Thursday, December 31, 2009

Room

I want a room; just paint it black
Just like some burned sugar shack.
Where I can't see spiders roam
Just a room to call my home.

In the spring and in the fall
I want a room that has it all.
Forty-four inch TV
Big enough for you and me.

In my room I want some beer
In a tiny fridge, right here.
Then if you could grant me chips
I could promise Battleships.

I will win and then you will
And then have sandwiches with dill.

I want a room, quite mostly black
Just like some burned sugar shack.

Ordering McDonald's in Japanese for a Japanese

There was a guy -- I remember his name: Vincent Bandoh. He was from Vancouver and somehow he had found his place teaching English in Japan, alongside me. This must have been 1990 or so -- he must be in his forties now.

But Vince had a problem. He looked Japanese, acted Japanese, but couldn't speak Japanese to climb a tree. He WAS Japanese, but he told me his parents spoke to him in Japanese but he spoke English back. Because he really, really, couldn't speak hardly a word.

So when we went to the McDonald's, everyone was confused. We had to order, but the waitress was looking at Vince. She refused to look at me, no matter how confused Vince looked. When he started telling me his order (he couldn't even read Japanese) and I started telling her, she still ignored me, expecting some kind of "Japaneseness" or maybe "Asianness" out of him.

When I finally put him out of his misery by ordering for him, he was a trembling wreck.

"Vince," I said, "You LOOK Japanese, ACT Japanese and ARE Japanese, so you kind of have to LEARN Japanese."

He looked at me and said "You really think so?"

Dracula

Oh, shiite, did he really sleep all day and stay up all night? Good ol' Vlad wasn't like me.

But my friends have called me a vampire. It's 6:33 a.m. and I'm just getting started. (Oh wait, the sun'll come up soon!)

And it seems that my DNA is in full working order: Tai-chan is on Brigitte's piece-o'-shit Windows laptop (sorry, ingrained prejudice) as we speak. So we're father-and-son vampires now.

Brigitte is not a vampire -- at least it seems that when first light comes, her first instinct is not to go to sleep.

But me . . . it's Halloween every day of the year. Flapping wings extra at checkstand D on Aisle 4.

A Penguin Walks Into a . . . Well, You Know The Rest

I swear, where do human beings come up with jokes? I mean, really clever jokes.

Dogs have jokes, but they never let on that they're joking; that's part of the joke. Even cats have jokes, and fish have special jokes only understandable to themselves. Forget about it, you will never see the humour in a fish joke. You can try, and I can try, but the old "Why are fish wet all the time? Why don't they take a bath and dry out in front of a warm fire with a cognac" doesn't work for fish.

But the cream of the crop is the " . . . goes into a bar" joke. Who the hell came up with the concept, and why is the bartender always this hapless dope, and his first name is always "Bartender?" Why isn't his first name "Neil" or "Adam", and by the way, why can't she be a she, this being an equal-opportunity world? (Oh, okay, then she would be the "bartendress." Or not).

But anything involving the word "penguin" to me is funny, so here's the joke:

A penguin walks into a bar, goes to the counter, and asks the bartender, "Have you seen my brother?" The bartender asks, "I don't know, what does he look like?"

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Hey Iranian Ruler Dudes

YOU'RE GOING DOWN. For every one of you there are TWELVE OF US.

Building a Relationship 2

I wrote a piece a while back here.

But it seems as fresh today as when I wrote it.

In this case, it's not the Server, but the Master. Namely, Maurizio at Basi next to Jean-Talon market.

He's the owner, but even though I recognize in his young face the world-weariness that I so often feel, Maurizio somehow makes a point of making a point of making time for others. I would NOT want to do what he does; raise a small child and make sure a restaurant is humming 24/7 (even though it's not in a row, it's still 24/7) because frankly, sometimes putting pasta in the microwave is a stretch for me.

But there are saints, and there are saints. And Maurizio is a saint. So when we called to ask for New Year's Eve reservations for three on his answering machine, he called back right away. And when we needed to change them to the second sitting, he pretty much invited us to be there at midnight.

If you ever get a chance, look up Maurizio at Basi. If there was ever a guarantee on this Earth, it's a guarantee that he'll guarantee the best experience on this earth, and follow it up while he's at it, too.

Warning: Rant Quotient EXTREMELY HIGH

Before you go any further with your reading pleasure please be warned of the following carryon items:

People of a religious nature may be offended, people of certain political affiliations may also be offended, and people who have allergies (to particular cuss words and general generalisations) may choose to board SOME OTHER FUCKING CARRIER.

Ready, now that we have all the fucking disclaimers out of the way?

Here we go:

WHAT THE FUCK IS THE PROBLEM WITH ISLAM? WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THESE PEOPLE THAT THEY ENDEAVOUR TO BE THE NEW NAZIS OF THE CIVILIZED WORLD?

WHY

DON'T
THEY

JUST

GET A JOB

AND STOP TRYING TO WIPE OUT CIVILIZATION AS A WHOLE, INCLUDING THEIR OWN LAME ASSHOLE SELVES?

WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLES ARE THESE PEOPLE? DO THEY EVER STOP BEING ASSHOLES?

It's like shitting in your own bedroom just because you can't be bothered to take it outside. Well, MULLAH FUCKING OMAR OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO CALL YOURSELF, SOONER OR LATER THAT SHIT IS GOING TO STINK. YES, YOUR SHIT, IN YOUR BEDROOM.

Fucking go take a break, you assholes, I've heard Cambodian jungles are a great bargain this time of year. And I'll ship you all there on YOUR OWN PERSONAL GUIDED MISSILE. ALL FOR THE BARGAIN,ONE-TIME-ONLY PRICE OF FREE.

Thank you for your attention. You may now resume your seats.