How I lived my life without this movie before I saw it, I really have no idea. It was the perfect blend of cheese and song (keep in mind that I have willingly watched Beauty and the Beast about 30 times. Yes, I suck) and it also left me with that warm tingly feeling that I thought only Disney, or "Touched By An Angel," would ever be capable of creating. I also had Indian food for the first time in my entire life (I know! What took me so long?) and found out that, while nearly all racial stereotypes are untrue, the myth of Delhi Belly and the ring of fire does indeed exist for the white man on his first venture into Indian cuisine.

But before the indigestion (which, by the way, has not deterred me from wanting more Indian food. I'll get used to it, I promise) came the movies, and Har's mom was more than willing to help explain the Indian culture to me.

"Most Indians don't celebrate Christmas. Did you know that," she calmly explained to me. I smiled and pretended to be enlightened while Har scoffed, "Mom! Of course he knows that!" It made me wonder what kind of idiot white people Har's mom has had to deal with before. Of course, maybe she thought I was an idiot white person because she must have thought that all the Hindi talking going on was distracting me from reading the English subtitles.

"Har, tell him what's going on! This is so hard to follow." Personally, I think I had a better hold on the plot than Har and her mom. There was singing and dancing and B-level acting, of course I did.

The Indian entertainment industry seemed so fun and fruitful and, while certainly cheese-ridden (but so is Hollywood: The Day After Tomorrow, anyone?) appeared to offer many interesting things. A few days later, when introduced to a Bollywood gossip page, I realized that it had far more to offer than I could ever have imagined.

Screw Paris Hilton and Angelina Jolie. Those bitches have nothing on what I like to call The Feud of the Beauty Queens. Thanks to L'Oreal, I'm sure many of you already know of Miss World 1994 Aishwarya Rai. What you didn't know is that she is having the world's biggest cat fight with Miss Universe 1994, Sushmita Sen! What makes it juicier is that Aishwarya, the so-called Indian jewel of the world movie scene, was dating this ridiculously abusive actor who was also some sort of raging alcoholic at some point and who takes his shirt off at every opportune moment. I always want to say that she's dating a married man now but that isn't true and filthy, gossip rumours like that shouldn't be spread. Anyway, my message to Aishwarya: You go, girl!

As for Sushmita, well apparently she's a gambler, and I don't mean in the Kenny Rogers sense. A director told everyone that she would stay up all night during filming, playing the slots and only sleep for 2 hours before filming the next day. Oh, then there is her pathetic dislike of alcohol. "I don't touch alcohol. I only drink a Coca Cola or a Thums Up: even if I take one drop of wine I'll drop down." We sorta believed you about the Coke and Thums Up, Sush, but adding the point about dropping down is a bit much. And if that is the truth, then there must be some other horrible secret about you. Like, maybe you eat babies or something. Speaking of babies, what I do love about Sushmita is that she is a single mom in India and that really breaks down some needed boundaries for women. My message to Sushmita: You go, girl! Hey, at least Sush isn't making out with her brother at awards ceremonies.

And, granted that most Bollywood stars can't act for anything onscreen, the denial they commit in interviews should earn them an Oscar.

Take Manisha Koirala, for instance. She's doing this interview and talking about how there is a double standard in Indian society since woman, on screen, are scantily clad and objects of desire but in real life are required to remain a model of virginity. "I refuse to lead a double life. I am what I am on the surface. Yes I party a lot, I have my friends, but that doesn't make me a coke addict." Um, where did the talk about coke come from? Guilty conscious, Manisha? Or maybe you're just pinning for the coveted 20th century Bollywood equivalent of Lady Macbeth with your protesting.

The best part, for me anyway, is that Bollywood is like this film industry equivalent to the inbreeding of French royalty in the 16th and 17th centuries. You can't make it in Bollywood unless your parent is some famous actor or director already, so you're better off to increase your star power by sleeping with your famous cousin as well. But, I promise I'm not judging, they can fornicate and snort away. I should be careful in my love of this gossip though; I really don't feel like becoming the gay counterpart to slightly overweight, middle-aged aunties who sit around and gossip about celebrities as well as the new Indians who own the shop down the street. Har, you've created a monster...

