Kids Will Be Kids Except When We Tell Them To Be Kids

Stories like this always frost my ass. Click here.

Now, bearing in mind that the article is an editorial you have to question it's authenticity just a little, but then again, everything I write here is editorial so I guess you're getting the actual facts of the story third or even fourth hand. Aw fuck, that's not good. I know. But still, when you read it don't you get the feeling that you've heard shit like this before?

You know, the story of the overzealous school officials going to great lengths to prevent some form of student media from dispensing with information that (gasp!) could lead to immorality. That's what this story seems to be a case of. A textbook case of. A textbook on the textbook in fact. It's like Degrassi Junior High except it's real life and some kids might learn about about birth control (shudder!). Why shudder, you ask? Because some kids might read an informative piece about birth control and think that because they know how birth control works it's all the license they need to go out and fuck. Oh. My. God.

Can you imagine that?

Teenagers having sex?

Protected sex?

The end of days are truly upon us, aren't they?

Okay, because I am opinionated motherfucker who feels it's his duty to keep people informed about the world in which they live I am going to share with you some information that will literally make your jaw hit the floor. You may, in fact, faint and I am writing these words now as a disclaimer against any form of injury you may sustain from me having to tell you this. Don't fucking sue me. I warned you. If you have a weak bladder or the nerves of a pedophile tripping on meth in an elevator filled with police officers then maybe you should click on the archives links on the sides and read one of my older pieces of cock tattoos, cum stains, or donkey punching. For the rest of you people who feel up to facing the harsh truth of the world, please read on.

Here's some truth for you...

Teenagers fuck.

You can faint now or piss your pants or whatever it is you do when you have been enlightened. I know. I know. I was the same way when I found out. Teenagers fuck. Now say it with me... Teenagers fuck. There? Now don't you feel better? No? Well, I suppose that's to be expected.

And since I've already pulled you through the rabbit hole already why not dispense with some more information? Teenagers fuck and most of them probably aren't very good at it because they're fucking teenagers. Do you remember what it was like when you were a teenager? Hell, I just about had to change my pants every time a cute girl just looked at me the right way. And I don't mean to let you in on more information than you want to be privy to, but that's just how it is. Most teenagers are horny, depraved fuckers, who, thanks to advances in technology probably know some of the sickest, kinkiest shit out there and many of them probably enjoy it. Sleep tight, parents.

Seriously, though, they know what Google is and they know how to use it. Furries and adult baby fetishists have to get their starts somewhere and those starts usually occur somewhere in the teen years. Being a teenager is all about discovering yourself as an individual.

But fear not, people. Now while it's true that teenagers fuck. You can take solace in the fact that, as it has been throughout the history of humankind, teenagers are socially awkward and probably couldn't even get laid by a hooker. On double coupon day. So while many teens would fuck at the drop of a hat most of them can't because they're losers. That's okay. A lot of famous adults start out as losers. Hell, a lot of them end up as losers too.

Now, knowing that teenagers are raging balls of hormones and are just aching to get off as much as they can, why not arm them with some information about the ramifications of playing dunk the admiral? How is information about the deed going to be all the license they need to do the deed? Just because they know some shit about birth control it doesn't suddenly give them social skills with the opposite sex.

It takes more than knowing what the fuck a diaphragm is to get play with the ladies, I can assure you.

My approach usually goes...

So, anyway, I mean, like, you know, if you're one of those women who uses the IUD that's totally cool, like, you know. And I'm the kind of, you know, guy, who believes in using two forms of, you know, protection, so the IUD and, like, a condom, totally makes two forms, and we'd be pretty safe. Do you want to, like, go do it behind that row of porta-potties or something.

At which point Paris Hilton would say something like, "I want to do it inside the porta-potty because that's hot."

But seriously now, if I were a parent of a teen I would much rather that teen know his/her way around sex safely than not know anything at all. The fact that a student newspaper was dispensing with some information would probably make me feel better because it would prove to me that they at least care about what they are doing with each other. As a parent I would know for a fact that I can't watch them 24/7 and no teenager wants some gawking overprotective parent looming over them that much anyway. So if they're going to plug holes at least do it safely. They aren't going to be kids forever.

And luckily for me any teenager of mine will probably inherit my social graces and I can rest assured a massive comic book collection, bad acne, and an underdeveloped sense of personal hygiene will mean no nookie to worry about.

Some People Just Don't Have The Right Idea

Click here.

That's right a Chicago man has been arrested, accused of kidnapping a young girl for the purposes of performing a demonic ritual, which would have involved carving a pentacle into her chest. Why would anybody do such a thing, you ask? Well, it seems that the accused was going to perform said ritual to get his ex-girlfriend back.

If you click the link you can kind of get a few more details as to how this foolproof plan of his fell apart.

But here it is...

Now I'll be the first to admit that I am terrible when it comes to relationships. Every relationship I have ever been in has ended with failure and I've failed spectacularly on occasion. So be it. I mean a man who didn't get his first actual kiss until he was nearly 24 years old (!) is probably not going to be the smoothest man when it comes to wooing the ladies. I can live with that.

Oh come on, Michael! You're a dreamboat! Women swarm around you! How could you possibly be bad with ladies?

No, I'm serious here. I always say the wrong thing. I'm not romantic enough apparently. I make a ton of mistakes. I don't have ES fucking P. I'm moody. I'm introspective. I overreact. In other words, I'm a man. So sue me.

But as bad as I am with the fairer sex I think this might actual be one instance in which I can look down my nose at somebody. I mean seriously, you were going to try to get your ex back by performing a demonic ritual on a small girl? Seriously?

