Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
Lost & Didn't-Really-Need-To-Be-Found

Found scrawled upon a Winnie the Pooh stationary pad (featuring classic Pooh illustrations) at a kiosk in Toronto's Eaton's Centre: "Now Pooh was a beer of little brains..."

Not only did this particular spelling snafu amuse me, Mel and Mel's family, but it brought the kiosk merchants trying to sell us the stationary great roars of laughter. The scary thing is that while it appears to be a perfect case of Engrish, the rest of the description of Pooh (all of it subsequently being non-alcoholic) is perfect English.

Or is it? Have the beer companies bought the rights to Pooh, and are slowly starting to subvert the minds of young children with subliminal advertising? Or are we discovering the dark secret of the Hundred Acre Wood's favourite bear? Does this mean every time he raids Rabbit's place, it's to find the moonshine Rabbit's been secretly making? For that matter, what is Pooh's favourite beer? Is it Guinness?

Found left inside a briefcase that was returned to our store yesterday: they're lacy, they're black, and our best guestimate puts them in at about a C-cup. Here's a handy tip for all of you out there who might buy briefcases or other items made to make you look thoroughly professional and business-like...don't leave your bras inside said items when you return them. We can only sell purses, backpacks and luggage. As far as I know, our Head Office will never have a division of womens' underwear that matches not only your purse, but also the luggage you're wheeling along behind you.

Though this does admittedly top the white thong we found on top of our gift kiosk's phot album display last Christmas season. How does one top a hilariously strange work anecdote involving panties? With more undergarments, apparently!

Today's Lesson: it's easier to berate what you write than to create it.


posted by Phillip at 6:10 AM

 
Things That Go "Thbbbbbt!" In The Night

While I don't have such colourful weblinks like, say, Neil Gaiman's journal, which today mentions neepery, electric pickles, poison gardens, art made by juicing CDs with half a million volts of electricity, and boy scouts making radioactive breeder reactors for badges--

http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/journal.asp (for those who are wondering)

--every now and again I happen to discover an interesting article. Like how listening to Verdi can kill you in your own car. This time around, I've discovered how children's books have changed over the years by breaking down taboos...and by breaking wind. From Clifford the Big Red Dog, we've come full circle to Walter the Farting Dog.

http://www.cbc.ca/arts/stories/fartingdog20040423

For those of you too lazy to cut and paste, here's the article:

HALIFAX - Humour and the "f-word" -- fart-- may initially attract children to the Walter the Farting Dog books, but the co-author of the best-selling series believes there's more to it.

"Kids love scatological detail and bodily functions," Murray admitted. "But Walter has an extra charm, I think, and a message of acceptance and tolerance and making the best of a bad situation."

Murray, a Fredericton-based writer and educational technology supervisor, co-authored Walter the Farting Dog and its follow-up Walter the Farting Dog: Trouble at the Yard Sale with his friend William Kotzwinkle, a writer based in Maine.

The books tell the story of the titular pooch and the troubles he gets into because of his uncontrollable and unpleasant bodily function. In the end, however, Walter always saves the day.

Released in 2001, the first Walter book has sold approximately 500,000 copies in North America and, already translated into French and Spanish, will soon appear in Latin, Vietnamese, Korean and Hebrew. Trouble at the Yard Sale, which hit bookshelves this month, is set for similar success: printed in a dozen languages, the book raced up the New York Times Children's Bestsellers list.

Trouble at the Yard Sale has now bumped the original, first-ranked Walter down to second place.

Murray, who spends a lot of time doing public readings in elementary schools, says that the series' success helps get young people excited about reading.

"To me the most important thing that can happen in early education is for a kid to have the experience of picking up a book they choose, reading it from one end to another, and closing the cover and thinking 'That was fun. That was a good thing to do,'" Murray said.

"You know then they're going to go on to read other books."

The Walter stories may not be great literature, but they are attracting children to books, says Susan Perren, children's book columnist at the Globe and Mail.

"As long as it's a diet that's well-balanced with other, shall we say, more nutritious stuff, I think it's just great," Perren said.

The Walter phenomenon will continue with a third book, entitled Walter the Farting Dog: Rough Weather Ahead, set for release later this year. A Walter plush toy -- complete with authentic-sounding "intestinal emanation" sound effects -- and a live-action movie are also in the works.

Now in all honesty, I have no problem with the progatonist having a case of severe flatulence. I've written characters with worst disorders and dysfunctions than that, all in the name of humour. I just still find it peculiar that this source of humour is meant here exclusively for children.