Western, Western, Western U

2005-12-20T20:16:00.000-05:00

I was sent an email yesterday about the Western U stripper, which I'm sure everyone else has heard of by now. But in case you haven't, I'll fill you in quickly and move on to more interesting things, read: my comments about the story. A bunch of first-year, University of Western Ontario male students, living in Saugeen-Maitland Residence, decided that, since they're not old enough to drink, use their brains or have a proper erection just yet, that they would get themselves a stripper in one of their rez rooms. Luckily, a girl two floors down from these boys saved them a long search in the London Yellowpages by offering her services as a stripper and, being first years, they took pictures of the event and now they're all over the internet.

I pondered for quite some time, wondering if I should post this blog, and just add to the websearches that are being done for this girl's pictures but decided that the underlying issues are more important, and I'm not posting a link to anything involving the event. I recommend against searching for the pictures, though I suspect that many of my male Western friends already have the girl as their screensaver.

This does reveal a dark, misogynist side of university that truly exists, though. I hope this girl gets a break, but I would also hope (but absolutely know that it will not) bring to light many of the problems with Canadian universities. Since I can't speak for any school other than Western, I can only assume that some of what happens there happens everywhere. On the surface, there appears to be this acceptance of sexual equality and freedom of sexual orientation, for example, but there are small things- someone yelling "faggot" anonymously on campus, an ass getting grabbed at the bar- which really aren't that small and which ultimately feed into this persistent white, masculine, heterosexual culture. It's to be expected, however, when even the once-credible daily newspaper of Western espouses loose morals and even looser sexuality for the college masses and when one of the school's largest fundraisers of the year is a half-nude calendar featuring Western undergrads.

I joke around the impromptu stripshow but I think it has uncovered a part of university culture that must be changed. The frats, the sex-ridden newspapers, the promiscuous bars; all of these things undermine a university's goal to provide equality through the opportunity of education. And I'm pretty sure that Stripping 101 isn't included in that whole equality movement.

Oh, and this whole event does not give everyone permission to shit all over my alma mater

Xmas to the extreme

2005-12-15T22:16:00.000-05:00

Being a video game geek, I've quickly noticed many differences in the Japanese and North American cultures. Particularly when it comes to how companies flag something as cool. In North America, they love to use "Xtreme" or "To The Max" or "Hardcore." All these things seem to entice men and lesbians of our great continent to buy products and partake in any bloody BMX sport.

Japan, however, is a completely different story. They add in some cutesy little kitten character and add "Fun Wow" or "Yay Time" to the end of something and every citizen under the age of 20 on that island is trying to get his hands on it like it's the 2005 reincarnation of Tickle-Me Elmo. Ahh, God bless the Japanese; if it weren't for them I would feel completely and utterly isolated in my love for cheesy things.

But back to North America's vision of "cool." While on the bus a few days ago, I passed the United church in town and saw that the church now had an billboard out on their front lawn. I squinted and read "Christmas: The Season of Adventure." Suddenly, hope sprang up from within me. Could it be that Christmas, and indirectly, Christianity, was about to become the spiritual equivalent of snowboarding and dirt-bike riding? Was Xmas just the beginning of North America's attempt to turn the holiday season into one major visit to the emergency room? Was church going to start kicking some serious ass?

Just when I started to have visions of my local preacher smoking marijuana and telling me to "Just do it," I got closer to the sign and realized that it just said "The Season of Advent." All my hopes were dashed. There would be no Mary and Joseph on snowmobiles, no bungee-jumping Jesus, no Three Wise men watching the OC. Christmas was going to stay the same: baby in a manger, immaculate conception, greatest miracle of all time, yada yada yada. So, for North America, nothing about the season has changed. But I've been thinking that if we gave Jesus a cute little kitty and wrote a snappy theme song with synthesizers in the background that the Japanese would want to be Christians too.

I'm, like, totally going goth

2005-12-13T00:41:00.000-05:00

So I heard that black is the new pink, or something like that and since I want to emulate Paris, Nicki, Lindsay and Ashlee, I am so going pseudo-goth with my blog. Well, not really, this is actually a work-in-progress and I figured that if I used boring black now it would wow you all even more once I unveil my new, better, smarter, sexier and tastier blog design.

Yeah, MSN Spaces sucks. So I'm back here at blogger.com. I know, I'm that pathetic loser, crawling back to the website that I once abandoned. Enough with the gloating already, I admit I was wrong.

To important issues. I smelled Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker the other day and it was...okay. Nothing spectacular, really. Not anything you'd expect the quintessential Manhattan woman to wear. Oprah loves it though so it's selling out everywhere. Of course, Oprah could endorse baby eating and it would be more popular than Atkins.