Call me old fashioned.

You're old fashioned.

I just think that if you've found your way out of a relationship, as I have many times now, and you want to get back into the life of that ex special someone, the best course of action has been and always will be to talk. Like I said, I'm old fashioned that way. I'm wired to talk things out when I'm facing relationship troubles. Maybe I've lost touch with reality, though. I'll admit that
there are a lot of things in this world that have simply passed me by. Boy bands have risen and fallen and risen again, but then fallen. Premium ice cream wars have left millions dead of obesity. Reality television has ruined any credibility that the television medium has ever had. All this passed me by.

Used to be that when a man wanted to get back together with a jilted lover he could buy her some flowers, maybe a box of candy, recite some Elizabeth Barrett Browning poetry shit, and voila, instant make-up nookie! Kids today, though, they have all these demonic rituals and instant messaging clouding their techniques. You want to get back with a lover today? You have to send them a sad smiley and text them, I'm sorryz! LOL! WiLl u TaKeZ mE bAcKoRz??? DaT wOoD rOxOrZ iF u DiD! and then you carve a pentacle in some innocent little girls chest because apparently that's what the ladies are looking for in a man these days.

Fuck! What the hell am I missing here? Am I supposed to really buy into any of this demonic ritual approach to relationships? Is that what you ladies are after in a man? A good rugged, demonic sort of fella who can come up with good kidnapping schemes? Is that it?

I'm at a loss.

Seriously, though, demonic guy, does that shit ever work? How many ex-lovers have taken you back after carving people up?

Some people just don't have the right idea when it comes to love anymore.

Congratulations

Congratulations to the Edmonton Eskimos on defeating the Montreal Alouettes by a score of 38-35 in overtime and winning the 2005 Grey Cup!

I was only able to catch bits and pieces of regulation time as I was at work on Sunday, but I did get to watch the thrilling overtime. It was one for the history books to be sure.

Way to go, Esks! Do it again next year.

Walk The Line

On Friday night Jessica and I attended the late screening of the Johnny Cash biopic Walk The Line. This was a movie that I had a lot of high expectations for as I am quite a fan of the legendary Johnny Cash's work.

I'm pleased to say that all of the high expectations were warranted and met. It was an exceptional movie.

Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny and Reese Witherspoon as June Carter give what are likely the performances of their lives as they bring the story of young Cash's life to the silver screen. I think that the two of them would be cheated if their names weren't on Oscar ballots come the spring. In fact, not only was their acting top-notch, but all the singing? Yep, it was done by them too. It's uncanny how well Joaquin Phoenix, especially, can sound like the Man in Black. I'm almost of the mind that he should try releasing a few albums under the production of Rick Rubin since Johnny isn't around to do that anymore.

What I appreciated most about the movie was that it was a fairly well-rounded biopic. If you take a movie like La Bamba, which chronicled the life of Ritchie Valens, you'll see a movie that is more linear with its narrative. It was a good movie, don't get me wrong, but basically you have a story of a man who was afraid of flying and, through a tragic turn of events, dies in a plane crash, but it's very straightforward. Walk The Line was layered very well and presented a very dynamic Johnny Cash in the sense that it's not entirely a movie about his rise to fame, it's not entirely about his fight with Columbia to record and release At Folsom Prison, it's not entirely about his struggle with drug addiction, or the evolution of his relationship with June, or his dealing with the untimely death of his older brother and reconciling differences with his father. All of these little subplots seem to be woven together and present a good tapestry that was Johnny Cash's life. Mind you, some of these subplots are kind of underdeveloped, especially Johnny's reconciling of his differences with his father, but I would imagine some of the exposition had to fall by the wayside for time constraints and to keep a smoother flowing movie overall.

What this does, ultimately, though, is make me want to learn more about the man life. I think I should definitely check out his autobiography sometime.

If you're a fan of Cash or you're in the mood for a good rock and roll story, Walk The Line is definitely the movie for you.

Classic Michael Appleby

This time around, "Classic Michael Appleby" presents a poem that was inspired by one of Michael's fellow Toolarmy members by the name of Random_J, who, in a poem of his evoked the image of two lovers merging their veins as a sign of their love for each other. Michael was moved by that image and decided to take it a bit further. Talking about one's self in the third person totally kicks ass! Enjoy.


Marionettes
We’re each other’s marionettes
now that our limbs have been opened

by crudeness in dirty steak knives and sandpaper,
a serrated cut, jag slicing long slits
before wearing away the excess skin curtain
until all the strings exposed,

allowing the wiring of our veins
to be stretched out
and tied together,

bonded,

grafted by surgical staples and a scintilla of stitches.

Your heart thumps
and I feel your blood pumped
into me
before my heart bumps
and pumps it all right back into you.

Do I make you blush?

What an odd couple we are
connected like this.

I stretch my arms back and to the sides,
striking a messianic pose
to draw you nearer to me

for a kiss

and tasting my own body
in this flesh loop.

Who leads whom
in this postmodern dada dance?

Sometimes when I walk
you allow yourself to be forced to follow,
your feet mimicking my pace,
but when you want to
you can stand
and in my weakness

I fall,

trying to walk away,
but tethered helplessly to you.

Do you mean to drag me
to all your gynecologist appointments?
When you put your feet up in those stirrups
it’s also my legs that are being spread,
my genitals on a cold medical table,
not for examination,
but on display nonetheless.

Mealtimes are messy
because we can never
quite get the rhythm of our eating utensils in sync
I’ll try to chew on my meat
when you spoon some more of your soup
which means I am forced to shovel
even more chow into my mouth.

