Beauties Invade the Internet

The only girls you'd ever expect to see 'on the internet' in the early days of home based telecommunication were usually locked up in .GIF files that took up to a half a day to download only to see just one measly image of some broad appear on your screen! Then of course you would import it to your digital imaging program and play around with the contrast... or maybe you were the type that preferred to download 320 X 200 images of fighter jets or comic characters. Hey, whatever lures you to the hook.

Today, as I'm sure you know, the internet is full of incredibly gorgeous gals, and you can now not only stare at an unmoving photo of them, stretched across a cathode ray tube monitor, considering whether it would even be worth printing out on your dot-matrix colour printer, but you can hear them speak their minds, move around, do things, perform with bands, whatever... and all in real time...just like T.V.!

I mean, just have a look at a few of my favorite examples pictured below so go ahead and check out the links by clicking on the snaps...ahhg... I forget!

Natasha-

I couldn't help myself but to watch this lovely woman in her attempt to drive David's big dump truck. David Roch, star of the "David's Farm" channel on You Tube, supervises and films the action, but it's all too apparent that Natasha is the star of the show. It only took her a few attempts to get the big truck rolling after familiarizing herself with the clutch, and off she and David went, out to the back forty together, side by side in the hornet infested cab of a smelly old dump truck. The stuff that pure sweet romance is built upon.

Natasha comes across as being genuine, cheerful and charming. Obviously shes' a pretty good sport as well - you know, not too prissy. Natasha's Mom also appears in this video, and she is hysterical. Love that Slavic accent!


Tania
Oooh. Belgium is just as surely known for it's remarkable beauties as Canadians are known for endlessly preaching to the choir, but I say, this woman has a highly positive attitude, and a willingness to commit to a good political cause.

Being that her boyfriend, "Athene", a popular You Tube actor himself who once appeared in a season of a popular T.V. reality show, the pair have done a good many hilarious sketches together, and have inspired me, along with their other cohorts like Reese, the semi-serious documentarian, and Furious the ladies man pimp gangster, to make videos as well. Tania. Capable. Foxy.

Rebecca

Lead singer of the soon to be wildly popular rock group, "My First Earthquake", Rebecca, pictured above, is a most passionate and hyper hipster of a songstress; her machine gun lyrics in some of the group's early punk-o-rama numbers I've heard on You Tube, seem to be driving at something and yet, pointless in their ephemeralitudinous of the diapoplectic master designs of which might pertain to conceptual folk art....meanwhile the group's pop songs are just dandy, not too minimalistic in arrangement, catchy, and boast absurd and in your face poetry - in short, the word play is at times masterful. They're genuine hipsters for sure... reminiscent, I think, of Blondie, and Sonic Youth... but My First Earthquake will continue to surprise us I'm sure. I loved the guitar solo antics in Sweet Frown, one of their latest numbers, the video for which is where I took the frame you see above - it's fantastic! Check it out! Her foxiness awaits your comments and ratings.

Bon Cop, Bad Cop

As I sift through one of the ash laden coffee canisters into which I nearly always dispose of my overflowing ashtrays, expecting I'll be sure to pluck out at least three to five brittle cigarette stubs which I can then pinch the stale tobacco from and roll into a "butt smoke", I think about how ridiculously expensive it is fast becoming to live in this enormous and wonderful country.

I had just returned to my tiny cube of a residence from a friend's place where I'd been invited to have some coffee along with a Sheesha session. His Hookah was still a bit of a novelty, and for me, the thought of drawing on a wee bit of flavoured tobacco vapour to induce some deep conversation seemed a positive and relaxing way to spend my early evening. It didn't take much convincing - especially in light my cigarette butt hunting quest. Shaw (a local cable provider) and Sheesha sure sheemed less shitty than schpending my night at home sheeking out shilling a shmokes schigarettes! 8P


Upon my arrival, however, M.C. Hutterite sadly informed me that the sheesha's glass chamber had met it's demise while the hookah was in transit from the bedroom to the living room. Unfortunate, but not overly regrettable, so I told the M.C. that surely an inexpensive replacement could be found - presuming that the hoses, smoking chamber, and valve stem make up the bulk of the unit's overall cost. Hell, I've even known a guy since high school who is now an artistic glass blower in a shop not far from where I hang my hat each night. I'm sure that he could whip up a hubbly bubbly chamber to spec as sure as the pipes and bongs he makes aren't really intended for tobacco use only! Steve the artisan would probably charge more than the Hutterite paid for his whole schmere of a bong in the first place; Steve uses very high quality glass and I understand that his work is favourably appraised. I've seen much of it myself, and the swirling, abstract designs of his glassware are very pleasing to me - for what my tastes are worth. Despite the fact that I resort to smoking recycled cigarettes on occasion, I believe my taste in food, music, and art would be considered at least moderately refined from the perspective of a real aficionado.

