Jimmy

How much do I love M.I.A.? This is instantly my new favouritest video in the whole world ever!!

The Latest News from Nippon

Heavyweights panic as woman dives for sumo ring

Thu Sep 20, 12:05 PM

TOKYO (Reuters) - A woman invaded a sumo ring -- a sacred arena from which females are banned -- in Tokyo during a major tournament, domestic media said on Thursday, then was pulled down by a referee and one of the sport's huge wrestlers.

The middle-aged woman dashed from the side of the Kokugikan sumo stadium on Wednesday and shoved away a female security guard before rolling onto the ring just as a bout was set to begin, the Yomiuri newspaper said.

The Japan Sumo Association insisted that though the woman did enter the raised platform around the batting ring, she did not set foot on the ring, or dohyo, itself.

"It's bad for the heart," said Takamisakari, a popular wrestler who helped catch the woman, told the Sports Nippon daily. "What was the person trying to do while we were wrestling seriously?"

It was not clear why she had attempted to reach the ring during one of the sport's heavily televised six big tournaments, but she was carrying a bundle of flyers saying "help, bad spirits," Nikkan Sports daily reported.

Such an intrusion would be a severe faux pas for the ancient sport, which is so serious about keeping females out that a female governor of Osaka had to delegate prize-giving duties to a male subordinate at a 2001 tournament.

Japan's giant wrestlers battle it out in a ring with a diameter of 4.6 meters (15 feet) set in the centre of a sand stage raised around 50 centimeters (19 inches) from the ground.

Tradition forbids women from entering the ring on the grounds that it is sacred and their presence, considered unclean, would pollute it.

"It's just the way it's been from the past," an official from the sumo association said.

Women were also banned in the past from climbing mountains or entering mines in Japan.

Yahoo News

French buraucracy will be the death of me!

I went to Immigration today to get my carte de séjour (resident card), halfway across Paris for them to tell me that foreign students need to have their immigration file processed in the foreign student centre of the Cité universitaire (at the opposite end of Paris). When I got there, they asked for several documents that weren't on the list of documents to bring (though somewhat wise now to their bureaucratic shenanigans, I have been amassing photocopies in triplicate of every document even vaguely related to this process). The lady seemed ever-so-slightly disappointed that my file was in order. I, on the other hand, was rather more disapointed that they didn't ask for some documents I had to jump through hoops to get (like the letter from OHIP or a copy of my insurance policy in French). Now I have to do a medical exam (!) in Mid-October (!!) before I can get my permanent card.

I think back to those dreamy, rose-coloured days when I arrived in Japan and a kindly old English-speaking gentleman filled out my one-page form for me at the ward office. Much nicer than the shouting and chaos of the student immigration centre that smacked more of a makeshift refugee camp than anything else.

And I bet you didn't you know that you need 15 different document to open a bank account in France – including a copy of the deed to your parents' house? Honestly! How does anything actually get done in this country? To think of the mountains of paperwork that must get stuffed into vaults every day in France, never to be seen by human eyes again...

French Toast calling T-Dot. Can you read me T-Dot?

Flight was très normale— totally Dullsville, as per Air Canada standard. Settling in fine, though I though I was going to kill myself and many people around me trying to lug my 80lb suitcase through the many ups and downs of the Paris Métro. The neighbourhood is nice, quite convenient and the apartment is all old-school Parisian mouldings and marble fireplace, which is swank. The roomie seems a bit kooky, but I think it'll be doable for sure. I didn't wake up to him watching me sleep last night, so I guess things are on the right track.

BranTom were in town yesterday and today as they made a train connexion in Paris en route to a friend's wedding in northern Italy. It was so nice to see them and have them around to help me acclimatise a bit. Then it seems as though R&R will make a continental jaunt la semain prochaine and Madame Sly is perhaps hot on their heels. Seems as though I'll be spending more time with Toronto peeps now that I live in Paris than I ever did when we actually lived on the same continent. Strange since virtually no one showed even the slightest interest in coming to visit me in Tokyo...

But I digress. I do have to say that things haven't been all pâtisseries and poodles since I arrived. Ever since I found out that this was going to be a three year deal, I've felt a lot of trepidation about pulling myself up again after so long away and after settling into a really stellar and great bunch of people. While the city is beautiful, it feels very isolating in a way that Tokyo never did (clearly bizarre since Tokyo is definitely the more alien of the two). Perhaps it's because of the shared language that everything seems so tantalisingly close in Paris , but just beyond the surface I can see that I'm still culturally a continent away. So much history and tradition that I just know nothing about (which strangely enough was not the case when I went to Tokyo).

Also I need to find a job toute suite as the lack of cash flow is giving me heart palpitations every time I have to pay for something in this très, très expensive city. I have two weeks now before classes start so hopefully I'll be able to sort something out soon.

Trusting that all is well in Toronto, Japan, or where ever you are reading this.

À bientôt !

Life is a Cabaret ol' chum

In honour of the day after Labour Day and all things scholastic, I present to you this Youtube. Classroom pranks are always good times, and who doesn't love a little Broadway now and then?

I wish this could have happened even once during university lectures — anything to break up the bone dry monotony of professors prattling away like an academo-speak jackhammer about the semiotics of contexuality and meta-hegemony.

God, how much fun would it be if life was a non-stop Broadway musical? Just think of all the dancing and costumes! And the constant perfect smiles! Of course we'd never get anything done because we'd need to break in to song about going to the bank machine or reheating yesterday's leftovers, but really getting things done is over-rated anyway.

Bring on the spirit fingers!

Religious schooling for none!

He hasn't even been elected yet, but candidate for the Ontario premiership, John Tory, has gone straight to the bottom of the barrel with his plan to fund all faith-based schools in the province. Already dead to me before he even had a chance to do anything, tsk tsk. Shame really, though entirely expectable I'm afraid – with a last name like 'Tory' he had nowhere to go but down.

For those not in the know: way back in the days of Upper and Lower Canada, two separate school systems were set up to protect the religious freedoms of Protestants and Catholics. Over time the Protestant system became secular and most provinces realised that schools are for learning while churches are for religion, and subsequently merged the two systems together. Ontario, however, decided to eschew this crazy, new-fangled, division-of-church-and-state thinking and has held on to the two systems, spending public money to fund both the secular and Catholic systems. — I don't know about you, but I'd prefer not to have my taxes go to the No Gays, Condom-free, Pope-raganda Hate machine of the Catholic School System, but that being said, provinces are actually constitutionally obligated to fund both systems.

Now instead of ignoring this constitutional requirement like all the other provinces have done*, Ontario continues to fund religious education for Catholics — but only for Catholics. Those who wish to send their children to private Jewish, Muslim or Protestant schools are on their own to foot the whole bill. This is obviously discriminatory. But rather than making it all even Steven by saying 'no funding for any faith-based education,' John Tory wants everyone to put a finger in the pie and spend $400 million to fund any pastor, imam or rabbi who wants to teach religion as fact.

Great, because the exact thing that Ontario needs is for hundreds of millions of dollars, which could be spent on homelessness, climate change or health care, to instead be spent teaching children the "facts" of Creationism.

Religion's place is not in a school –infuriating young minds à la Northern Ireland– but rather inside a church where it's easily avoidable for people who don't care.