You choke me
and I choke you
when I manipulate

more soup into your gullet.

In simpler days,
we were still in love
and this commitment
of slavery to each other
seemed idyllic in every sense,
but it’s only gone to show
how out of rhythm we really are
and would it not prove fatal
to sever our connection,
let our spewing veins

retract

four ruby fountains
into their native bodies,
I would suggest scissors.

Now here we are,
stuck together,
two marionettes
and puppeteers,

two people who can’t agree
where the other should be going.

The Bottom Ten, November 2005

10.) Waterproof Uno Cards- Who the fuck goes to the pool to play Uno? Why do I get the tingle up my spine that tells me that in a boardroom some committee was trying to come up with a way to better their product, in this case Uno cards, and the best they could come up with was to waterproof them since there was an increasing demand on the part of deep sea divers and olympic swimmers for aquatic card games? Certainly the best way to improve any card game is to make it capable of an underwater setting.

9.) The Default Profile Settings On sms.ac- For those of you not in the know, sms.ac is kind of like a myspace.com site where people can post their profiles and meet others near and far, socializing with them through the magic of the internet. This service sets itself apart by virtue of the fact that you can register your cell phone with your account to receive text messages from your online friends. Why is it making the list? The default settings make it so that every time somebody wants to add you to his/her buddy list you get a text message. They cost money to receive and you are likely to get a ton of them. The kicker? Not one person who has added me as a friend has actually ever tried to contact me. If you go through this service make sure you set it so that you don't get text message notification of people trying to add you to their buddy lists.

8.) Pretty White Girls Who Go Missing- Really I have nothing against pretty white girls, but consider the fact that every day there are hundreds of people who go missing. Yet, if you watch the news, the only people who ever go missing that need to be mentioned are pretty white girls. Has anybody who isn't a former beauty pageant contestant been kidnapped? Apparently not. The message is that if you plan on going missing make sure you get the necessary surgery to transform you into a pretty white girl so that the media will notice. You just have to love objective journalism, don't you?

7.) Scientology- I blame you for Tom Cruise going bat-shit crazy and for John Travolta's horrible romp through the shitastic Battlefield Earth. For those two reasons alone you are a religion that should be relegated to Dungeons & Dragons basement nerd cult status.

6.) People Upset At Holiday Trees- Believe it or not there are still people in North America who still think that the whole population is Christian. These are the same people who get upset with cities like Boston who call their civic decorated spruce trees "Holiday Trees" say, as opposed to, "Christmas Trees." Is it all just PC bullshit? Yes it is, but for fuck's sake it's trivial. For all I care they can call it "Tree Loaded Down With Too Much Gaudy Shit" and I would still see it for what it is: a staple of a highly commercialized holiday season. If you can point out where in the Bible Santa comes down and leave presents under an evergreen for all the good girls and boys I'll let you call it a "Christmas Tree" again. Until then get over yourself and try to cope with the undeniable fact that we live in a melting pot. Santa died for your sins so try to at least honor his teachings.

5.) Tyrell Owens- I'm not a huge NFL fan, but I know a gigantic asshat when I see one. Having talent is one thing, but if you're not a team player in a team sport you're useless.

4.) iBoxers by PLAY- What are iBoxers, you ask? Well, simply put, they're men's boxer shorts with an extra pocket sewn in for a place to put your iPod. You know what? iPods are everywhere, I can deal with that. In fact, I'm giving careful consideration to buying one myself. However, who the fuck is really that desparate for another pocket to cram full of iPod that they would consider letting one ride in a sweaty pocket right next to their sweaty junk? I would hate to imagine my grief if I rolled over on my morning wood and crushed my iPod and I've had some mighty, mighty moring wood before.

3.) Michael Jackson Controversies- Does anybody take anything that Michael Jackson does seriously anymore? The latest controversy? He's made antisemitic comments in voice mail messages that have now surfaced in the media two years after they were made. What I don't get is why anybody gives a shit what a formerly accused child molestor has to say about Jews. Formally accused child molesters rank just above presently accused child molestors and two notches above convicted child molestors on my scale of credibility. If I were Jewish and a formally accused child molestor made disparaging comments about my people I'd give myself a big old pat on the back.

2.) XBox 360 Stampedes- Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod! I have to be the first to own a gltichy, overpriced gaming console because if I don't get one I will be the laughing stock of all humanity and I'll have to move to Siberia to live underneath a rock. Fuck, people, it's called "patience." From what I've read about the supplies of XBox 360's, there will be plenty of glitchy overpriced gaming consoles from Microsoft to go around.

1.) Police Ticketing For Profits- Word in Calgary is that police have been asked to issue out an additional million dollars worth of tickets over the next year or so because the city's budget wasn't as good as it was hoped to be. Aren't traffic laws and such in place for public safety and sanctity? Yes. Let me get this straight then. If the citizens of Calgary were to theoretically improve their behavior and abide by the law more over the next year you would still issue out the additional million dollars in tickets because you have a fucking quota? How exactly can this logic lead anybody to believe that the police force is here to keep the public safe? The extra sad part is that Calgary isn't the only municipality where shit like this goes on.

R.I.P. Sam

Sam: The World's Ugliest Dog
1991-2005

The world's ugliest dog has passed away. I learned the news today while browsing through Fark.

Interestingly, further surfing from the news story led me to the official homepage of Sam, the world's ugliest dog.

Click here.

I just thought I would mention it because the holiday season is nigh approaching and what better way to say "I Love You" or "Merry Christmas" than with a Sam, the world's ugliest dog T-shirt or coffee mug?