I wonder if Steve, given his rep, would consider blowing a piece using lesser grade glass to fill a custom order on the cheap if one promised not to tell? That sounds so bad!

Oh well... the M.C. and I sipped some coffee anyway, as I smoked an old stogie I had found behind the counter of a gas station on the way over, and we watched a movie (my own selection from the offerings of the 'movies on demand listings') called, "Bon Cop, Bad Cop" - a story of how an unlikely pair of bilingual (oh so Canadian) detectives, one from Montreal and the other from Toronto, are forced to partner-up in an effort to catch a serial killer whose first victim's corpse is discovered draped over the Ontario Quebec border crossing sign. Gosh, whose jurisdiction does this one fall under?

The movie was satisfyingly ridiculous enough throughout for my tastes, and while unlike the many great actors and comedians this country exports, much of Canadian cinema itself isn't renound for being very popular, at least amongst movie buffs in our own country. Much to our country's brave film-maker's credit, however, you can generally count on a Canadian flick to be strikingly blaise. We sure know how to weave together a real groaner of a plot.

Bon Cop, Bad Cop, if anything, exhibited reasonably convincing fight scenes, a few mediocre car chases and stunt-works, some bang-on explosions, and a hot scene d'amour du fromage. The dialogue was often clever, but at times, I found the fast moving English sub-titles a bit tough to catch against some backgrounds.

I can speak passable French myself but am tremendously deficient when it comes to comprehending what's being said when it's spoken quickly and on the fly. I have trouble distinguishing in real-time where one word ends and the other begins as my brain tries to simultaneously unscramble and translate that said, to my ears, sounds akin to something like, "Peutveutvotrenoirellesontlivreestcenousallors, uh?"

Reading written French, however, pa'd problem! C'est weird! Maintenant?

Why is it such a stigma to be an older bachelor?

This was one of the questions posted to the forums of a well known free internet dating site.

Here was my response:

Though I've endured my share of put downs from women, the nature of their criticisms have yet to concern my bachelorhood. For so long as I can remember, I've dreamed that I would one day meet the most beautiful woman, and that we would spend our whole lives together. Now, approaching my thirties, the chances of that dream ever coming true seems ever more remote with each passing day. The dream has become little more than a chapter of a tragedy yet to be written, and just mere memories of an alter ego that will soon likely fade from existence if it's details are not recorded; a story of a lonely, prodigious soul who never came to know true love.

Still, in many ways, I feel that I've dodged a bullet by not pursuing the path of marital bliss and conversely, quite likely spared some really nice ladies a lifetime of agonizing over my less than consistent approach to my lifestyle.

Here is my imagined scenario had I gotten married five years ago:

Three years into our marriage, and it's the height of the real estate bubble. I have a good job selling junk paper to naive young investors, and she's a fitness instructor. Life seems to be a pretty sweet fruit, as we sit discussing esoteric matters from our vista view of city from our rented balcony, perched high above our relatively quiet and well established neighborhood, our own temporary sliver of the downtown.

She suddenly decides we need to buy a sickeningly overpriced piece of real estate because all her friends at work are getting into the market before they're "priced out". We'd better commit ourselves NOW to getting in on the action, and mortgage the next twenty to forty years of our life paying for some quarter million dollar bungalow. I reluctantly agree, and the following year, my hours are cut by a third, we can't afford a bus pass after paying the heat, and she decides to leave me for Mr. tall dark and handsome while I'm left with some leaky overpriced shack in a neighborhood I despise.

My reality: I live alone in a reasonably priced apartment in a city I've grown to love, have a crumby job that barely affords my habits, and feel miserable about my circumstances most of the time, and have devoted myself to artistic pursuits and personal growth instead of a mortgage and an RESP. It's not perfect, but who knows, I'm free from debt slavery, and things can only get better in the world of relationships. Until then, I hope to meet some nice free-wheeling women up for a good time!

Suzie - A reasonably well behaved cat.