Mr Tory, your policy is stupid and will serve only to further segregate more people from the Ontario mainstream. — Although, since religious people tend to be conservative, and the Ontario mainstream too lefty-loosy, perhaps this is exactly what you are intending. A generation of religious zealots to grow up and vote for you and your Conservative Party of Jerks. I see right through your smoke and mirrors and am putting you directly to 'Dead to Me' Level Two (just one step above your evil overlord Stephen Harper). Thankfully you will most likely lose the upcoming election and you can go back to obscurity where you belong and stop bothering decent secularists like me.

Apartment Found!

After much stress and hair-pulling, worry, baguettes and Gaulois cigarettes, I finally managed to secure an apartment! The religious gay finally got back to me to offer me the apartment and I figured at this point beggars can’t be choosy, so I decided to take it. I’m still weirded out by the religious gayness, and am concerned about waking up in the middle of the night with the guy watching me sleep —but he seemed nice enough on the telephone and the apartment looked alright in photos. It’s close to hip Bastille and Ménilmontant, not far from gay Marais, and conveniently walking distance from ‘Nation’ express RER station.

Now I can stop panicking about that and start panicking about all the other things I have to do in the week and a half before I leave.

Still no apartment

This is starting to make me really anxious. The other day I sent out about 30 emails to prospective apartments and only got one answer back — and that was to say that the apartment was no longer available. Ack!

Apparently nothing gets done in France while people are on holiday for the month of August, then it's a mad scramble for apartments come September. This is bad news for me because I'll still be in Canada at the beginning of September and unable to line up to view apartments or to meet roommates in person. I decided that desperate times call for desperate measures and contacted the religious gay about his apartment and he hasn't gotten back to me. I also contacted the first-bedroom-through-the-second-bedroom guy and he hasn't gotten back to me either. Then a ray of hope appeared when one of my friends in Paris said her coworker was looking for a roommate – but then when I spoke to her on the phone, she had said that her situation had changed and she wouldn't be looking until later in October. Le blah. The search continues at frenetic pace.

In the interests of taking my mind off more serious and pressing matters, here are two Youtubes about one of my favourite topics: The People's Republic of China!


Loves it! My favourite English names that I came across when I lived there were "Cinderella" and a boy called "Apples."


Ha-ha! It's funny 'cause it's true. Spongebob is both educational and hilarious.

Brokeback by the Bell

I have to now come out and admit that when I was a young, impressionable gay, I had many a porno fantasy about Zak and Slater getting it on in the high school change rooms.

With sexy, sexy shows like this, it's no wonder that everyone's a homo nowadays.

Vive la bureaucratie!

bureaucracy
1818, from Fr. bureaucratie, from bureau "office," lit. "desk" (see bureau) + Gk. suffix -kratia denoting "power of;" coined by Fr. economist Jean Claude Marie Vincent de Gournay (1712-59). Bureaucrat is from 1842; bureaucratic is from 1836.

So basically, what that is all saying is that the French basically invented bureacracy a long long time ago and have perfecting it ever since. — Today was my visa interview at the French consulate and I have to say I can't wait to plunge right into the labrythine details of France's bureaucratic system! Yeay morose paperpushers getting fat of government largesse!

I arrived at 8:45 for my 9:10 appointment with the Education section, all prepared for my 9:30 apointment with the Visa section afterwards. All is well and I sit and wait. And wait. 9:10 rolls around and I wait a little more. –Now keep in mind that these are appointments which must be booked weeks and weeks in advance, are cancelled immediately if you do not show up on time, and can only be booked online; no rescheduling of missed appointments is possible at the consulate. – It is now 9:29 and a woman from the Education section comes out and says "Didn't you get za messâge zat your appointmunt iz cancel?" –Um,.. no. "My collègue said she left you za messâge to not come for today's meeting." –Um,.. I never got any message, no. "Oh là là! Okay, qweekly we will meet and zen you hurray to za Visa section."

So we make haste for the Education section and run into the infamous 'collègue' of message (the same woman I met in October who didn't tell me anything I needed to know and the same woman who couldn't help me in June when I was having all my problems trying to get in touch with the school). "Why deedn't you get my messâge?!" (As though not getting her message was my fault) –Well, uh, when did you phone me? “Non non. I sent you a messâge on zee appointment booking système on zee internet.” –Uh, I didn’t know I had to check back there after I made my appointment. “Yes, of course you ‘ave to check! Eeet iz very impôrtante!”

Murderous thoughts aside, it clearly was not very important because I filled out the exact same forms and answered the exact same questions as when I met with the Education department in October!

I then make tracks over to the Visa section next door and when I get there the woman says “You are late.” (Implication: Your appointment is cancelled). –I was in Education department having my interview with them. “I see. Neext time, you mûst arrive on time.” (Right, I’ll keep that in mind when I apply for a second French student visa). So I hand in all my paperwork and wait, wait, wait. Finally my name is called and I go back up to the counter: “You need to shew us a banque statement.” –Uh, I didn’t bring one. It wasn’t on the list of documents to bring. “Non. You need to ‘ave a banque statement wiss 9000$ balânce.” –Uh,.. I don’t have that. “You need ziss for zee visa.” –Well, uh, I do have my guarantor’s letter (thanks Mum) signed by her bank manager and notarised showing proof of funds to support me. “Non. Zees is for exchange students only. You need zee banque statement.” (Then why the bloody hell was this costly and obnoxious-to-obtain document on the list of papers to bring for non-exchange students!?) “You come back tomorrow, between 12 and 1, wiss ziss document and you can get your visa.”

Aaargh! So now I have to take more time off work tomorrow, go back to consulate, and provide a document which was never asked for, but says the exact same thing as a document I already had!!!

Boo French bureaucracy!

Single, White Shallow Grave

(Alternate Title: The Hunt for Non-Crazy Roommate)

......................................

Moving is never easy, and moving continents is even harder, but the hardest thing of all is trying to find a roommate. Up to this point, I’ve been pretty lucky with my living situations. I’ve always lived with people I knew well enough to gage if cohabitating was going to result in psychotic puppy murder or burying dead bodies in forests. (The exception being of course Katie, who Jennifer had interviewed when I was on holiday in Japan and I only met once I returned with Katie already moved in. I just kept my eyes well away from her stilettos and everything worked out lovely. And at least I knew that if I ever ended up pinned to kitchen floor with a chef's knife through my shoulder, I could blame it all on Jennifer's poor judgment of character).

With my move to France, however, I'm completely in the dark; potentially moving in straight in from the airport with a person I've never even seen. It's a freaky thought (added to all my other freakouts and panic-attacks regarding my move). That added to the quote-unquote "Old-World charm" of Parisian apartments (e.g. toilet in kitchen, no kitchen at all, common bathroom only accessible through a bedroom) has made my apartment hunt a troublesome affaire. And an expensive affaire too I might add – average price for shared accommodation is around 600€ (+875$ Canadian).

I thought I had something sorted out; decent price, nice area – but then the roommate guy mentioned that going to church is a part of his Sunday routine. Now I'm sorry, but a young gay guy who goes to church is just weird, and it made me worry about spill-over weirdness into other areas of the living situation. So I kept looking and thought I found something cheap and still in a good neighbourhood and was all set to sign on the dotted line when it was mentioned that access to the first bedroom is only though the second bedroom and constant traipsing through is required. Kind of a deal-breaker (and his picture made him seem a little seedy). So I’m back on the hunt. Grumble.

Any quick and easy hints on how to judge a person in a few short emails? All advice welcome.