Also, there is an email address where you can reach Sam, which kind of surprised me because he must not only be the world's ugliest dog, but he might also be the first dog ever who had the ability to answer emails. If somebody could get me some sort of confirmation on this I would appreciate it.

He was one ugly, ugly animal and he will be missed.

One other link you might want to check out is the semi-official Sam, the world's ugliest dog blog where you can get all the latest news on Sam's passing. Here's the link.

Friday Night At The Movies

I had Friday night off and as I am rather unaccustomed to unstructured time and having nobody to spend it with I decided that it was as good a time as any to take in a movie at a proper theather for a change.

Naturally, I did so alone.

Going to the movies alone is an art that I feel I've perfected. My problem this time around was the fact that I was at the theater a whole hour and a half before the late showing of Jarhead began. So I took out some cash from the bank machine and proceeded to waste an hour at the multiplex's video arcade. Then I spent twenty minutes or so sitting at the coffee shop located in the lobby where I drank a blue raspberry frappe.

So I was quite amazed at my patience. An hour and a half surrounded by people who were happy. People who had people to spend time with.

And there was me. Just pumping tokens into any video game that would take them, glancing at my watch every five minutes or so, checking my cell phone as though somebody might call me (nobody ever does), and waiting. Waiting. That was me.

I couldn't help but think of all the productive things I could have done with that time waiting for the movie to start. Blogs could have been updated. Novels could have been worked on. Poetry could have been created.

But the movie was good. The popcorn was too salty.

The Lounge Singer

The lounge singer performed a cover of "Honkey Tonk Women" by the Rolling Stones.

Closing my eyes I could almost imagine that it was the Stones themselves who were performing that song I was hearing.

Well, the Rolling Stones if Mick Jagger said before the song, "Fuck it, you wankers are such a shitty audience that I'm going to get Keith to sing this one," and then Keith Richards steps up to the mic and you realize that he's in the middle of a heroin binge and he has a syringe sticking out of his bottom lip.

So all you really hear is Keith's syringe tapping against the mic everytime he hits the chorus, which really isn't hitting the chorus at all since he can't even seem to muster the senses needed to belt out the first word of the first verse. You just guess that the syringe is tapping against the mic during the chorus because that's what part of the song that the band seems to be playing except the band is comprised, inexplicably, of rhesus monkeys used previously for clinical tests of psychotropic drugs.

But yeah, I could kind of hear the Rolling Stones when I closed my eyes.

Pornography Storm!

While browsing through Fark tonight I stumbled upon an interesting article that was posted on some sort of religious website. Here's the link to the article in case you want to read it...

Click here.

To sum it up, though, what's written is basically that there is a leading Catholic cardinal who is warning parents about the dangers of giving their children wireless devices as gifts this coming holiday season. Why the warning, you ask? Well, it seems that devices like iPods, cell phones, PSP's and the whole array of shit like that make it a lot simpler for pornography to fall into innocent hands.

First of all, welcome to the age of technology, Catholicism. It's nice to finally have you on board. Pornography in the hands of children, you say? Oh my god! The humanity!

How long have we had the internet for? Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't the internet been around for a while now? How many fucking people are left who haven't at least heard of the internet? Not many I reckon.

So how the fuck is pornography falling into the wrong hands suddenly a menace worth warning parents about? You see, don't get me wrong, there is too much porn within eyesight of people who aren't old enough to really understand what it's all about, but unless you've been living in a cave where the only porn is some sort of scantily clad glyph you're probably aware that getting porn is almost easier than breathing. If you're so behind on what technology is capable of you might want to trade your children in for a puppy and leave the parenting to somebody who's a little more equipped for these modern times.

Also, I'll admit that I don't have a lot of these new-fangled gizmos in my possession, but from what I do know, these devices all have really small screens. I think that if your child is getting porn on one of these devices and can actually make out what's happening and be aroused by any of the teeny-weeny dimensions of it all I say you should pat yourself on the back for having a child with a strong imagination. I try to take pictures with my cell phone and it all come out looking like fucking mud it's so pixellated and distorted. Fucking mud, I kid you not.

If the children switch getting their porn from the internet on a full size screen of a computer monitor to a puny cell phone I say good on them for cutting down on their porn intake. Literally.

Finally, when the fuck is this "perfect storm" of pornography going to hit me? The cardinal in the article mentioned the "perfect storm" that is about to hit and I haven't seen a nipple slip or ass cheek of it yet. And I'm always looking for a nipple slip and ass cheek. Seriously, though, don't ask me what constitutes a perfect storm of pornography or what the fuck it looks like, but I imagine it's sexy.

Anything to get rid of the barrage of war images and hotel bombings.

If all else fails just make your kid walk around with a blindfold wrapped around his/her head until the age of 18. No exceptions and definitely no pornography ruining them for life. If that's what ruins people for life.

Where I've Been

There are probably a few of you out there who are probably wondering why the past couple of days have been kind of devoid of posting here at www.michaelappleby.blogspot.com.

I've been busy with live shows. Mind you, not my own shows, but rather a couple of actual big name acts that rolled through the city.

Tuesday night saw Henry Rollins grace the stage of the Winspear Centre once again with nearly three hours of spoken word greatness. This was the fourth time I've seen him live and once again it was absolutely incredible how a man can just talk for three hours straight and I could listen and my ass wasn't even getting sore just sitting there. He told a lot of great stories and got the audience laughing out loud on numerous occasions. What I love most about Henry Rollins' shows is that he is a grateful pseudo-celebrity. He touched on, in his talking, the sort of big names of the current North American cultural landscape like Paris Hilton and Ashlee Simpson almost with a contempt. I found myself thinking about why Henry is so great and I think that what it is is that he is truly appreciative of the audience he gets and I think he really realizes how lucky he is to be the man that he and have the job that he does. It's always a treat to see him and I hope he comes back to Edmonton sooner rather than later.