This rant had to happen eventually

2005-10-16T00:37:00.000-04:00

I've recently been reading through some seasoned bloggers' entries and I realized that every pseudo-hipster needs to have one blog in which they complain about what other people write in their blogs even though they themselves are victim to the tendencies they complain about the most. So, I figured that, in my hopes of revitalizing this blog, that I should make a list of things that I hate to see in blogs with an asterik attached, acknowledging that I realize I probably do these things too. So here it is. I know you've all been waiting for it and it has finally arrived. This is the ULTIMATE BITCH BLOG ENTRY. Oh, and I’m doing it in a Top Ten List. So here goes....

10. The Daily Planner. Honestly, if the most exciting thing going on in your life is your schedule, do us, and yourself, a favour and just take a gun and shoot yourself now. That way we don’t have to read about your daily schedules, or how you had lunch with Sandy on Wednesday at 12:45. Shooting yourself will either relieve us all of your boring literature or, should you survive, spice up the content of your blog. "10:45: Shot myself in attempted suicide" sure gets me excited.

9. The Hypochondriac. We all get colds. We all get the Flu. Hell, some of us (excluding yours truly, of course) even get STDs. If you’re going to keep a blog about some horrible disease you have in order to provide people with insight and knowledge about the disease, that is admirable and, yes, I probably will read it. But if you’re a 20-something year old, who goes on about bloody noses, sore feet and headaches, please publish your address in your blog. That way, the odds of someone coming to your house and giving you a reason to whine about your physical ailments greatly increases.

8. The LOLer. LOL is not a word. And don’t use it after every bloody joke you make. That’s just irritating. Oh, and LOL is not a comment that should be left on someone else’s blog either. *Shudders* So LOL doesn’t invoke hatred in me but LOLers are the flies of the internet that you can’t seem to get with the flyswatter.

7. The Pseudo-Hipster. Having a blog does not make you cool. Having blog friends does not make you cool. Making fun of people who have crappy blogs does not make you cool. If you have a blog, you are a computer GEEK. And yes, that includes me.

6. The "Special" Blogger. "Look at me, I have a blog! And look at all this fun, unique stuff that happens to me and how my unique personality deals with it. I am so cool and different! Love me! Give me attention! I’m special!" I don’t need to say anything else.

5. The Porno Blogger. I don’t need to know just how big of a slut you really are. And why is it that every slutty girl blogger must leave comments on any gay man’s blog she comes across? I don’t want to see your boobs or your cha-cha, so please, keep your comments to yourself.

4. The TSN Blogger. There are channels upon channels devoted to sports. And sadly, even more devoted to sports commentary. A Blog all about the Toronto Maple Leafs is cool if you’re hired by the Maple Leafs to do it. Anyone else, it’s just sad.

3. The Alliterate. if U spEl lIke ThIs beCuz u thnk its cOOl, we are going to have a problem getting along.

2. The Top Tenner. Everything has to be a list which drags out something that really could have been said in 10 very short sentences.

1. The Complainer. You’re always complaining about other people’s blogs. You have this misconception that people actually give a fuck about what you think so that if you write about horrible service you got at a restaurant, people will never go again. You love to write stories about telling a waitress off because she wasn’t your slave. Forgive her for not being completely empathetic in her $6/hour job and shut up. LOL!

October 16/05

My hearing's Lost

2005-10-06T00:36:00.000-04:00

So I've recently come to terms with the fact that Ken and Caroline's horrible hearing has caught on. I've been watching the DVD First Season of Lost with my mom and I keep hearing the strangest things while watching. Including:

"Shannon speaks Fart" (French, not Fart...though I think Caroline speaks Fart)
"Does he have a gum?" (Here, the person was saying 'gun' but I thought maybe it was American slang for a stick of gum because, after being on an island for so long, maybe the people get bad breath)

During the show there is lots of whispering that goes on while someone is in the jungle and I swear I keep hearing them say Ashlee Simpson. Haha! Imagine if you got stranded on a mysterious island and, everytime you went into the jungle, the trees whispered Ashlee Simpson. I'd be terrified! What comes next? Finding a mysterious ghetto blaster in the jungle that can only play "You make me wanna la la..." The mere thought of that makes me shudder...

I'm a Fanta Fanatic

2005-08-15T00:34:00.000-04:00

So I recently got all these new winks for my MSN and one of them was of this mysterious Pineapple/Grape/Strawberry figure dancing around singing "Ba ba booda bump bump...don't you wanna?" while attached to a bottle of soda with the name "Fanta."

Initially, I was a little curious. What is this Fanta? Why have I never seen it?