...............

Workin' in the Coal Mine

Apologies all for the dearth of posting lately — the blame lies squarely with my work.

Over the past few months, out of a department of eleven people, four have left or changed positions and none of them have been replaced due to budget concerns (which seems strange when said company has billions of dollars in profits, but ours is not to question the logic of the corporate gods). So this fourty percent reduction in staff has meant that the summer, usually a slow season with clients and brokers on vacation, has been rather busy.

Then added on top of that has been the fact that the supervisor has allowed people to take overlapping vacations, so we have even fewer people to do what needs to be done. It's basically call after call after call, without break, for the entire day. Awful! Today and tomorrow, there were only four people in the whole department!

And worse then trying to get stuff done for your previous call while you're on the phone with the subsequent caller and working like a crazy person, is the fact that the supervisor is giving us a hard time about how the stats are bad and we're not meeting our service standards, and we really have to pay attention to how much time we spend on each call, and blah, blah, blah. I just want to scream "That has nothing to do with us! It isn't possible to meet the service standards without enough employees! And even more imposible when the employees we do have are all on vacation at the same time!" (And maybe I want to yell some other things at her too).

I will be so happy to leave there aren't even words.

Whoo-hoo!

I'm about 45 seconds away from handing in my letter of resignation.

Amazing!

Wonderland’s latest attraction

I apologise for the dearth of postification on the blog this past while — I’ve been riding the pre-departure emotional rollercoaster through Anxietyville and Frustrationland with stops at Apprehension-Depression-Confusion, Self-Doubt Junction and Avoidance Square.

After all the problems I had being able to get in touch with anyone in France , I was so excited two Wednesdays ago when I got home and the package was finally sitting in my mailbox. That Kodak moment came to a rapid conclusion when I actually opened the envelope and realised that it contained more problems and no answers. My admissions letter said that I was accepted into the prep year programme (not the Masters programme). Was it a mistake? Was it because my score wasn’t high enough? In typical French fashion there was no explanation and no information given. –And off we go on the emotional rollercoaster… This meant more hair-pulling and 4AM wake-ups to call numbers in France that no one would answer.

The prep year programme adds another year to the whole process, and while three years in Paris might not seem like such a bad thing à la vision of Carrie Bradshaw, it means three more years of not making money and three more years of living away from home (added on to my four years in Tokyo making for a big chunk of time far from family and friends).

Then a few days after that mini-calamity I got my notice of assessment from OSAP. I was granted a wonderful 652$. Gee thanks government of Ontario, what the hell am I supposed to do with that — rent out a post office box and live in there?! How am I meant to finance my higher education if I you haven't given me enough money to even get to the same continent as the school, much less pay for tuition, food, books, rent, insurance, etc?

Problems on top of fiascos on top of crises and I kind of reached a freak-out breaking point. If even one thing, just one, could go right with this whole process I would feel much better about leaving. Instead I'm presented with an endless quagmire of problems sucking me down and am constantly forced to reassess my committment to this whole operation.

—Eventually I was able to get in touch with someone in France by email who confirmed that I was not admitted into the Masters programme — almost no one is. Out of a couple hundred applicants, she said that only four people passed directly into the Masters programme (which is a small comfort, but still leaves me with an extra year away). Rather frustrating to be finding this out just now since it is too late to apply to any Canadian university for the fall. It makes me a year behind anyway you slice it.

So I thought about what to do. And thought and thought and thought. As I turned over every facet and option and obcessed over every detail I came to the realisation that I am sort of on a one-way street at this point. I'm not going to stay at my job a minute longer than I have to, it's too late to apply for school here, and what the hell else am I going to do? –So I guess that means I'm still going and I guess I'm pretty okay about it.

Iceland

Check out this gorgeous Sigur Rós video. It's called Viðrar vel til loftárása (or "Good Weather for Airstrikes" for anyone who didn't pay attention during Icelandic class in high school).

Why is everyone and everything from Iceland so beautiful and weird? Does it have something to do with the fact that there are no trees? Or perhaps a combination of geo-thermal activity and whale consumption which addles the brain? Whatever the reason, all signs say "Get thee to a Björkery!" — I hear Icelandair offers cheap stopovers on its flights from North America to Europe. Maybe I can arrange something when I'm enroute to Paris this fall... (assuming I ever get my school documents sorted out).

And as a sidenote, why are European passport stamps so lame-o and boring? I know most Europeans are too busy smoking cigarettes and getting laid to worry about dull-as-dishwater passport stamps, but really, can't they even pretend like they're trying?

Fretful Frenchie Frustration

After being accepted to school in Paris in May, I was told I would be receiving a information package in the mail in June with all the necessary info about the school and moving to France. So I waited and I waited and I waited (because it's only uprooting my whole life and moving to a different continent, so I'm sure the less time I have, the easier it will be to: find an apartment, buy a plane ticket, arrange my student visa, move my stuff, get insurance, etc.).

Why did I keep waiting so long, you might ask? Why not just send them an email or call the school? Great idea — only they don't answer emails and they only take calls between ten and twelve, Monday, Wednesday and Friday (which is three to five a.m. Toronto time). This Wednesday I decided that I had waited patiently long enough and it was time to suck it up and set my alarm for the evil hours of the morning. Three A.M. shrieks from my alarm clock and I grumble out of bed to call the school. And it rings. And it rings. And it rings and rings and rings and no one answers! I set my alarm for 20 minutes later, half-slept and tried to call again – and again there was no answer! Alarm after alarm, more tossing and turning, and more not-answering-of-the-telephone. So frustrating!

And again this morning; alarms, grumbling, ringing & not-answering! AAAaargh! How does anything ever get done in France!? I should be looking at this experience a kind of birth by fire since I'm going to have to get used to these kind of lovely peculiarities of French living – but still, I need to get this package like, yesterday! I'm giving the school one more chance on Monday before calling in the big guns at the Canadian Embassy in Paris and the French Consulate in Toronto to see if they can help me at all.

Let's all keep our doits croisés for me.

Happy Canada Day!

Yeay Gay!

For all you loyal WTTMB readers who are not (yet) on Facebook, you can still see my photo album from this year’s crazy-fun Pride weekend. Just click here.

(I couldn’t be arsed to upload photos both here and there; Blogspot’s photo features are too cumbersome to do a whole album).

Certainly one of –if not the– best Pride ever! Who knew it was so easy to consume so much alcohol? Yeay Gay!

Tanned

After a few weeks of summertime fun in the sun, I realised that I've become ridiculously tanned. I mean, look at that photo – I think I'm turning Mexican (in lieu of turning Japanese). I have never ever been that tanned in my life! It's rather disconcerting to look in the mirror and see this brown stranger looking back at me. But skin cancer is the new anorexia –it's on all the runways in Milan this year– so it's all good.

Just in time for Pride

Let's have a look at how our Geisha Sistaz are making Nihon a better place, one ramen shop at a time:



Well, that seems perfectly normal, don't you think?

The Curiosity of Chance

I saw this movie as a kind of last minute thing using vouchers I got from volunteering at Inside Out. Funny and smart and definitely the best movies of the festival, I really hope this gets picked up for distribution because it has so much potential.

Taking its cue from The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles and all the other John Hughes 80s teen movies that people love, it has all teased hair and music that made the 80s great, plus drag queens, hot shirtless neighbours, a super-cute lead and sassy Eurotrash accents (the movie is set at an American school in Belgium). What more could you want?