Wednesday night had Nine Inch Nails come to town with Queens Of The Stone Age and Death From Above 1979. This show was loud. My ears are still ringing. I was really there to see NIN and QOTSA, but I have to admit that I was pleasantly shocked by the music of DFA79, whom I never really heard at great length before. Queens rocked as I expected them to with a set that played most of my favorites by them except "Hanging Tree." Nine Inch Nails, of course, were stellar. Their set was interupted much to the crowd's dismay when the security barricade was broken and Trent Reznor had to instruct the audience to step back a few feet to let security repair the damage. A lot of NIN were played and I can honestly say that I have never seen a show like theirs live before. It was a truly unique experience. The highlight of the night for me was "Eraser" which was performed with a giant transluscent video screen in the foreground displaying images of war and greed. Amazing stuff.

I promise that I will return to form in the next-to-immediate future. Sorry about the interuption in my service.

That Last Little Bit Of Incentive

Click Here.

Okay, I do feel kind of like a dick for saying anything about this, but Bruce Willis has made it public that he will offer the handsome reward of one million dollars for information on the whereabouts of al-Qaeda leaders Osama Bin Laden, Ayman Al-zawahiri, or Abu Musab Al-zarqawi.

Why do you feel like a dick, Michael?

Well, for starters, why the fuck does this million dollar reward offered four years, two months, and two days after the fact need to be made? I mean, what's the significance of the timing of this offer?

Is anybody else like me on this and imagining Bruce Willis stunned by 9/11, so much so that he sits transfixed on his television's replaying of the tragedy around the clock for four years, two months, and two days, and then finally snapping out of it and going, "Oh my god, I will offer one million dollars for information on the persons responsible! This is a fucking outrage!"

That can't be what happened, can it? He's been in some movies since 9/11, hasn't he? So that pretty much proves he hasn't been lying on his couch for over four years, unaware that the world has gone through a whole plethora of significant events.

The government agencies are already offering rewards of 25 million dollars for the same information. So then you have to wonder if that one million dollar added bonus is the magic amount of money that's finally going to bring the information forward.

Somewhere you just know some guy's got the goods on the al-Qaeda leaders, but he wasn't going to just, you know, give up the information for a measly 25 million dollars. Fuck no. I mean a guy would pretty much be reduced to living on bologna sandwiches for the rest of his life after getting only 25 million. 26 million dollars, now that's where it's at.

It's almost a situation where one million dollars is a moot point, if you can imagine that. If 25 million isn't going to get the information readily, 26 millions probably won't get the information any faster.

Now the other thing that I wanted to touch on was Willis' comments on how you don't see a lot of the good things that are happening in Iraq being reported on in the news. You know, the feel-good war stories? Where the fuck are they?

Indeed, Bruce, where are those feel-good war stories? You'd think that all this war hullaballoo was all serious gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands, people fighting and all that nastiness. Where the hell are the clowns and the tumblers? Methinks we've got a severe shortage of clowns and tumblers in this here war. That must be why people are so darned serious about it. When will the world ever learn?

The Lounge Singer

The lounge singer performed a cover of Sheryl Crow's "If It Makes You Happy."

And, indeed, when I closed my eyes I could imagine Sheryl Crow up there on stage, in person.

Sheryl Crow, if she had suddenly taken on a diet of raw sandpaper, shards of broken glass, and had mysteriously contracted a rare medical condition that doctor's refer to "chronic off-key screeching."

Then, yes, the lounge singer did sound just like Sheryl Crow.

On The Stigma Of Gang Violence

I remember what it was like when I was much younger and heard of the shootings that accompanied the early screenings of John Singleton's Boyz N The Hood and thinking, "Wow, that movie must really be some kind of experience if it would bring people to shoot other people."

Click Here.

And now it seems that the 50 Cent vehicle Get Rich Or Die Trying is behind similar violence. And, luckily for all parties concerned, I'm cynical enough to be be bothered by this for all the right reasons.

Now please bear in mind that I don't know anything about the attack whatsoever so if you are a gang member who is looking to "pop a cap in my ass" at least hear me out first. This fatal shooting bothers me. I'm not going to climb up on a soap box now and start running my damn fool mouth about how we should all just get along. That wouldn't be fucking realistic in the slightest. It would be ideal, don't get me wrong, but for right now that shit ain't happening. I've accepted it. You should too.

What bothers me, though, is that it was at a screening of a 50 Cent movie that this would happen.

What?! Movies only cost 50 cents to get into again?! God bless America where inflation has been finally defeated. Ma, get the kids together we're going to see a 50 cent movie!

No, no! Hold on their Pops McGee, the movie didn't cost 50 cents to get into; it stars 50 Cent. He sings the rap music. Kids are into that sort of thing.

Sorry about the bad humor. If it's any consolation to you, I'm laughing at it.

But anyway, back to the point. I loathe the fact that the violence would happen at a screening of Get Rich Or Die Trying. Why? Because that's where the violence would be expected to break out when it comes to movie theater shootings. It's disheartening to see that people are still offing each other at movies where you'd expect people to off each other.

Can't they shoot each other at Jennifer Lopez romantic comedies? I think that's why I make it a rule for myself that I not attend screenings of Jennifer Lopez romantic comedies. I just don't think I could trust myself to not leap over the row in front of me and start beating the shit out of the first person I actually hear laughing at that celluloid fecal matter.