A conversation with Hardika changed that all. I played the wink for her and asked her if she knew what Fanta was, and if it was good.

Her response: "It's ten times better than anything you've ever tasted."

Curiousity become obsession and now, all I can think about is Fanta. I wake up in the morning and think, "I could really go for a Fanta." While sitting on the deck, reading a book in the hot summer weather I sigh, "Fanta would cool me down right now."

But fortune has smiled upon me because I have a friend who is in Europe right now, where they sell Fanta. And I think she'll be bringing me some Fanta. But, to convince her of this dire need, I need your help, dear readers. Please, join the GAF campaign (Give Adam Fanta!) Leave your comments of support and maybe, just maybe this angelic friend of mine will answer my precious soda pop prayer.

Reasons Why Marina Should Come Home

2005-07-08T00:23:00.000-04:00

I felt that it was only fair that I write a top ten list concerning Marina since she has featured me in such a format on her blog so many times already. Okay, twice but still, that's enough in my books. Marina's spending the summer in Croatia right now which means I have to live without her constant reminders that I'm just a loser and, quite frankly, I miss it. So here is a list of reasons why Marina should come home ASAP:

10. There's no one to talk with on MSN right now because you're busy being all vacation-y and everyone else has a a life. Ahh, those Canadian days when you and I both had nothing to do and just bickered back and forth on MSN. Don't you miss those?

9. Your car has fast and efficient air-conditioning. I'm sweating in everyone else's vehicle right now and need to be reminded of the cool interior of your Lexus now!

8. Something tells me that you aren't getting your necessary amount of impromptu karaoke over there in Croatia. Follow my Siren voice back to the shore of Canada...R-E-S-P-E-C-T, take care, T-C-T, WOAH....yes, that's right, cross the Atlantic...

7. Supposedly you have a 'new favourite.' You know who I'm talking about and let me just say that you need clearly need some time with Adam to remember that you love no one as much as you love me. In simpler terms, I'm a jealous baby.

6. As much as I love Saved By The Bell, I don't think it's healthy that it's practically the only show on Croatian television. Canada is the land of slutty dramas, slutty comedies and slutty documentaries (If I have to watch one more mating scene between elephants...)

5. We may have gone shopping before you left for Croatia but we didn't find any pants that fit both of us magically. How the hell can we maintain a Sisterhood of Traveling Pants without the pants?

4. Trying to steal your friends away from you isn't as fun when I can't see the pain on your face while it is happening, or immediately after it has happened.

3. Everyone else has become desensitized to me. Seriously, no one even blinks an eye at the things I do. I tell a dirty joke in public, they giggle a little. I dance like a crazy man, they keep talking about the weather. I defecate on a restaurant table and they continue eating their meals. Come back and set some social boundaries for me. At this rate, I'll be in jail by the time you take your scheduled flight home.

2. Phase Two of Marina-Takeover is about to begin soon. Forget your friends, I'm going to steal your family away from you. That's right, if you don't come back right now, you'll come back to Canada to discover that a brunette, brown-contacted version of Adam will be living in your house, sleeping in your bed and wearing your bras! Please, save me from wearing your undergarments, it's best for the both of us.

1. Fine...if this is what it takes to make you come home...I'll marry you. Happy?

My Life As Bridget Jones...

2004-11-17T17:26:00.011-05:00

138 lbs, alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0, calories- uh, I don't know. Maybe 2500?

Woke up this morning at 10:10. Had class at 10. Sort of thing could happen to anyone, really. Sacrificed any semblance of fashionable outfit in order to make it to class for 10:30. On the way to school most horrendous thing occurred.

Was walking down Mayfair Street when I began to feel the makings of a wedgie. As I walked further, wedgie grew into atomic proportions. The urge to pick was irresistible so I quickly grabbed my bottom and pulled. Wedgie only fixed for five minutes. Had to thoroughly grab bum and wiggle lower body in order to remove wedgie. Sighed with relief as I proved victorious over my underwear. Horrified greatly though when I turned around and realized Greek goddess was walking behind me and saw whole ordeal. Could hear her giggling. Sometimes I hate myself.

Why is Adam writing like this? Well, I am copying the style of Bridget Jones in her wonderful diary, thanks for asking and caring. I've been reading the book for a seminar I have next week and really she is one eerie character. I mean, when you see the movie you see this *slightly* chubby woman who battles with the bulge. The book's Bridget, however, never becomes heavier than 130 lbs and yet considers herself obese. Yes, that's right, she is sick and neurotic and, well, just plain f'd up. Unfortunately, I won't be keeping up the style she uses since I don't smoke, or drink, or have sex with narcissistic men as a means to find my pseudo liberation. No, my life certainly is more boring than Bridget's but, on the plus side, thank God I don't have her mother. I mean, sometimes my mom is crazy but at least she isn't a fleusy like Bridget's mummy dearest. Though I must make one more comment in Bridget Jones' style.