While this film is funny and light-hearted, it's also a headlong look at the unpleasant reality of being gay in high school. Unlike most gay teen movies which deal with coming out, the title character in this movie, Chance, is already out. Way out. With his sexuality already a fait accompli, the movie looks at the bullying, addled parents, jocks and self-doubt that all teen gays spend their formative years dealing with.

Change Belgium for Belleville and Wham! for Nirvana and what you have is a film about an eccentric gay outsider struggling with being gay in high school — i.e. a film about me! It was as though the writer had followed me around Grade 11 and translated my life into a script — The film could have just as easily been called The Curiosity of Tokyo Tintin for how much I felt like I was watching my life. There is even an exact duplicate of a conversation I had with one of my friends. (A: “I don’t know why you put up with the jocks.” Me: “I rise above it and be the better person.”). While the protagonist goes on to face his fears and his bullies in an explosion of glitter and fabulousness, I wish the outcome of my conversation had been more fruitful. I just shirked away from the bullying and built up a wall of defenses (and rather lacked in glitter department I'm afraid). I guess I learned something from it all, but perhaps there was a better lesson I could have taken away from the situation.

I found Curiosity of Chance really empowering and wish I’d had the opportunity to see it when I was young and impressionable. I might have found the confidence to stand up to the myriad of jerks and rednecks who populated my school and achieved my full fablutronic potential at a much younger age. For the sake of all the gay youths out there I hope this film gets picked up for distribution and adopted into the gay cannon post haste (right up there with Rocky Horror and Jem). We'd probably have more happy confident homos with positive outlooks and square heads on their shoulders (and even, perhaps, less dependence on transvestite aliens or hologramme machines — I personally am lost when my Synergy earrings stop working).

Kudos to Russell P. Marleau for writing and directing such an insightful and funny movie (about me). I can't wait to see it in the cinema again!

You can watch the trailer here.

Daniel Craig wants a gay Bond

"Daniel Craig has revealed that he is pressurising producers to include a gay scene in the next James Bond film.

"He says he wants to keep Bond 'unpredictable'...the secret agent..notorious for chasing women....and he wants him to go gay?...

"A film insider said: "Bond will always be a hit with the ladies. But Daniel has a massive gay fan base and that can't be ignored."

(Full story here, and here).

The Moor's Last Sigh

This book was a re-read, so it's not quite the fairest review, but still an amazing book. Five pepperpots out of five for this Rushdie classic. (His best maybe?). Moraes Zogoiby spills his family secrets in fast forward reverse fashion from the Jewish expulsions of Spain and the steamy spicehills of Cochin to the glittering glass of the Bombay highlife.

I've heard through the rumour mill that a film is being made from this book, which has super-high, visually stunning potential. It would be a movie I would love to watch – but it would also be a movie that was about five-hours long. I'm not sure how this could be cut or edited to fit the silver screen, but if they can find a way to make it work, I'd be the first in line to buy my ticket.

North York – North Yuck!

Alternate Title: Suburbs; the Worst of Both Worlds

Almost one year into working in the blanched concrete monotony that is North York, I can truly say that suburbs are my own personal vision of hell. Depressing Stalinist apartment blocks huddled together against the vast anonymous spaces of wasteland. Strip malls and car lanes. Hulking fortresses of big box stores defended by moats of endless parking lots. Isolated people buffered from real human contact by six lanes of traffic and cracked, decaying sidewalks.

I can’t think of a single positive thing to say about suburbs; sprawl destroys farmland and greenspace, makes public transit impossible and forces an even greater dependence on the almighty Mammon of the car. Really, people who live in suburbs are eco-terrorists with their huge carbon footprint, greenhouse-gas cars and pesticide lawns. If were up to me, we’d blow them all up and start all over. (Or conversely, we could build a wall around the suburbs, blow them all up, and then start a specialty channel where we watch the survivors build a new society out of the rubble of Pickering or Thornhill).

In honour of MMC and my Battleship Adventure* to the furthest reaches of North York, the Fairview Mall and to the very end of the pointless Sheppard line, I present to you my North Yuck Photo Essay.

Time Goes By, So Slowly

I can't believe that it's been exactly one year since I've been back in Toronto. Freaky. It makes me uncomforatable to think that it's been that long. Wow.

Survey Says!..

I love being productive at work, filling out email forwarded surveys things. The getting-to-know-you kind of deep and probing insight into the inner workings of my psyche kind of surveys. It's a fun distraction from the otherwise spirit-crushing monotony of the daily grind.

1. What time did you get up this morning?
Seven am to commute for an hour and arrive at work to realise that I didn't start until 11 today. That was a fun realisation for me.

2. Diamonds or pearls?
Can I have Miu Miu instead?

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Tan Lines - An Aussie gay surf teen sex romp. Five wombats out of five for best write-up of the festival. 2½ baby-eating dingos for the somewhat confused/confusing film itself.

4. What is your favourite TV show?
I too don’t watch too much TV these days. Simpsons is of course a classic, but I live for The Amazing Race. God, I would do anything to be on that show — It was literally made for me. Really, the show should be call The Amazing Daniel McKinnon Race!

5. What do you usually have for breakfast?

Always variation on a theme: bagel/english muffin or granola/cereal

6. Favourite Take Away
I have Tokyo to thank for my new-found love of shawarma (Which is sold by Turkish vendor trucks there).

8. What food do you dislike?
I passionately and intensely hate bœuf bourginion. Anything else I dislike pales in comparison to how much I revile that disgusting french beef stew with red wine.

9. What is your favourite CD at the moment?
I don't know about CD, but my favourite song for the past few months has been Joan Baez' "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down."

10. What kind of car do you drive?
When I am king of the universe, I will make private car ownership illegal and replace all roads with train tracks! I hate cars.

11. Favourite sandwich?
I'm generally not a sandwich aficionado, though I guess anything that's made with good crusty french bread is fine.

12. What characteristic do you despise?
Last season’s shoes. Haha, no really I detest conservatism

13. Favourite item of clothing?
Watches. Guys have so few opportunities to accessorise. Also ties, though I'm sad I don’t have the chance to wear them anymore.

14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation?
I’ll permit myself a list;
North America: Cuba
South America: Brazil (esp Rio)
Europe: Spain
Africa: Morocco
Asia: Bhutan
Oceania: French Polynesia

15. What colour is your bathroom? (Not sure what we're supposed to learn about each other from this question, but I'm sure the CIA has something in mind when they put together these surveys)
White tile with black tile trim and grey walls

16. Favourite brand of clothing?
Paul Smith has a line of street clothes that's available only in japan which I like. D Squared has nice stuff too.

17. Where would you retire to?
Warm places with hot, slutty youths to show an old man a good time (Mérida perhaps?)

18. What was your most memorable birthday?
While there was one birthday we went to a roller-rink in Kingston which was pretty fun, nothing really even comes close to this most recent Tiki Hula Luau. Amazing!

19. What is your favourite ice cream flavour?
Rocky road. Although Baskin Robbins had a flavour in Japan called ‘Box of Chocolates’ that had mini chocolates in it. I would mainline that stuff into an artery if I could.

20. Furthest place you are sending this? (Or in this case, most distant blog reader)
I guess some people in Australia might be reading this.