It bugs me because seeing a 50 Cent movie might not actually be that bad. I haven't seen it yet, but I think that I would liken it to Eminem's first movie 8 Mile, which was actually quite good. So I would have to say that I would give Get Rich Or Die Trying a chance at least to impress me. Hearing about people taking the time to kill a guy at that theater screening it either means they were so thoroughly unimpressed with the film that killing a guy seemed like the only way to derive any entertainment from the movie-going experience or they loved it so much that they decided killing a guy was the only way to make the movie-going experience absolutely complete.

The other thing that irks me about this news is that killing somebody at a 50 Cent movie really isn't very original or interesting at this point. If they had only saved it for date night when their dates would undoubtedly dragged them to Maid In Manhatten or The Wedding Planner I would have been shocked. I have to admit that the shock value of gang violence at a screening of a movie about gang violence is kind of ho-hum. Sorry gangs.

Really, save it for the Jennifer Lopez movies, you'll actually be a lot more likely to go down in history for that. The problem is that you actually have to stay awake long enough through that hour and a half smegma stain on the big screen to commit actual violence. Hell, if you can stay awake through an entire Jennifer Lopez movie you've already proven yourself to be a more resilient man than anybody I've ever met or likely will ever meet so I guess you probably don't even need to commit violence to impress me.

What's the conclusion? Well, I suppose there are a number of conclusions you can draw from this meandering rant, but there is one message that I think I desperately want to make, one point that most of humanity wants to make. Hollywood, please, enough with Jennifer Lopez!

I beg of you.

Enough.

Feathers

"Feathers" is the poem that I performed this week at the "Five Wednesdays; One November" reading for the Raving Poets. It is part of the Sometimes Sinister sequence. I have it at one point in the plot of the series of poems that the wreck of the woman just leaves the protagonist. One morning he just wakes up and she's gone. I've hit on that part of the series with an earlier poem called "Vapor Trails."

Anyway, after the reading Adam Snider came up to me and asked me if I was recycling lines from some of my other works. At the time I said no, but after I had left and was given some time to dwell on it I do believe that he was actually on to something. I have used some of the elements in "Feathers" in previous poems and now I'm sure of it. What "Feathers" then becomes, in essence, is a complete redraft of those earlier poems. What I wanted to really incorporate into this one were the images of the "molted plumage," the idea of the protagonist openly admitting that he is making a project of the woman he loves as opposed to just loving her, and some of the imagery associated with the truck stop clientele. I guess it all just goes to show that Adam pays attention. I totally forgot that there were elements in "Feathers" used elsewhere in my work, but I think that with this incarnation of those elements I am a lot happier with the outcome.

Also, on Ron Silliman's blog there was recently a discussion regarding line breaks. As I sat down to write this draft of "Feathers" I was cognizant of where my line breaks were and I was thinking about how the poem would sound when read aloud, bearing in mind that each line ends with a slight pause. I actually consciously sought to place the line breaks in places where they would be rather unnatural in my typical work and I kind of like the results here.

So anyway, without further ado. Here is "Feathers"...

Feathers
I keep looking for your molted plumage caught
in an updraft or
dancing in warm blasts from
central heating systems down
among these mouth-breathers,
these heavy set knuckle dragging shamblers,
sloped foreheaders,
Nascar enthusiasts.

And all I find are nosebleeds and
jitters,
racing hearts and sciatica,
big belt buckles
Everything is bigger in Texas
and Pepback pills.
Poppers.
Zappers.
In every truck stop
and 24 hour diner,
bar and grills
where cocaine residue makes
mime time of
counter tops, makes
that public washroom smell of
every room
just a little more toxic,
a little more forbidding and
electrically charged.

Sad
this is where instinct tells me
to look for you.

Make a project of
a woman,
let her become your
anchor
and when that weight is
lifted or vanishes
where do you go except
to drift through
galleries of abuser and users,
shift jockeys and pushers?

To say
I miss you
doesn’t capture,
doesn’t compute.

You gravitational core.

Sometimes I’ll catch
a feather lofting gently to
a coffee stained tile floor,
hear the buzz of a neon beer sign
and know
I’m not that far behind.

Tasers Gone Wild!

Click here.

Reading that news story brought to mind a couple of things.

First of all the point of the story is that Taser has developed a camera that attaches to their product.

But what's their product?

Tasers, idiot. Your parents must be proud that you can even manage to dress yourself each day.

Hearing that Taser will have a camera available really made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. No, seriously. Isn't it great? Finally I will be able to see actual video footage of people getting Tasered by jittery police officers! Yes!

But Michael, those Tasercams are only going to be used to answer questions regarding tactics. They're not meant for entertainment value. You're a monster!

Uh-huh, and you just know that nobody would ever find any entertainment value in video footage of a person getting Tasered. I mean our society has the highest standards when it comes to entertainment. Illustrious shows such as Jackass, Monday Night Raw, and Will & Grace are all indicative of these impeccable taste we have. Yeah right! Shows like the ones I just named off the top of my head only go to show you that Taser: The Television Series is only a few overworked police officers away from fruition.

Oh Michael, stop being so melodramatic. I think that there are a lot of great television shows out there. There will be no need for Taser: The Television Series.

Au contraire, mon frere, you simp. Just look at this excerpt from the script for an episode of Will & Grace entitled "The Donkey Puncher" and try to tell me with a straight face that we are not heading down the road to entertainment anarchy.

Grace: Hey Will, what were you up to last night.

Will: Oh not much Grace. This latest man and I had a lovely night full of hot passionate man/sausage love.

Grace: Oh Will, your monkey shines are too much for me! How was the sex?