Maybe I'm just not into toilet humour. I enjoy the likes of Good Omens or Douglas Adams to a series of shallow pratfalls and Jackassish antics. And I haven't read about Walter's hapless exploits, so ultimately I can't criticize that which I do not know. I'm hopefully not even trying to criticize now.

I'm just bemused, I guess. Not to mention impressed from reading the article and seeing just how many synonyms there are for "fart" and the act thereof.

Today's Lesson: it's harder than you originally think to write in text the sound of flatulating buttocks.


posted by Phillip at 7:00 PM

 
Zoomafoobar!

The past few days have found the world in which I inhabit rather busy, and the remainder of the week looks to be no different. Between work shifts, Mel & I have been entertaining visiting members of her family. In the last few days, her Dad has been given a grand tour of all to see & do in Kitchener...which admittedly wasn't much.

But the grand spectacle was on Monday, when we visited the Toronto Zoo. This was ideally going to be followed up by an evening dinner with my grandfather and sister in Oshawa, but alas it didn't work out. Even still, the zoo excursion was memorable for a number of reasons.

Namely the fact that if it had wings, I (pardon the punnage) managed to run afoul of it. Every single Canada Goose we can across hissed at me. And I think that given half the chance that bloody ostrich would have tried to eat me. I may be no National Geographic journalist, but if an ostrich charges at you, plummage flared up, and makes hissing and honking noises of a very threatening nature, I don't think it likes you very much. For that matter if persisted to antagonize me for a few minutes before deciding I was too gamy, and it left me alone.

Mel, on the other hand, had a rather adorable fanclub. Inside the Indo-Malayan pavillion, one of the cages housed a large troupe of marmoset monkeys. They're palm-sized, with grey fur, and they look...for lack of a better word, cute. (However, the sign next to their cage warns that they do NOT make good housepets, given their penchance to throw and trash things after reaching maturity)

Mel leaned up towards the wire mesh of the cage and exclaimed, "Cuuuute!" The nearest five or six marmosets immediately turned their heads towards her, and seconds later Mel had them clamouring around the branch nearest to her. In fact, wherever she walked in front of the cage to get better views of the other animals inside, her marmoset fanclub followed after her.

Sure, she gets the cute little monkeys as fans. What do I get? The gargantuan, ugly tropical fish following me around and making kissy-faces! The indignancy of it all! I forget what it was, but it's length was easily that of my entire upper torso. And it needed a good makeover too.

Speaking of aesthetically-disabled, Mel managed to arouse the ire of a lone hyena too. There the hyena was, sleeping sounding in the middle of his outdoor pen. Mel takes one look at him and states, "Boy, he's ugly!" The hyena must have been listening: his head shoots up, and stares right at Mel for the longest time. I'm not one to anthropomorphize, but I think the hyena took great offense to her remark.

It's just as well, then, that the zebras weren't out. Otherwise I'd be explaining to the officials about the ensuing stampede across the zoo. There are times when you think you know a great deal about someone, and then despite that, they turn around and completely floor you with the casualest of remarks. This was one of those times.

Mel: "Where are the zebras? I wanted to see the zebras. Why aren't they in their pen?"

Me: "Well, they are African-based. Maybe it's too cold for them to be outside today."

Mel: [frown!] "Pussies."

That marks one of the few occasions I could not think of anything else to say in response. I just stared at her, blinking. To which Mel stated, "Well, they are! It's cool outside, but I'm still here! And I hate the cold."

And so ends the zoo trip. Next up: Mel's spending the next 2 days in Niagra Falls with her mother and youngest sister (God help us all). And then Mel & I get to show them around the area on Saturday. Joy....

Today's Lesson: the komodo dragon has a good one to two-foot range when it comes to projectile vomit, a lesson learned not from those information boards posted next to the komodo pen, but from watching the komodo colourfully "decorate" one of the logs in his pen.


posted by Phillip at 8:57 AM

 
Were You Aware Of How Loud Your Verdi Was, Sir?

According to an article on the CBC News webpage, listening to Wagner can be hazardous to your health. At least if you're driving. Under no circumstances should you listen to his Ride of the Valkyries when behind the wheel. Apparently it's just as dangerous as polishing off half a tequila bottle and revving up the ol' engine block.

You can check out the article here: http://www.cbc.ca/arts/stories/drivingsongsno20040414

I actually find it vastly amusing that two operatic/orchestral songs rank amongst the top three "No-No"'s on the list. What I subsequently find disturbing is that while I'm quite familiar with all of the "won't-somebody-think-of-the-children's-eardrums?!" songs listed in the article, all of the songs they happen to mention there on the "safe" list I don't even recognize in the slightest.