21. Who do you least expect to send respond to this?
Prince Rainer the III of Monaco

22. Person you expect to send it back first?
People with silly office jobs like me

23. When is your birthday?
January 13

24. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Night person, definitely.

25. What is your shoe size? (Surely the CIA already has this info on file for me – very sloppy to have to ask again)

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26. Pets?
No

27. Any new and exciting news?
Well, for those of you who've been living under a rock for the last few weeks, I'm moving to gay Paree in the autumn.

28. What did you want to be when you were little?
A flight attendant –No wonder my parents weren’t surprised I was gay!

29. How are you today?
So gay! Thank gawd

30. What is your favourite chocolate?
I love chocolates from a box of chocolates —every one’s a mini-surprise— I don't really have a favourite chocolate bar.

31. What is your favourite flower?
Jasmine. (but not Princess Jasmine from Aladdin –stupid stuck-up bitch)

I wish I knew how to quit you

Introducing a new section for your consideration: Mockback Mountain. I make no qualms about the absurd ridiculousness of the whole thing, but there is just so much material out there, hungry for an outlet.

Here I present to you the first in a series of exercises in preposterousology, Callback On Me Mountain.

For those of you unfamiliar with the classic Eric Prydz Call On Me aerobics video, here is the original version: (Warning may not be suitable for all viewers, young children or nelly queens).



And here Callback Mountain. Enjoy!

As time goes by

It crept up on me without the slightest warning or notice, but my blog celebrated its one-year birthday back on May 3rd. Hard to believe that it’s only been 378 days since this bad boy was born. So much stuff has happened in that time; the highest highs, the Sayonara-Nihon-T.O.-homecoming lows, the extended periods where other priorities have taken centre stage and pushed my cyber-baby into the dusty waiting wings of my mind.

I’d like to take this opportunity for all my loyal readers to have a moment of quiet reflection and think about me and my fabulous blog. What has been your favourite post of the past year? (Personally, I rather like what I had to say in this post and my subsequent comments).

What would you like to see more of? What do you want less of? Advice, praise, admiration, thanks, glory, acclaim, gifts, and even criticism are all welcomely welcome.

Her lovely little lady lumps

Apparently I'm a bit behind the times on this, but I think it's hi-larious, so I'm posting it here anyway.



Dave, Joel; why ya gotta be haters?

Did I Get In?

Is my name on the 'in' list? Oh Gawd the suspense is killing me! I can't look — But I have to! AAaaaagh.

Here we go: L'École supérieure d'interprètes et de traducteurs

ROM crystal; Crystal meth - coincidence? I think not

So I just walked past the ROM construction site where they’ve now begun putting on what I assume to be the final exterior cladding. I am compelled to say that it looks awful. Completely and absolutely terrible. Almost oppressively bad. I would uncategorically file it under eyesore which will spoil Toronto for generations to come.

Way back in the day, when the design competition for the ROM make-over was announced, I happened to got to the museum and saw all the different architects’ briefs and plans. I remember thinking that two of the designs were very aesthetic and well thought out, some were not as good, and then there was Daniel Libeskind’s design, drawn on the back of napkins from the ROM cafeteria. Asinine. How is it possible to judge a multi-million dollar project from a proposal that was submitted in marker, on napkins?! You couldn’t even understand what the design was; much less understand how it was all going to work. It was drawn on the back of a napkin for chrissakes! But I called it right then that Libeskind’s napkin design was going to be chosen because he was the most famous applicant and Toronto’s world class insecurity needs to be fed by celebrity architects and their flash-in-the-pan antics.

After Libeskind's design was chosen, they released this model, which I actually thought was kind of nice in a traditional/post-modern pastiche, deconstructionist kind of way:

But then fast-forward to a few months later when, suddenly, someone points out 'hey, you can't build a museum entirely out of glass.' I might be wrong, but I assumed that an internationally-renowned architect would be smart enough to realise that museums can't be glass because of the non-mixability of ancient artifacts and direct sunlight. So, it's back to the drawing-board for another napkinesque redesign. Then someone pointed out 'hey, this redesign isn't suitable for the climate,' because –surprise– it snows in Toronto. So, time for another redesign. Then another person pointed out that the ROM looks exactly like Libeskind's design for the Denver Art Museum. Time for another, um, redesign, ...oh wait, well... uh, I guess we'll just let that one slide.

This building is lame and the interior design not withstanding, qualifies as a total cock-up. It’s really a shame because this was an opportunity to make something that really added to the character of the city, but instead is a clunky, jagged lump of bland monotony. Mr Libeskind, your ROM redesign is officially “On Notice” and unless you manage to pull something really spectacular out of your ass in the next few months, your unplanned and un-thought-out, napkin-based design is going to be sitting on my “Dead to Me” list for a long, long time.

Thanks for ruining Toronto forever, Napkin-head!

It’s the Final Countdown

Only six days left until admissions results for Paris are posted on the internet. The antici... pa-tion is killing me! I want to know yesterday, and I especially want to know because I don’t have a very satisfactory back-up plan formulated at the moment.

At present, my much less glamorous plan B involves a year-long Masters programme at McGill which, although being shorter, is actually more expensive than Paris (500€×2 years for France versus ±5000$ at McGill). And while I’m sure living in Montreal is nice, it’s certainly not Paris (and winters à la montréalaise suck icy donkey balls). Also McGill– while being the closest programme in Canada to what I want to do – still only focuses on French to English translation and not the other way around, which would definitely be an important skill to have.

I could wait and apply again to Paris next year — but what would I do in the mean time? I certainly can’t stay where I am now. (I'd rather kill myself and everyone around me). I could go to Paris on a working holiday visa in anticipation of getting accepted in 2008, but I feel that’s not really the most responsible life choice. I should be worrying about my career, future, etcetera, and I’m kind of feeling that a year goofing off in Paris is going to get me a whole lotta nuthin’ at this point.

Anyone got any brilliant life counselling advice to impart on me?

Smoking Fish

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Smoking fish are absolutely prohibited from the ground of Tokyo Disneyland. All fish found smoking on the premises will be immediately ejected from the park. No exceptions.

I ♥ Spring!

After having the warming cheer of a beautiful European spring snatched away from me by the cold, calculating voice of the Air Canada pilot who announced “current conditions in Toronto; -2° and light flurries,” I am sooo happy that I was finally able to hang up my winter coat today.

Anyone who doesn’t love spring is clearly a crazy person. It’s all birdsong and daffodils — What’s not to like? Ace of Base may have said that it was a "cruel, cruel summer," but clearly winter is the cruelest season of all. Goodbye evil winter with your windchill factors and seasonal affective disorder. I’m ready to bring in the spring!

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It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times

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No doubt you’ve all been desperately wondering how my exams in Paris went and have been sitting on tenterhooks this whole time, straining with burstant anticipation — but I’ll make you read to the end to find out. There’s no easy shortcuts for loyal WTTMB readers I'm afraid.

The trip started off with a highly unglamorous Air Canada night flight to London, featuring frayed upholstery seats and haggard battleaxe flight attendants asking “chicken or beef?”, “chicken or beef?”, “chicken or beef?” — Hey Air Canada; I’ve been answering that same bloody question since I was seven! Why not try something different for a change; curry or fish?, stir-fry or lamb? Christ, anything really! I know that decent airline food is within the realm of the possible, as I had it on Lufthansa in November. Would it kill you to actually make an effort (even though you're a monopoly and can do as you please), couldn't you at least pretend to care about the customer experience a little?