Will: It was all going according to plan until I found out he was a donkey puncher.

Grace: A donkey puncher? What the hell is a donkey punch.

Will: I'll show you. Turn around.

See? We're fucking doomed! It'll only be a matter of months before any police force with the entrepreneurial know-how and the greed to do so figures out that you can sell DVD compilations of the best Taserings and slap a title on it like Tasers Gone Wild! and total morons will practically rip apart their pants because they can't find their wallets fast enough to buy that shit. Hell, I've practically got my Visa card on standby for the when they finally release Volume 1. Come on, police, I know you can do it!

And here's the other thing that bothered me about the article...

Apparently a six year old kid got Tasered by police which prompted the Taser company to develop the camera so that police can see the how and the why of the situation that would prompt a cop to Taser a child.

The article discusses how the child was threatening to slash himself or any approaching officer with a shard of broken glass.

Awwwwwww....kids grow up so fast these days. I'm seriously this close to crying. Wow.

But fucking come on! He's six years old! You're a cop! You can't figure out a way to stop the kid from hurting himself other than Tasering him? That's just laziness I think.

I mean, he's only six fucking years old. Just tackle him and give him an arm bar.

Not only that, but if the kid is threatening to hurt himself with a piece of glass I say let him. I remember what I was like when I was six years old and I couldn't hurt myself wielding a piece of glass. I couldn't even make safety scissors work properly, how the fuck am I going to do anything substantial with a piece of glass?

I think by giving the kid a good old Taser shock you pretty much did all the work that he wanted to do for him. How's he ever going to learn to get stuff done on his own if you keep smothering him?

In the end the message is that the children of today are spoiled. If I wanted to hurt myself so bad when I was his age I would have had to throw myself off of a balcony my own self. I didn't have these fancy police officers offering to Taser me. No sir.

Damn kids.

Classic Michael Appleby

I apologize for the silence on my part. I've been switched to day shifts for a little bit here and it's been difficult, to say the least, adjusting to being a daytime kind of guy. Naturally, I'm tired as hell. Anyway, since many of you out there probably aren't too familiar with some of my older poetic works I thought that maybe once in a while when I'm too lazy to come up with new material I would just give you what is ultimately a rerun for me. Seriously, though, I will get back to normal here before long. More night shifts start at the end of the week. In the meantime, though, come down to Yianni's Taverna on Wednesday night to check out the latest from the Raving Poets. For now enjoy "Fists For The Uncreator," a piece I wrote back in 2002.

Fists For The Uncreator
this fleeting bit of cosmic debris could come all apart at any moment.

could crack. a fissure, a widening canyon beneath the morning sky. sun glaring off the shiny bits of glass of the skyscrapers’ tears. families, once huddled, arms locked over their numbers, reduced to single temporary entities where the ripping was too intense. the falling stars dripping into the chasms, all infinity being sucked in. a huge inverted light, a vacuum at the top of a rabbit hole pulling you up and out and your scream is drowned by agriculture, flocks of sheep, herds of cows, instant carnivorous fantasies, fields of prime rib, green grass painted red before a bite and a swallow, mother nature working toward indigestion. a chorus of car crashes. freight train smash. giant forests now kindling and splinters; forests of severed toothpicks. island nations everywhere.

could melt. urban candles, skyscrapers sinking slowly from the long burn. bridges that spanned now merge, all sense of defiance against water lost. aggressive morning dew on the lawn that didn’t know a limit to ambition -- and won. the sense of touch that became fuzzy then gooey until no sense was left at all. when the lovers grope each other they press that much harder with each passing moment, losing nerve endings inch-by-inch, whole bones disappearing into liquidity, they are forlorn, longing to lust, now forgetting that sex even existed. a wet consummation, oceans growing with the pouring of highways into the horizon. a drought that became a bay slowly and now a sea endlessly, dark tides that sway with the seeping moon overhead, lunar viscosity with a dissipating gravity until all waves are the thrashing of our elements changing.

could explode. a chorus of inflated shopping bags all popped at once, millions of oxygen molecules set free in one fell swoop, rushing toward the atmosphere. tanker trucks as grenades with 18 wheels; the pins’ pulled; the times’ waning; all become sources of shrapnel. You might be hitching a ride alongside a trucker and boom you join an overstatement of all existence, vast universes turning into powder kegs, sudden and painless, one big burst. skeletons leaping out of their bodies before that instant orgasm into endlessness, a restlessness that went too far, too fast, became fire and oxygen, a second-long incendiary before dust and big black burns on a sheet of time. vehicles along roadways as firecrackers, a divine fuse cut short, illuminated.

could disintegrate into dust. the death’s wind catching a sail and blowing right through it, a momentary mist of canvas blues and reds on the gust before the whole boat is fiberglass particles swirling faster than it has ever sailed before. evaporated milk, evaporated land, evaporated water, the level of the world low and flat getting flatter, whole utah harems joining their salt lake on air currents. the scents of baked goods are the actual baked goods in easy-to-consume forms. no fear of smoking. the ash tip becomes the ash cigarette becomes the ash smoker becomes the ash smoker’s shoes, becomes ash everything, a kiss for the omniscient, powdered war paint on the face of god.

the route to here forgetting itself for you until you want only to lie on your belly limbs outstretched as far as they can reach with fistfuls of dust handfuls of dirt clutching holding everything together if only where you are.

the route to here forgetting itself for me until I want only to punch at nothingness, swing, crazy, mad, with fists for the uncreator, knock the belligerent down, though he is a higher power than me.

kiss you. it seems appropriate at the end, a lasting token for the last, my coin for charon, a toll for the lethe.

