Summer Special (Wherein Sofi Plugs A Lot Of Shit)

After spending the weekend in The Great Outdoors (okay, fine, just Toronto Island and my own backyard), I was rewarded with a retroactive sunburn and itchy, itchy ant bites.

I have since been shunning the outside world, sheltered as I am in the ant-free, air-conditioned comforts of my home and also office.

So in the spirit of being a hermit and staying indoors, here are some Bee's Knees Approved recommendations for top-notch staying-inside summer entertainment:

READ...



The Dougler is my faaaave. While this book lacks the requisite Smiths references that I so enjoy about Coupland (there's a Morrissey reference, however - close enough), it's got his trademark quirky humour, bizarro characters and geekspeak in spades. While it's not his best, it's a lot of fun and is a super quick summertime read, despite its enviable girth.

LISTEN TO...



The Saffron Sect is a "modieval" Toronto-based folk group, the brainchild of Gaven Dianda (formerly of The Flashing Lights and More Plastic). Their new debut EP is oddly beautiful and sufficiently weird. I've had most of the songs for a couple of years now (Gaven burned me a disc with some early demos before the Sect was even a twinkle in his eye) and am happy that my favourite tune at the time, "Phosphorous Flash", made it to the EP. The real stand-out is "All Leads Back To You", which is the kind of dizzy love song that I have always wanted someone/anyone to write about/for me.

Ahhh well. Maybe someday.

PROCRASTINATE AT WORK WITH...



Thanks to Matt for pointing out that Cracked's Jay Pinkerton has brought The Trailer Trash back from the dead. This was a website he ran years ago where humour writers reviewed trailers instead of the actual movies. There's some vomit-inducingly hilarious stuff on there (including a couple of amateurish reviews by yours truly) and since the site bowed out around 2004, it's so like totally retro!

WATCH...

This is cute:



This is way funnier than it has any right to be:



This is my favourite thing in the world right now (start at approx. 2:00 for best and most awe-inspiring results):



(Now playing: "Aquamarine Ink", The Saffron Sect)

This One's For Carl Wilson

Here come the femme fatales of Chart magazine, shamelessly interlinked:


L-R: Sofi, Chrissy, Caitlin

(Now playing: "Fuck It Up (Acoustic)", Towers Of London)

A Public Service Announcement

Please do not try to pick up women on public transportation.

On my way home from work today, I watched as a young man approached a young woman a few seats away from me. He walked up to her, grinning with (what I thought was) recognition. She did not return his grin. Since I was listening to my iPod, it took me a moment to realize what was going on. The young lady regarded him with amusement/mild trepidation. I could smell alcohol on him by this point. I turned down my iPod to listen in on their conversation, but it didn't last long. She got off at the very next stop.

Him: You gotta go so soon?
Her: Yeah, this is my stop! Bye!

I sat there, trying not to crack a smile. What a loser! Boy, was I ever glad I wasn't that girl!

Him: Hey....so what's your name?

This was directed at me.

I turned up my iPod and continued to stare out the window.

I'm not entirely sure what I found more offensive - the fact that this man was drunkenly hitting on women on a bus, or the fact that I was his fallback option.

Bruised egos aside, the moral of the story is that buses/subways/streetcars are not bars. If you are drunk and/or horny on the TTC, that does not mean that anyone else is. Most commuters aren't looking for love or a even quick blowjob in the nearest McDonald's restroom. They just want get to work/school/home.

And they don't want to talk to you.

(Now playing: "What's Your Problem?", The Gruesomes)

Climbing The Corporate Ladder

Sign # 219 that you. have. made. it.



Coincidentally, this is also sign #219 that you. are. easily. impressed.

Happy one year workaversary to me!

(Now playing: "Your Lies", The Gruesomes)

The Old Guy!

After the Eels show yesterday, I dashed off to surprise my lovely friend Andrew at the vaguely sketchy West End bar where he hosts karaoke on Saturday nights.

When I had finished wowing the crowd with the requisite Blondie tune, an older gentleman let me know that he had enjoyed my performance and that I had "a lovely voice".

Said gentleman was none other than Mr. Harry Brown.

For most of you, that name means nothing. But for those of you who watched Speaker's Corner on City TV religiously during the "Devil's Advocates" days, that name means everything.

Me & my new friend Harry

(Now playing: "Old Man Going", The Pretty Things)

And Your Curves Are Kicking

In order to counteract that particularly evil episode of "Canada's Next Top Model" (wherein a stunner of a woman who weighs approximately 108 pounds was told that her hips looked too thick), I am going to post some photos of curvy babes.

Kate Dillon makes me weep. (Google her!)




This is Lisa Webb. She has hips. She has breasts. And she is the most exquisitely beautiful woman I have ever met in real life (That's saying something. I know a lot of really beautiful women.)




Anita Ekberg. There are no words.




Mia is totally the superior Tyler.




This here lady is Queen for a reason.




And I don't care what they're selling, I fucking love these bitches.



Finally, I guess this girl's a bit of all right. You know, if you dig the whole "bedroom eyes" thing.

(Now playing: "Don't Let It Bring You Down", Neil Young)

NXNE...In Profile

I heart profile shots!


Chrissy poses outside of the beautiful Palais Royale.


An attentive audience at The Boat.


The Lady of the Hour, an ecstatic Adam Brown and Garry.


Mike + ringpop. Lucky ringpop!


Land Of Talk? More like Land Of ROCK!

(Now playing: "Magnetic Hill", Land Of Talk)

Ow! My Freakin' Ears! Eyes! Wallet!

I have crap vision. I have had crap vision ever since I was a kid. I attribute this to genetics...not to mention reading picture books under the covers using a toy Gloworm as my sole light source.

Without my glasses/contacts, everyone resembles a brownish area with points. No fun.

I went to the optometrist today. My eyes haven't gotten worse, but I decided to get brand new lenses placed in my old frames. They're a little scratched up since I've dropped them bunches of times and wipe them on my jeans and such.

The damage was $330. Plus tax.

That's for new lenses. Nothing else. No frames. No contacts. LENSES!

Were I not a goy, I would have plotzed.

I kvetched, though! Bow howdy, did I ever kvetch!

In the end, I surrendered the plastic and that was that.

When/if I ever have children, the genetic lottery will likely determine that they'll have crap vision just like mom. I'm not so good with the math, but let's say inflation pushes lenses to $500 in 10 years time. Add $300 for frames on top of that. That's $800. Per person. Per year. $2400 a year? Good god!

Laser eye surgery seemed pricey before. It sounds like a bargain now.

(Now playing: The lovely Nico sounding like frigging awesome on CIUT's Vinyl From The Crypt! Go Nico!)