In other news, I see that the *cough* escourt service in our apartment complex has come to an abrupt end with the...shall we say, administrative heads moving out. Yes, you read that right. I was rather surprised to find out that said service was being run not only in our apartment, but on our floor. Though on the other end of the corridor, so me learning about this entire thing after the fact is understandable.

Apparently there was an attempt to purge the entire escourt business from the complex, but legally they had done nothing wrong so their lease could not get revoked. Hell, there was a police sting operation to boot! All the superintendents could do was try to rack up enough complaints against them to justify giving them the boot. Again, I learned of this after the fact.

But it appears that in the end all this effort was somewhat unnecessary: the ecourt servicers (I confess I can't help but giggle as I type that) moved out shortly thereafter. I guess anonymity doesn't work when a john knocks on their door, and a bunch of heads from apartments down the hall poke out from the doorways, and everyone comments, "That's the third one in an hour! What is she, a machine?!"

Today's Lesson According To Mel: chocolate is usually better than sex. Unless it's hot wild monkey sex, which in fact is much better than chocolate.

posted by Phillip at 8:03 AM

 
Newton's Onion

One of Newton's basic laws of physics is that objects at rest tend to stay at rest unless acted upon by an outside force. If that is the case, then the onion sitting in Mel's palm tonight was subjected to an unexpected surgence of gravity. In her own words, it "leaped out from my hand", whereupon the onion decided to bounce across our dining table, knock over a candlestick, skitter across our Go board, tumble down a chair and roll halfway across the living room floor.

As the onion finally came to a stop, thus ending its reign of carnage, I looked up at Mel and remarked, "On an unrelated note, I am never leaving you in charge of severed heads."

It was like witnessing that spectacular scene at the end of An American Werewolf in London, where a head manages to throw most of a London intersection into complete gridlock and pandemonium. Though I doubt we'll be seeing the film An American Were-Onion in Canada in theatres anytime soon. It would be so hard to find a convincing vegetable to play the part.

To quote Hobbes the tiger: "Just what is an onion's moviation anyways?"

Soup du Jour update: some kind of beef soup.

Today's Lesson: being able to laugh in life is important. Being able to cry is just as important.


posted by Phillip at 7:48 PM

 
Smells Like Andy Warhol

Well, first off I have discovered that my previous little bit of nowhere was not in fact rendered "textus caput". Instead, the operating blog mechanism behind it all just decided to let me think the entry had been wiped out, and let me hastily stitch together some half-assed recap...only to showcase the two of them back-to-back a few hours later for all to see.

Ergo, I'm calling that operating blog mechanism "Hellblog." Ideally we won't see much else of Hellblog in the future.

But enough about him. Let's talk about soup. Glorious "contains fortified meat chunks" soup in all it's Campbell's labelled splendour! I'll admit it: while I'm not fond of hot beverages (on account that I have a cat's tongue) I do enjoy a piping hot bowl of soup. Soup is good. Soup is a healthy facet of human existence.

Even still, I see no reason why the western stairwell in our apartment complex has to smell like soup all the time. And it's not the entire stairwell either; just the landing for the third floor. At least once or twice a day, I will discover that there's a new flavour of soup permeating the air.

Yesterday it was tomato soup. Day before that, I'm not entirely sure, but it smelled like it had a lot of vegetables. And the day before the day before, I am absolutely certain it was the scent of chicken noodle soup I detected. Today there is not yet a third-floor soup smell. I shall keep the general public updated whenever it is discovered.

I am still slightly bewildered at this, however. I enjoy soup. Soup is good. But soup everyday--and at that, a soup so powerful that its scent carries across the entire floor and into the stairwell--seems a little too much. Is there a soup fanatic on the third floor? Do they obssess about soup all day long? If I were to open their cupboards, would I see only rows upon rows of soup cans, which would make me slowly back out of the apartment, knowing full well the owner would be able to smell my fear? (Which would be impressive considering how much their apartment itself must smell like soup.)

I suppose it could be worse. It could smell like burnt sugar instead. Or alternately, a Parisean whore's pet gerbil.

Soup du Jour: unknown.


posted by Phillip at 8:31 AM

 
Hellblog

After writing a happy series of "[insert quirky title] of the day" anecdotes, my blog decided that little bit of nowhere was not worth uploading and promplty eradicated it.

I am not impressed. So here's the syphoned-down version of that list:

1) after having to see Clay Aiken and his well-coiffed hair for the video Invisible more times per hour than I'd care to see, I have a newfound loathing of him. Then again, his song's lyrics are unexpectedly disturbing: "If I was invisible/I would just watch you in your room." *coughSTALKERcough*

2) the stop-and-think-and-suddenly- feel-rather-morbid lyrics of Aiken's song are reminiscent of The Police's song Every Breath You Take. Consider: "Every breath you take/Every move you make/Every step you take/I'll be watching you." Does that sound like a healthy relationship? Great melody, but admittedly the lyrics have all the makings of a fledgling stalker.