I landed in Londinium all bleary-eyed for a weekend of limey English fun with Madame Sly and The Boys (BranTom, and the rare and elusive David). I also met Sly’s manfriend and I must say that I thumbsupingly approve with wholeheartitude.

I rode some giant slides and saw the Gilbert & George exhibit (which was a tad repetitive) at the Tate Modern, and saw Harry Potter’s magic wand in Equus (which was excellent). I also partook in some shopping, but rather little buying except socks and underpants at Topshop, the underpants of which were sadly rather lacklustre.

Also rather lacking in lustre was the fact that a single “tube” ride now costs 4£!! Absolutely ridiculous! And in keeping in the expensive transport vein, it was soon time to hop on the pricey Eurostar for a quick jaunt through the Chunnel. Annoyingly, some dippy airhead blonde from an American tour group interrupted my fervent studying while the train was waiting to pull out of Waterloo Station: “Uuuh, you’re like, in my seat.” “No. I’m not.” —But actually I was! Whether the fault of the travel agent or my own, I was booked on the train departing half hour previous to the train I was on! After some freaky-deaky panicking and running around in the five minutes before the train left, I managed to track down a conductor who said I could take any empty seat. Thank god.

Arrival in Paris; lovely, coupled with some massive high-grade anxiety vis-à-vis Monday’s do-or-die French language test. Said test written Monday afternoon. Outcome: not horrible, but not great. The answer to one question was clearly “choquer” (to be shocked), but I was convinced that this was a French-Canadian anglicism and didn’t want to loose points for a wrong answer so I answered nothing. (For inquiring minds, choquer, origin English, is a world used in France French). Glad I know that tidbit now.

The next few days were characterised by lots of wandering and walking. Paris is so almost impossibly lovely that it feels like a Disney version of what Paris should look like rather than the real deal, which it actually is. I kept having to remind myself that people actually live in these buildings, and soon I could too. Exciting. Louvre: Mona Lisa (bigger than I thought, since everyone goes on about how small it is – I was expecting a postage stamp); famous statues (didn’t really get what made them more famous than the hundreds of other similar-looking classical statues); fat American tourists (overheard in the Oriental antiquities section: “Oh Herb, look, this is for them Orien-tails”).

Moment of reckoning; checked first stage test results on the internet: I passed to stage two. Yeay moi! That means I got to spend five hours on beautiful, sunny Good Friday writing stage two of the entrance exam, hurray! Second part of the exam, consisting of translations, went pretty well I felt. Only snafu was an inability to translate the word ‘compelling,’ but otherwise good. Results will be posted in mid-May. Doits croisés!

Madame Sly, with manfriend in tow, came to the City of Light subsequent to exams so that we could celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ together. Because of Easter and various crossed wires, we had quite the time trying to secure accommodation and ended up having numerous hijinx sorting everything out (part of which involved a night squished onto the narrowest beds in the world, and considerable bleeding from the head after cracking my noggin on a window-frame attempting to gain access to a hotel balcony. Hours of Parisian head-bleeding fun for the whole family!).

We had some fun shopping adventures and got fat on delicious food, floating along in a kir royale haze. I noticed a penchant for excess on the manfriend’s part (he ordered a drink that came in a fishbowl and a steak that was bigger than his head), so clearly he’s a perfect match for Sly.

Despite gonging of the church-bells that went on most of Easter Sunday morning, people all seemed bemused when I wished them a ‘Joyeuses Pâques.’ A surprising amount of stuff was also open as we wandered around Montmartre . Silly secular French heathens.

Sarah and manfriend trotted off back to Jolly Ol’ Sunday evening and I headed out to Charles de Gaulle airport the next morning. Prettiness aside, the airport was terribly designed and I was constantly worried about slabs of roof falling off on my head.

All in all, I would give this trip four bowler hat-wearing poodles out of five (minus points for exam stress and severe damage to the cranium). Paris is just so beautiful it’s ridiculous. What could be better than a city where you can buy pastries on every streetcorner and expect a bottle of wine with lunch? Nuthin', that's what. So fingers crossed cause gay Paree here I come! —Oh, and in all honesty, I haven't the slightest clue where all this rude Frenchmen business comes from. For the most part, I found people almost unfailingly cheerful and terribly nice. Every transaction was a little exchange, a joke or a building of rapport. I found people on the whole entierly charming. (The real rude people were the American tourists). Bleeding heads and tourists aside, I had a fantastic time.

Did you actually skip all the way to the end, just to find out how I did? Aww, that's sweet of you. I genuinely appreciate your interest in my well-being. Now get back to paragraph two where you're supposed to be.

Top Ten Reasons I Love India

Number One: Chicken Tikka Masala

Number Two: Saris

Number Three through Nine: This Ridiculous Video

Number Ten: Mahatma Gandhi

Budget Has Votes In Mind

The headline says it all really.
(Original TorStar article here).

Bullet-point open letter to Stephen Harper:

Thought: Your budget is smoke and mirrors.

Thought: Your budget has no policy.

Thought: Your budget is designed only to win votes.

Thought: Your American style of smear campaigns and vote pandering have brought Canadian politics to a new low.

Question: Does the billions in "new funding" have something to do with the billions you cut in funding last September? (See here)

Thought: You are a jerk.

Dead to Me: Gilles Duceppe. I already didn't like him anyway, but propping up Harper and his regime of neo-con Bush puppets is inexcusable.

Suggestion: Instead of trying to win a popularity contest like a lame high-schooler, why don't you worry a bit more about –oh I dunno– actually running the country?

Yum!

My favourite.

Reverse TOEIC

Finally, all those hours of beating my head into the wall trying to teach TOEIC and TOEFL to Japanese students is actually going to pay off!

(For those of you not in the know, TOEIC and TOEFL are standardised English tests consisting of a series of exercises in frustration where, as a teacher, you want to scream and throttle the student – "Why can't you pick the right answer stupidhead!!! The answer is so obvious!!" – interspersed with questions of such bizarre impossibilitude that even a native speaker will throw up their hands in give-uppance-ness. Here's a sample.)

My grad school admissions exam for France is structured very similarly to the TOEIC/TOEFL tests. So while I'm underwhlemingly unconfident in my ability to actually pass this ragingly-hard test, at least I know all the tricks of the trade to squeeze every point I can out of the questions.

Fingers crossed!

Sumo A-Go-Go: A Tokyo Tintin Oriental Report

Way back, oh so many windchill warnings ago, in the magical happy time that was the full-frontal assault on sanity leading up to my Nippon departure, I went for a day of sumo at Ryōgoku Kokugikan Sumo Hall with my friend Clarisol (pictured). Ever the diligent Asian informant, I had wanted to blogofy my experience at that time, but it all got lost in the maelstrom that is trans-continental moving madness. Nevertheless, in the spirit of better late than even later, I now bring you the next in the groundbreaking and thought-provoking series; Tokyo Tintin Oriental Reports — providing you all the answers you need to know, straight from the Frenchie-Cracker-Reverse-Banana’s mouth.