On A Side Note

Yesterday was my 69th posting in this blog and I forgot to make a juvenile comment about the sexual position. I'm losing my touch.

Anyway, a belated "Uh, Huh, huh, huh I said '69'," to all of you.

69 indeed.

Incidentally, for those of you out there who are not up to snuff on sexual positions, 69 is the position that leaves everybody in need of a Tic Tac.




And apparently they eat Tic Tacs around the world, which just goes to show you that 69 knows no boundaries.

Hipeponymous

I've been waiting anxiously for the past number of weeks. Why? Because The Tragically Hip's first ever box set Hipeponymous was slated for a November 1, 2005 release. Naturally, this being November 2, you can bet your ass I hauled my sorry carcass down to the nearest HMV to buy myself a copy yesterday, the day of, as soon as I woke up at noon, which is much earlier than I am used to getting out of bed.

I have to say that I am quite partial to The Hip. There's something that just makes listening to them a particularly Canadian thing to do. I've been a big fan of their work ever since I heard the opening bars of "Grace, Too" for the first time, which for those of you in the know, was actually not the very beginning of the band's rise to fame. I was quite late getting on The Hip boat, but now that I'm here I'm quite comfortable.

I've been fortunate enough to see them perform live three times, each time being a remarkable experience. The best show I saw was easily when I was able to see them perform at the New City Liqwid Lounge as a special club tour that the band went on in the week leading up to the release of In Between Evolution. But that's more of an aside to show you how much of a fan I am.

Anyway, back to the box set. The set is quite handsomely packaged, containing the double disc greatest hits package Yer Favourites as well as the live DVD That Night In Toronto. Both Yer Favourites and That Night In Toronto are being made available separately. What the box set has that neither of those packages have is a bonus DVD containing the entire Tragically Hip video catalogue, a documentary about the band, and a series of artistic shorts called The Right Whale. Naturally, the completist in me coveted the bonus DVD so I absolutely needed to get Hipeponymous as opposed to the smaller, more incomplete greatest hits and live concert DVD packages.

The actual greatest hits are pretty damn good, but I am not really that drawn to them because, while there are many, many great songs on the two discs of hits provided, there are many more songs that I would have loved to hear that didn't make the cut. No "Dire Wolf"? For shame. But it's really more of a trifle for me to complain about one or two songs that were excluded because I am aware there is a deep catalogue to cull from and only a limited amount of space for fan favourites.

The live DVD is awesome and makes me really want to see them play Edmonton again just for that Tragically Hip experience. The footage was shot in Toronto as the name of the DVD That Night In Toronto would suggest. Apparently it's not just a clever title. If you've listened to Tragically Hip live footage or you've seen them live you're probably familiar at least somewhat with Gordon Downie's on-stage presence. He rambles. He improvises spoken word parts into many of the songs. He dances spastically. Basically Gordon Downie is that weird uncle you would probably be embarassed of at family outings, but are strangely compelled to visit every chance you get. Hearing The Tragically Hip studio albums and listening to them live are definitely not one and the same and it's nice to finally have a high quality live performance recorded other than the live album Live Between Us, which is also worth checking out.

The bonus disc is just icing on the cake to resort to using a cliche. Being a fan of the music video medium it's nice to have a copy of the Hip catalogue so far. The videos for "Poets" and "Ahead By A Century" being two of my favourites, though I could certainly ramble off about a half dozen other titles worth checking out, which is a testament to how deep the Hip catalogue is. The documentary has some good footage of the band in a non-performance light, giving interviews and just being normal human beings. I haven't really delved into The Right Whale yet, but that will be on the itinerary in the very near future I'm sure.

I think that in Canada and being a poet, it's almost a requirement that you want to perform your work alongside Gordon Downie or to perform Gordon Downie or to be Gordon Downie. This is a package that will give you insight into his methods, though you still won't be able to write like the guy. There can be only one Gordon Downie. Sadly.

You have to check it out.

The Singularity Is Near by: Ray Kurzweil

Last week I finally found a copy of Ray Kurzweil's latest offering The Singularity is Near. Ray Kurzweil is best known as a prominent inventor, having developed reading devices for blind people and working with synthesizers as well. He does also dabble in books.

His latest book seems to continue with some of his thoughts that arose in his last book Age of the Spiritual Machines and, yes, that was the book that inspired that Our Lady Peace albume Spiritual Machines.

I've only just started to read The Singularity is Near and it's likely going to take me a while based on the fact that when a lot of thought-provoking concepts are introduced in a text I tend to have to put the book down to ponder them awhile. So far this is proving to be the case with his writing once again.

One of concepts that has always fascinated me when it comes to Kurzweil's books is how he explains how our lives will be lengthened perhaps indefinitely. Advances in computing and the emergence of nanotechnology, Kurzweil believes, are going to transform humanity into beings capable of transcending the limitations of their own biology. The thought is that we could very well be living hundreds of years if not as long as we want to live.

So far what I have read into his latest book he explains how most people look at human advancement as being linear in nature. He argues, though, that it should be viewed as being exponential. That is to say instead of judging how much we will advance technologically over the next 50 years, say, by judging how far we advanced technologically over the past 50 years, we should actually be thinking about it in terms of exponential growth. The rate at which we develop technology as a species is increasing as well so the sheer volume of advancements we are going to be making is only going to go up as well. Reading it like this things tend to make sense.

But, alas, that's just the beginning of the book and I'm already raving about it. I'll keep you posted on how things go as I make my way through the body of the text. Last time I read a Kurzweil book it affected my poetry greatly and I wonder if the same things will happen this time around.

Time will only tell.