3) we are now carrying purses in our store that look like they were stolen off the "female alien" (read: remarkably humanoid female) from one of those old Sci-Fi B movies, and restitched into a purse. You remember those movies: where all those aforementioned female aliens dressed in strange, alien garments of silver spandex bikinis. Ergo, I have dubbed these purses the Barbarella Bikini purses.

4) Fanboy Radio (aka, the Fanboys! guest-starring on Ina-chan's J-Mix Radio) was immense fun and must be repeated whenever the opportunity allows. Thanks and kudos must go out to Ina-chan for being so willing to let us commandeer her show and fill it with nothing but ridiculous conversations and rants, gratuitous silliness, insane readings and lots of very bad puns.

5) as seen on a bin of chocolate-covered peanuts: Warning! May Contain Peanuts!

Unexpected Lesson of the Day: write little bits of nowhere on laptop first, then copy the files and paste them into blog so they won't get eaten and I am forced to retype a not-as-enjoyable version.


posted by Phillip at 2:43 PM

 
Hard-Core Helter Skelter

It's been almost two weeks since my last little bit of nowhere, and I'm still catching my breath from having been on a near-constant run from one thing to the next. From city to city, from place to place, from work to elsewhere, this Good Friday marks the first day in a while that I've actually been able to catch my breath, attempt to recall & reflect what's transpired in the meantime, and be amazed that the pron-spammers have been slacking off in pummelling my Email account with the usual pornobabble ads.

But that's not an offer or request for them to resume their former pace.

There's a lot I could go into detail on, but I'm still tired enough to prefer to shorten them all to anecdotes, and let other peoples' blogs & livejournals give the synopses in my stead. So in two weeks, here's not a lot of accumulated useless observations and rantings. Enjoy!

Curse of the Day: curse you, Clay Aiken! Curse you and your well-coiffed hair! Why must I be constantly seeing your Invisible music video with you prancing around atop a car in the middle of traffic, with your adoring throngs worshipping your well-coiffed hair? Why must the store across from ours play your video so much? For that matter, why must you try and notably fail at what U2 and the Beatles did so well in years past?

Morbid Observation (and the curse's corollary) of the Day: while I'm sure Aiken's voice makes the lyrics for Invisible sound very romantic...has anyone noticed how disturbing they are? "If I was invisible/I would just watch you in your room?" Admittedly, if someone told me that, I don't think I'd scream excitedly and have a near-fainting spell. No, the first word that comes to mind is *coughSTALKERcough*.

The same thing holds true for The Police's Every Breath You Take. Yes, it's a fun melody, but does anyone else get a case of the willies when they look at the lyrics? "Every breath you take/Every move you make/Every step you take/I'll be watching you." Yeah, I'll be standing over there with the mace and the restraining order, if you don't mind.

Silly Purse Fashion of the Day: our store is now the proud owner of purses and matching wallets that (I kid you not) are Barbarella Bikini purses. It's like they took all those old costumes from the 1970's Sci-Fi B movies, where apparently all the female (and might I add, remarkably humanoid) aliens wore sparkling silver spandex bikinis, and skinned them to make our new purses. I half expect to see some old B movie actress come by and cheerfully remark, "Hey, I used to wear shorts that looked like this!" I wonder how many teenage girls would buy our Barbarella Bikini purses once they heard that....

Radio Fanboy Lesson of the Day: we have too much fun doing what we do. Period. Between the Anime horoscopes, the "If Dr. Seuss Wrote Anime" titles, the "Everything I Need To Know I Learned From Anime" titles, the Choose-Your-Own-Disaster fic reading, and just our usual silliness, we damn near took the radio broadcast over entirely, much to my sincere enjoyment. Today the airwaves, tomorrow the world!

Gracious Thanks of the Day: to Ina-chan, for letting us take over her J-Mix Radio broadcast this past Monday and fill it with rampant silliness, gratuitous insanity and very bad puns. I apologize for all the listeners of yours we scared away!

Redundancy of the Day! as seen on a bin of chocolate-covered peanuts: warning, may contain peanuts. Of course, if this isn't a case of redundancy, it does make me worry about what other chocolate-covered peanuts are made from. Are they like grocery store hotdogs, where some weiners might actually contain meat? Have all the chocolate-covered peanuts I've been eating up until now been Soilent Nuts?


posted by Phillip at 2:31 PM