Went to Sarah's house today. She asked me to edit an essay, being English major and all. Happily obliged to essay editing and arrived slightly later than expected (expected time of arrival 11:30, actual time of arrival 12:20) and completed editing essay. Shortly after was kicked out. Why did Sarah not hit on me? Why will she not sleep with me? Why isn't she calling? Damn that sexy vixen to hell!

Mood: Tired
Listening To: "Kiss That Girl"- Sheryl Crow

Kitty Crotch Licking and Jesus

2004-10-22T19:30:00.000-04:00

Hello all! Well, it appears that I'm actually going to keep up with this blog now. Mostly because I realized that, in my profile, it said I write an average of 1 blog per week and I don't like that. I want to have more! MORE!

The last two days were fairly interesting. I had an exam for my Psych class on Thursday (yesterday) and, yes, it was Human Sexuality. Sounds fun, doesn't it? Yeah, it's great except that the questions and answers for this multiple choice exam are so ambiguous and precise all at the wrong times. Oh well, at least the survey for the class was fun at the beginning of the year. Nothing makes you feel better than circling the 13+ option for "How many times do you masturbate per month on average?" and having to mark -10 for "How old were you when you first masturbated?" Yeah, just call me El Pervo. Don't actually start calling me that or I'll kick you in between your legs.

Well after my exam, I went into the library to read Sex and the City, and just to clarify: this book is horribly slutty and raunchy and nothing like the television show but I'm reading it so I can write my seminar course paper on it.. Anyway, I was reading in a lounge area and I hear someone whispering "Martel" but I thought I was going insane so I didn't look up and I was scared. It ended up being Shera who forced me to go to the mall with her and then later order subs. And by "forced" I mean "merely suggested and I jumped at the chance to." It was fun because I hadn't seen Shera in awhile but the definite highlight of the night was back at her apartment when her roommate Margie's cat decided to sit like a human, with her legs spread eagle and lick her crotch in plain view of me. Also precious was Shera screaming, "Pandora, sit like a lady!" Yeah, like that's gonna work.

Today, I finished class at 10 and walked into the cafeteria, ran into Catherine Turner and quickly found myself helping Catherine set up for the Sacred Art Display tonight at the school. Not that I'm complaining, Catherine bought me food as a thank you even though she didn't have to! It was splendid, and I had lots of fun arranging things and making them look pretty. Although, I'm not going to lie, I started to feel like one of those annoying gay designers on television who talked about decorating as though it were a philosophy. The art was extremely beautiful and my favourite piece was done by a highschool student who made a modern Jesus portrait of sorts where Jesus is giving us the peace sign and looks semi-cartoonish. I know, I know, there are barely any references to penises or feces today but I promise it will be back soon!

Mood: Ridiculously Happy
Listening To: "Whole of the Moon"- Mandy Moore

Women: Porn Stars and Scary Feminists

2004-10-20T21:29:00.000-04:00

Not that I particularly wished to perpetuate the Mary/Eve dichotomy of women in my title but it was just so well-suited for the two things I want to talk about today. I suppose we'll start with the whore. I recently found out that a girl I went to high school with, who shall remain nameless (and naked) is a porn star. Well, using "porn star" is really stretching it since she's only really on one Canadian pornsite. The plot is fantastic for the video that she is in and I figured that I would give a simple breakdown of it here. (Don't worry, all NC-17 parts will be excluded)

The girl I went to high school with is a shy bookworm, Natasha, who has never had sexual relations with a girl before that is until she is tricked into going over to a vixen lesbian's place with the promise of books. This would all be splendid if it weren't for the fact that the bookworm was already at the library but who am I to question porno logic? So then the vixen coerces Natasha into sex and it all ends with the bookworm asking, "Do you got anymore books?"

To be honest, I'm more excited that I know someone who has done porn than I am disgusted or shocked or anything else. And, thanks to the wonderful storyline to her porn, I am greatly, greatly amused. But on to other things.

