London Calling (Paris Be Mine)

Big news on the horizon!

Tomorrow, for the first time in my life, I am leaving North America and going to Europe.

You already knew that? Oh...okay...good job, then!

But wait, there’s more!

After more than 2 1/2 years of faithful blogging, I have decided to retire You’re The Bee’s Knees.

I started this blog after graduation as a way to keep in touch with my university friends. Unfortunately, it’s too easily accessible to strangers who google my name and to people who are no longer in my life in any meaningful way. This blog has served its purpose. It’s time to move on.

Since old habits die hard, I’ll be starting a new blog under an alias. I will not be posting the link here. If you’d like access to it, please write me a catch-up email of no less than 4 hefty paragraphs, detailing news of work/school/lovelife/family/etc. Tons of people check my blog who I haven’t heard from in weeks or months or even years. It’s one-sided and voyeuristic and completely unfair. Tit for tat, people!

Wish me a good trip! I’ll be posting photos on my new blog, if you’re coming along for the ride.

Thanks for reading.


(c) 2006 Art Litwell

(Now playing: “Vanishing Girl”, The Dukes of Stratosphear)

Probably Not The Best Idea In The World

Opening credits for Snakes on a Plane roll.

Caitlin: Oooooh. I really don't like snakes.

Sofi: I really don't like planes.

Caitlin and Sofi: ...

Sofi: We are idiots.

(Now playing: "Snakes In My House", Mississippi Grover)

Too Close For Comfort

A Delta Comair en route to Atlanta crashed this morning, killing 49 of the 50 people on board.

Delta Comair. Atlanta. Sound familiar? It should.

From CNN.com:

"The cause of the crash is unknown and is under investigation. There were no reports of bad weather in the Lexington area. "It was dark at the time of the accident, but it was clear," Brown said."

I have a bit of an idea as to why the Comair crashed. How about IT'S UNFIT FOR FUCKING FLIGHT?!

I wonder if the sole survivor, crew member James Polehinke, was the same effeminate blond attendant who served me Peak Frean cookies on my turbulent flight to Atlanta. I remember watching our attendant strapping himself into his forward-facing seat at the front of the aisle (there was nowhere else for him to go) and thinking detachedly that his face would be the last thing I saw if the plane went down.

I also wonder if the tiny, shaky plane that went down was the self-same tiny, shaky plane that I was on two Octobers ago.

This isn't the best thing to be thinking about 5 days before Europe.

Flight: Delta Air Lines flight 5015 operated by COMAIR INC (Non-Stop)
Depart: Montreal, Canada (YUL) - Terminal Information Unavailable
" Thu, Oct 21 at 7:20pm
Arrive: Atlanta, GA (ATL) - SOUTH TERMINAL
" Thu, Oct 21 at 10:21pm
Seat: Check in at Airport for Seat Assignment. (Canadair Regional Jet)
Meal: No Meal Served
______________________________________________________
Flight: Delta Air Lines flight 5725 operated by COMAIR INC (Non-Stop)
Depart: Atlanta, GA (ATL) - SOUTH TERMINAL
" Sun, Oct 24 at 6:45pm
Arrive: Montreal, Canada (YUL) - Terminal Information Unavailable
" Sun, Oct 24 at 9:24pm
Seat: 8A (Canadair Regional Jet)
Meal: No Meal Served

(Now playing: "Travelling Blues", Al Tuck)

Brab-Bab-Bab-Bap...

In university, I wrote for a satirical weekly paper called Golden Words. In my freshman year, one of the editors-in-chief was a guy named Jay Pinkerton. A fellow English major, Jay was this redheaded bespectacled guy whose intelligence and brilliant sense of humour floored me.

While I never had a full-blown crush on Jay, I certainly harboured a bit of an intellectual crush on the guy and badly wanted to earn his respect. Everything I wrote was an attempt to impress Pinkerton. To make him laugh just a little bit. He usually read my pieces with a straight face. I was convinced that he hated me.

Happily, this was not the case. After he graduated, Jay and I became ICQ BFFs and he invited me to join an email list called bad_craziness, which was populated with Golden Words alumni and current GW staffers who he deemed funny enough. It was like an electronic version of the Algonquin Round Table. Except with more cock jokes.

Anyway, every time I checked my inbox, I was bombarded with hilarious essays, comics, poems, discussions, etc. from the gentlemen (and few ladies) involved with bad_craziness. Sometimes I even contributed. The bad_craziness collective definitely helped me to become a better and funnier writer (and is partially-if-not-entirely responsible for my dirty sailor’s mouth and penchant for dead baby jokes).

Jay went on to sell much of the humour writing he posted, gained a rabid internet following and was eventually offered an editorial position at National Lampoon. This past winter, Jay took on a managing editor position at Cracked, which wanted to re-invent itself for a more mature audience.

The very first issue of the new-and-improved (and Jay Pinkertonful!) Cracked just appeared on newsstands this week. The magazine also includes writing from bad_craziness member Peter Lynn (hi Pete!), who is a funny motherfucker in his own right. I haven’t picked up a copy yet, but I am so confident in the writing abilities of these fellows that I urge you to buy a copy of Cracked as soon as you get the chance. You’ll laugh! You’ll cry! You’ll be horribly offended!