On occasion, over the last couple of years, I've agreed to accommodate this smallish, cute, and well behaved kitty for a few nights at time. Never growing up had I ever had a pet cat to call my own, although I can remember the week or so that me dear ol' Mum reluctantly cat-sat for a friend; she likes cats, but not enough to endure the feline's typical negligence to provide much notice before landing on one's lap seemingly out of nowhere. Cat's, unlike dogs, appear, moreso than they approach in the way a pet dog would with nails clicking, tongue lapping, and eyes bashful. Dogs can be fairly stealthy and quiet when they feel the need, whereas cats are far more stealthy and agile, and some like to make a point of demonstrating it to people. It doesn't help that Mom is easily startled.





A poor picture, I know, but there she is, purring away with one paw hanging over my leg. We do seem to have a bond, and I miss her company until it's time for another visit. Her usual place of residence, unfortunately, has had to undergo periodic fumigations as part of an effort to eliminate an infestation of bed bugs. I consider myself lucky to have not encountered any, given that my own apartment dwelling is in the very same building! Such an arrangement of proximnity makes me a convenient choice of temporary guardian for little Suzie.


Here you can see her perched next to my computer's keyboard. She frequently visits me while I'm in 'the office' reading, typing, or watching something. I used to keep my telephone set in here, but now it's in the kitchen area... I'm thinking of getting a second telephone set to place near the computer... a smallish phone set, as it's handy for looking things up while chatting with a friend. My Mom usually calls on Sundays for a bit of help with the NY Times crossword. On the rare occasion that I find myself wanting to just simply pass time, like when I'm awaiting a flight in some Airport's food court, you're not likely to discover the like of me taking the time to 'do' a crossword. I imagine they're a breeze when solved with the like of Wikipedia and Google at one's disposal. I love a game of Scrabble though.

Found a humble little entertainment unit with a glass door, abandoned next to the dumpster behind my building a few months ago. Now it acts as a station for my computer tower, and the monitor rests neatly on top. This set up allows me to roll my PC around the apartment! Now I can watch You Tube while making pancakes or watch You Tube while watching TV! Still, I generally keep it parked in the office, and rather like having my living room free from too much technology when entertaining friends and ladies.

On Depression

About three years ago, I played the role of Anthony Henday in a student film shot using 16mm. The budget was even narrower than the spools! Hehehe...okay, bad allegory. Whatever. Moments ago, the producer calls me to inform me about the screening which takes place tomorrow at the Metro Cinema in downtown Edmonton.

I'm pretty excited. I'll have to trade a shift at work in order to attend. What prompted me to write this entry, however, was not the excitement of seeing myself on the silver screen trying to play the role of a 19'th century fur trader from the Hudson's Bay Company, but the fact that the film's producer, a young twenty-something kid, admitted to me that he's battling depression; an affliction I'm not altogether unfamiliar with, and one that must not be taken lightly.

I'm a self-medicator. I use caffeine, weed, and booze to control my emotions. I've 'tried' cocaine as well. I explained this to my friend the producer, and gave him a conditional green light to go ahead and smoke a little ganja. I told him that while it won't change your situation, if you get utterly depressed like I do, 'the herb' works well as band-aid to help gain some perspective and get things done. I emphasized that life is short (he's a young man) and that things are never as bad as they might seem when you embark on some negative, reciprocating, introspective mind's journey with no one to bounce your thoughts off.

Here is my advice: Don't make rash decisions and remember that no one is really your boss - except for God, if you believe in Him.

So yeah kids, feeling down? Don't do anything stupid. Count your blessings and try and get on with life. Feeling lonely like Michael Jackson? Write a song or contrive a new dance move. Listen to the Beatles. I've been there. I know it's tough and you're bound to have a few slips along the way - being nuts doesn't mean you're stupid!

New POF profile

This is what my Plenty of Fish profile reads:

So many of the women who frequent this site are such whores. Whores and toxic wives. Not to say that I'm any better, but hey, I'm not about to accompany you to the 7-Eleven to listen to your undisciplined brat scream and yell about wanting the three dollar slurpee straw only to have to endure some woman's lib B.S. for my explaining to him that it's a waste of money et al; negating all the socialistic axioms that you've been haplessly instilling in your child, learned from some pantie-waisted professor during your party days at the university.

My Dad used to give me 'the look' when I behaved inappropriately, and I knew he would follow up on it if I pushed the envelope, which is why I grew up to be a gentleman.

Admittedly

To Marc Carney - Governer of the Bank of Canada or whatever:

You looked pretty good in that Globe photo.