Professional Sumo tournaments take place six times a year; once each in Fukuoka , Osaka and Nagoya and thrice yearly in Tokyo. Each tournament lasts two weeks, and while fights generally last only a few seconds each, hundreds of fights happen over the course of each day, so you do get to pack in a lot of wholesome, flabby, loincloth sumo goodness. The day begins at 10am with the lowest divisions, and younger more inexperienced wrestlers squaring off first. Big name superstar wrestlers only take the ring around 4:30, with heaps of pomp and pageantry associated with the highest divisions. Mega-famous wrestlers like Hakukō, Asashōryū, and my personal favourite Kotoōshū (who is actually Bulgarian) are common household names and can earn millions of yen a month in salary, prize money and endorsement deals for everything from yogurht to Nissan cars. These are the guys that everyone packs in to see, and because of this, most people skip the all the junior division bouts and only start arriving around 4pm. That means that for most of the day you're free to sit in any open seat until the ticket-holder comes along. So for my 15$ general admission ticket I was able to sit ring-side for a while in seats that normally go for +500$. Even after playing some empty seat bingo later on as people starting filing in, I still ended up in a seat not that far from the ring.

While the whole production may seem a bit rediculous at times with the big men in small loincloths pushing each other around, it's actually quite easy to get caught up in the ritual and high drama. Since most matches are of the blink-and-you-miss-it variety, the whole production clips along at a good pace, aided no doubt in part by the many Asahis and Japanese snacks plied on you by the usherettes (who are actually old men wearing traditional clothes).

Sumo is also a very social event, making friends and chatting with the people in the seats around you, gossipping about the wrestlers performances and private lives. Even though my Japanese sumo-related vocabulary is rather lacking, I was able to learn from my neighbours, as they commended my language skills and showered us with cookies, that Asashōryū broke the mirrors off an opponent's car after losing an important bout to him. A rousing sumo time was had by all.

The only slight marr on the event –which actually quite surprised me– had to do with Bulgarian-born wrestler, Kotoōshū. He is a very talented wrestler and will likely make the title of yokozuna (the super-mega MVP of sumo-dom), but when he entered the ring for his bout, many people in the audience booed him. There had been no other booing whatsoever during the whole course of the day – I was totally taken off guard and not expecting that. I guess people are nervous that a freaded foreign devil might take the top title of Japan's national sport. Shortly before I left, the sumo association passed a regulation that said that each sumo stable could only have one foreign-born wrestler training there — and at the same time the passed a resolution to improve the international profile of sumo wrestling. Ah Japan, Land of a Thousand Contradictions!

Second-Best Concert Ever!

The first of course being the Scissor Sisters concert in Tokyo in 2005. This show was so high-energy it was crazy! Basically an hour and a half, fast-forward, high-octane, rollercoaster ride. Ana Matronic can work the crowd like nobody’s business and Jake Shears is a showman par excellence — if I had to do a non-stop, singing aerobics routine like he does, I’d probably have an aneurism. A totally amazing show, and it pretty much blows every other band I’ve ever seen out of the water, times ten.

Personal favourite number: 'Comfortably Numb.' Other highlights include 'Paul McCartney', 'Filthy/Gorgeous', and Del Marquis’ pants. The opening band, ‘Wigs on Sticks,’ was also quite good and definitely funny.

The sweaty awesomeness that was this concert was totally worth the five-month postponement from the October original date (rescheduled due to the drummer's bad back). While it'd be pretty hard to top the Tokyo show (we were practically on the stage / Jake threw his towel to my friend Donna after she flashed him her mighty rack / we met Jake and Del as they were leaving the venue and pushed some Japanese schoolgirls out of the way to take photos with them), I'd still unhesitatingly give this concert ten glitterballs and a spanking.

Without a doubt; best performers ever!

Subway to York

A open letter to the people complaining that federal money for transit is not being well spent:

Are you stupid? Shut the hell up! After years of neglect and disregard, the federal government has finally come up with some money for public transit. So what if the money would be better spent on other projects — it's better than no money being spent at all. Of course political money comes with purse-strings, and I'd much rather the extension to York be built –which been in the works for a long time but perhaps not a top priority– as opposed to nothing being built at all! How can nothing be better than something?!

One thing at a time people! Once we get this funding, maybe Harper will throw some more vote-grab money our way later on. Until then, be happy that we are building the line to York University only twenty years behind schedule instead of building nothing at all.

Honestly, some people! If you want to complain about something really annoying, why not try the 100$ highway robbery metropasses?

Woo-hoo!

Thanks to a power failure today, I got to leave work early! Totally exciting.

Power failures are my new favourite kind of failures.

Around 10:30 (in the middle of the mini-blizzard) most lights, copiers, computers, etc., went dead and we switched over to emergency power. At noon, Toronto Hydro said we had to switch off the emergency power for them to fix the problem, and we were left with only the super-emergency diesel generator, a handful of lights, and pretty much nothing else. A few hours later Toronto Hydro said they "didn't know what was wrong" and we all got to go home. Super-awesome!

Pretty much the the absolute worst time for a power outage to have happened with the doom and panic of tax season and RRSP contribution deadlines looming large. I'm really broken up about all the work I'm missing.

‘Alberta’ sounds like a cow's name

Let's face it; we all hate Alberta, even me (and I was born there). Tired of their bloated egos, oil sands self-importance and their conservative yahoos? It's time to show them who's boss. Sign my petition today.

Stephen Effing Harper!

As if it wasn't bad enough to be forced to watch our tax dollars being wasted on Stéphan Dion smear ads during prime time, then this poll came out showing that the Conservatives are actually gaining support! From who!?! Why?!?

Lets review a few of the asinine thing Harper has done since taking power just one short (though eternity-seeming) year ago:

¤ Reopened the (already settled by the Supreme Court) equal marriage debate
¤ Cut spending on social programmes despite having a 13 billion dollar surplus
¤ Cancelled a national daycare plan
¤ Reneged on the landmark Kelowna Accord, a ten-year, five billion dollar commitment designed to address First Nations poverty

Oh yeah, and he didn't address the World AIDS conference in Toronto, or ratify laws regarding the Kyōto Protocol. Really the list goes on and on, but why bother? We all know that Stephen Harper is a mangy, snake-faced, pig-dog boil on the scabby donkey ass of humanity. I really didn't think it was possible for me to have a lower opinion of him.

Until now.

During a speech in the House of Commons, Harper accused Sikh, Liberal MP Navdeep Bains of somehow being implicated in the Air India bombing over the North Atlantic in 1985, and accused the Liberals of creating a cover-up on Bain's behalf by refusing to to extend provisions in anti-terrorism law. Now never mind the fact that Bains was nine years old in 1985 — he's a Sikh, and Sikhs were involved in the bombing and therefore all Sikhs are bad. The alleged connexion between Bains and the Air India attack was that his father-in-law is on a list of potential list of witnesses for the Air India probe. Again lets ignore the fact that Bains had not yet met his father-in-law (being nine and all), and that hundreds of Sikhs are being considered as witnesses — brown people are all terrorists and should be sent back to where they came from.

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God Stephen Harper; I knew you were a liar, a pig, an idiot and a homophobe — but an outright racist? You even refused to apologise, saying that it was up to Bains to deny the facts reported about him. Clearly, I shouldn't be surprised by your bigoted behavior, but I still kind of am.

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Using racial stereotypes and personal attacks as a springboard to further your party's political agenda is unconscionable and disgusting. It's time to break out the big guns Stephen; You are officially: Dead to Me, Level Three. That's right, you heard me, Level Three! That's just one step above Hitler, Satan and Shannen Doherty. You are so dead to me that even my grandchildren's grandchildren will still sit around talking about what a horrible person you are.