The seminar course I'm taking this year is "The Single Girl in Film and Fiction" and it really seemed like it would be an interesting course because we get to read Breakfast at Tiffany's, Sex and the City, Bridget Jones' Diary, etc. Yes, what a fun course it seemed until I met the militant feminists I would be sharing the classroom with. I completely empathize with women and their plight to gain equality with men so if you are a woman and want to accuse me of being misogynist or incapable of understanding your oppression and such, save your fingers' energies and stick a bon-bon in your pie hole because that isn't the case at all.

Being a gay man myself, I am fully aware of what it is like to be a minority and I can say with no exaggeration that in today's society I experience more oppression than women so I certainly can empathize. These crazed lunatics in my class, however, think that just because I've been born with a penis, I've also been born with a cross on my back and the load I'm required to carry is the oppression of female ancestors. This is not the case, and I shouldn't have to use the gay card to validate my opinion either. As a man, I can say that I understand what women have gone through and what they still struggle with today but it is frustrating when a woman doesn't realize the stereotypes men are pigeon-holed into. Men are expected to be unfeeling and continually strong and it's okay if a man is the moron in a movie, or if he gets kicked in the nuts, or if he is the one getting objectified. Too often I see key chains or bumper stickers that make fun of men, with sayings such as "PMS: Putting up with Men's Shit." How is this beneficial to society. Is it any better to have a world in which the men, who are NOT responsible for men of the past, to constantly beg for repentance and so be in the position that women fought so vehemently to get out of? I leave you with this question and I hope for comments!

Feeling: Misunderstood
Listening to: "A Man"- Alanis Morissette

SPECIAL EDITION: Western U For Dummies Issue 1 (March 2003)

2004-03-26T22:10:00.000-05:00

Thanks to the advice of Hardika, I have decided to have a new weekly feature. I'm not sure how long I can keep this up for but every Friday I will be presented the template for a different kind of University of Western Ontario student. Yes, that's right, I want to give to those unfortunate souls who are unaware of the rules here at Western U. Feel free to use the Haloscan comments box to add other features, or argue what I've said.

Alrighty, well, since I myself am gay, I figured that the first Western prototype I'd cover would be

The "No Way, You're Gay!" Western Homosexual Male

Ahh, the Western Homosexual Male. Nine times out of ten, he doesn't even come out of the closet. Yes, that's right, he likes to blend in with the preppy crowd and either joins a fraternity or some kind of sports team. The great thing about Western is that, if you are a closeted gay, you can just go onto the internet and find handy sites that let you know about bathrooms on campus where you can meet up with other closeted homosexuals and get random blowjobs. Oh the joys of Weldon Library's washrooms.

If he is one the few outed homosexuals of Western, he prepares himself for many things. Hanging out at the dive bar, Club 181, will be one of his favourite pasttimes. As a representative of Western's gay community, he adds new meaning to the term, "Loose as a goose." The open homosexual of Western is also someone who shops at fine stores such as The Gap, Bootlegger, Jean Machine and Suzy Shier. (How do you spell that???) Here are a list of 10 things that the Gay Western U Male should always remember:

10) It's okay to be gay, just don't show that you are in public by, dare I say, holding another man's hand or by performing a similar heathen act. By doing that, you're threatening to burst the bubble of all those white, straight people who worship the PC party.
9) Make sure you pick up an easy-to-use pick-up card when you're at 181. It's fast, it's convenient and you probably won't use it since you'll be going home with that certain someone the first night anyway.
8) Words such as "Value Village," "Zellers," and "Wal-mart" are dirty, dirty words.
7) Phrases such as "Yes, I will go home with you," "No I won't go home with you. Let's go to my house instead," and "Sorry, you're too ugly(or old) for me," should be practiced in order to master the greatest articulation of said phrases.
6) Odds are that the most intelligent question you'll get asked on a date is "Top or bottom?"
5) Western may appear to be gay friendly with its Pride Library and all but keep in mind that the library actually isn't funded by the school the same way other libraries are.
4) If Gay.com isn't your style, you could always use the Queer Western Organization's message board to advertise your need for sex.
3) QWO, along with Queerline, are both resources that actually are useful for gay students. So naturally, steer clear of them if you want to follow the majority and maintain your sluttiness.
2) There may be many feminine men at Western's catholic affiliate but remember that most of them are not gay, they're just Catholic.
1) Try to act straight. The Western bubble is very precious to Western students, and they would like to continue to think that everyone is white, rich and straight unless they're here on exchange. Acting gay will ruin that.

And remember the motto of the Gay Western Male: "When in doubt, sleep with him!"

CHAPTER ONE TRAINING COMPLETE