Congratulations, Jay and Pete!

(Now playing: “Best of my Time”, Jon Rae & The River)

P.S. For your reading pleasure, here is some vintage funny by Jay Pinkerton (he explains this particular comic's origins and the cult of bad_craziness right here).

That Don't Impress Me Much

I was unimpressed by the following things today:

• A teller informing me that the hours at another Royal Bank branch were until 6PM. I went out of my way to head there today. The doors were locked. It closed at 4:30. Summer hours, schmummer hours - I still have to bank, you motherfucking motherfuckers! (Unchecked rage = time to switch banks?)
  

• That Kraft Dinner commercial that cops the riff from "Psychotic Reaction" but changes it just enough that I bet they don't have to pay Count Five any royalties.

• Co-workers who refuse to flush the toilet after they pee. I don't know who the perp is yet, but I intend to find out. For shaaaame!
  

• The cover of today's Toronto Sun which featured a photograph of John Mark Karr with the headline "Snake On A Plane". Ick. (Granted, nothing tops their infamous "BASTARDS!" headline from September 12th, 2001).

• The fact that my Epi-Pen does not have a prescription sticker on it and therefore I cannot bring it aboard the plane because it is a liquid even though I may desperately require its use during the flight if I happen to eat a stray peanut and so I'm going to have to make an appointment to see my doctor just to get a prescription to get a new Epi-Pen with a sticker on it and I'll have to pay like $100 for it too and it's insane that Air Canada doesn't keep Epi-Pens on board in case of an in-flight allergic reaction but they don't but I suppose it doesn't really matter since anaphylaxis at 20000 feet is basically a done-deal-you're-dead sorta thing because an emergency landing would take too long and all of that but I'm still pretty pissed that I have to pay $100 for a bloody sticker, essentially!
  

• Paris Hilton on her CD: "I, like, cry when I listen to it..." She's not the only one.
  

(Now playing: "Bob Dylan Blues", Syd Barrett)

Arrested Development

(Warning: The following post has absolutely nothing to do with the early '90s rap collective nor the hilarious situation comedy of the same name)

After the Syd Barrett tribute the other night (amazing, incidentally), Hickey and I got to talking about where we are in our lives. He and I still live in Scarborough with our respective families. It's a difficult thing to feel okay about, especially since our friends are such...adults.

Consider:

• I am friends with four people who are already proud homeowners. (Three of them are younger than me.)

• I have attended the weddings of three friends. (Friend #4 is getting married this Sunday.)

• Most of my friends have found long-term partners and have been living in delicious sin for so long that they are considered common-law spouses.

• I don't have any friends who are still living with their parents. Hickey aside, I am the only person I know who still lives at home. (Fine, you too Cowie, but you're leaving in a couple of weeks, so you no longer count. OH - and Alison, too. But that's it!)
  

• A friend I've known since kindergarten recently told me that she's pregnant. Apparently, she and her husband (of three years) felt that they were financially and emotionally stable enough to bring a life into this world. Now, while I'm thrilled for her, I'm kind of floored that the word "pregnancy" no longer means "holy fucking disaster, Batman!"

It's going to be quite a while before I get married or feel ready to have children. I know that. But I've been thinking about moving out ever since I got back from Montreal last spring. I resolved to get my own apartment in 2006, but I don't know if that's going to happen. I make enough money to be comfortably financially independent, but moving downtown would mean adding an hour to my commute. That would suck.

I'm starting to wonder if working in Scarborough is a convenient excuse to stay at home and consequently not grow up.

I want my own place more than anything. I want four walls and a roof that I can call my own. I want to decorate it in a way that reflects my tastes (the bedroom I am currently sitting in is full of garish pink flowers and cherubs and lace). I want to come and go as I please. I want bring home whoever I want. I want to lock the door.

I want to leave the nest.

But, to be completely honest, I'm terrified by the thought.

(Now playing: "Baby Lemonade", Syd Barrett)

Wolfe Island Music Festival 2006

Wherein a bunch of kids from Toronto flock to Kingston in order to see a bunch of bands from Toronto play.


The Fembots, featuring guest vocals by the very talented Krista Muir (whose alter-ego, Lederhosen Lucil, was sadly not on the bill).


Lukas, Indra and Kate were completely captivated by the Chris Brown All-Star Band.


Dounia and I (being for the benefit of Mr. Hanson).


Summertime is such a climb!


The amazing Jon Rae and The River. With special guests, The Gnats.


I could listen to the Hidden Cameras play for the rest of my life. I LOVE them. What a fun show. (Even Maggie is smiling!)


Fist pumps were de rigeur. (The Hidden Cameras also played a more sedate set at the Sleepless Goat the next day. Sadly, I took no pictures.)


It's fitting that my only usable photograph of Wintersleep is in such warm tones, considering it was their sweatshirt that kept me from freezing my ass off after the sun went down.


The Constantines were tighter than a 19-year-old nun. As usual.


This was the part of the show where Bry Webb announced our impending nuptuals over the mic. People cheered. We kissed. I cried.*

*Lies!

(Now playing: "Scoundrel Babes", The Constantines)