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For the good of Canada, Navdeep Bains, and my personal sanity, I think we should turn Alberta back into a territory. That way Ottawa gets all their oil money and coo-coo conservative yahoos like Harper and the people who vote for him no longer have any say in parliament. Everyone in the rest of Canada would be a whole lot happier.

Disreputable Planet

Given the opportunity there aren’t many places in the wouldn’t go; Kyrgyzstan, Chad, you name it. But one place I would not go is Burma. —Now don’t get me wrong, I’d love to go. It’s supposed to be beautifully amazing. However, democratically elected leader and Noble Prize winner, Aung San Suu Kyi asked tourist not to visit Burma after the military seized power in 1988.

Since the coup, the military junta has done heaps of annoying and terrible things like: change the name of the country (to obnoxious and unfamiliar Myanmar); moved the capital (to Naypyidaw, a dusty, purpose-built settlement in the middle of nowhere); crippled the economy, tortured and killed pro-democracy activists; and persecuted ethnic minorities. In short, they are total douchbags. They have also kept Aung San Suu Kyi under an unflinching and unwavering house arrest which has prevented her from seeing her British-born children for the past 18 years, and kept her away from her husband’s funeral in 1999 (whom she’d hadn’t seen since 1989).

The jerk-faced Burmese military likes to have a finger in every pie and controls almost all aspects of the tourism industry (or more correctly most all aspects of every industry): hotels; transportation; restaurants; businesses; whatever’s going, you know they’re cashing in on it. Tourist dollars go straight into military coffers and provide much-needed foreign exchange to prop-up to the regime. Because this money allows the military junta to buy arms, consolidate their power, and smother dissent, Ang San Suu Kyi has asked foreign tourists to spend their money elsewhere and to not visit Burma.

Back in November (when I wanted to write this post, but didn’t have time), Lonely Planet published its fifth edition guide to Burma (nauseatingly referred to as ‘Myanmar’). That’s one-two-three-four-five editions of a guide to a country that shouldn’t even be on the tourist radar at all. Why are they publishing this guidebook? To go against the wishes of a nation’s democratically elected leader and put money in the pockets of a brutalitarian regime is totally irresponsible.

They do include a two-page “Should You Go to "Myanmar"?” section, which *of course* tells you should go (because otherwise you’re not going to buy their guidebook), arguing the trickle-down benefit to the local people. Realistically, if you are seriously concerned about the plight of the average Burmese person, I’m sure your money would have a much bigger impact and be of more benefit if you were to donate it to the Burma Campaign, rather than staying in a government-run hotel and wondering how that helps the local people when employees don’t get paid for months at a time then get beaten up if they try to complain.

Conversely, if you are a humble adventure tourist in search of a nice place for a vacation, there are plenty of countries in the world (without a self-imposed travel ban) where the local people are just as deserving of your tourist ¥¥¥ as the Burmese.

Anyway you dice it, this guidebook to Burma is bad news. People should not be going there, pointe finale. Lonely Planet, I’m calling you out for ignoring your moral duty and the request of Ms Suu Kyi, in the hopes of turning a quick buck. Shame on you! Your Lonely Planet Guide to “Myanmar” puts dollar signs ahead of social responsibility, and supports an oppressive and brutal dictatorship. –Because of this, I’m banishing Lonely Planet guidebooks from my bookshelf forever. You are: Dead to Me!

(If you stop publishing Burma guidebooks, or if the travel ban is lifted, you might get off my list, if you’re lucky. I probably still ixnay your guidebooks though for being such kowtowing, lackey jerks in the first place).

Morning Musume Against the World

A while ago, I posted a Christmassy Youtube which featured Japanese pop superstars “Morning Musume.” As I mentioned, they are akin to the Spice Girls — Not really my bag so much, but hugely popular; with a roster of up to 13 singers changing faster than you can say ‘sushi combo #3.’ They've been riding the crest of the J-Pop wave, in numerous permutations, for a decade now, and show no signs of abating really.

Along the way, it would seem that they have had some monkeyshine run-ins with the animal kingdom. First, boy-band Smap! dressed up as bizarro Christmas poodles to shoot a music video with them, and then things got all Mutual of Omaha-crazy on them. So now, I present to you:

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Morning Musume and the Menagerie of Bizarritude!

Morning Musume vs. Komodo Dragon
I thought everyone had seen this already, so I hadn’t posted it here, but apparently not. Now remember, these girls are big stars in Japan…


Morning Musume vs. Polar Bear

Can you imagine anything even remotely like this happening here? Christ, they are good sports over there. Brittney would never put on a mouse costume and run through the owl barn when I asked her.

Morning Musume vs. Snake
I think the girl in this is from Morning Musume, but I’m not sure. Either way, WTF!!! How did this get on TV?!

Japanese for Half-Assed People VI

Genki: 元気: (ghen-key): adj., n. energetic

While the literal meaning of ‘genki’ is energetic, it’s used as a ‘how are you’-type greeting.

Ex:
A: Genki?
B: Un, genki!

(or more formally)
A: O-genki desu ka?
B: Hai, genki desu yo!

However, unlike “How are you?,” which is an open-ended question with many possible responses, “genki?” assumes the natural state is energetic and up — Anything else requires a dissenting and contradictory “no,” which is simply terrible for maintaining a good sense of wa (harmony).

Demanding happy conformity is oh-so very Japanese.

Dead to Me: My Job

Yeah, and here's another news flash; I like booze!

For anyone who's spent time with me in the last four months, you know that I find my job lameage to the max. —Basically I spend the day trying to solve problems; annoying, pointless problems; problems that wouldn't even exist if other people did their jobs properly in the first place. Terribly and intensely unsatisfying!

It's bland and suburban like a Wonderbread sandwich, and somewhat rather less exciting.

That is why I'm so enthusiastic about my Get-Me-the-Hell-Out-of-Here plan. While I am super-happy and lucky to know so my totally awesome people in Toronto, if I stay in this job I might as well move to Pickering right now and smother myself with oppressive mediocrity and minivans.

So, it looks like all signs point to going back to school, and those signs say "Paris." I'm in the middle of the application process for this translation school that's attached to the Sorbonne. School in France is *so* cheap, I'd be stupid to even consider going to school in Canada — about 4500$ dollars stupid since tuition in France is only about 500€ a year! Even though I'm a foreign student! And I get free national health-care! And I get a government stipend for a part of my rent! Crazy. Why doesn't everyone go to school in France?! So crazy; when I was talking to the girl who works in the education section of the French consulate, I couldn't even believe all the stuff she was telling me. So crazy cheap! It's a two year programme which gives me a masters in translation in the end, which is basically a ticket to ride, since pretty much every company in Canada needs translators.

I will have to go to Paris to write the entrance exam in April (since I missed the deadline for writing the overseas exam by a day!). Not tooo bad, Paris in springtime and all, but it's paying for the airfare that's the sticky wicket. The exams are the week before Easter, which is more expensive to fly than any other week in the spring. Boo-urns.

If I'd had any sense, I'd have stayed in Nihon, saved some yen and gone directly to Paris from there (and of course by 'sense' I mean 'ability to predict the future'). Well, I'm sure a week with hot, dirty French pédés will be good for my, uh, linguistic skills.

Now, I don't doubt that when I get accepted, my couch will become a flophouse for all my itinerant and wayward friends in search of Eurotrip hijinx, so I'll put the invite out there in preemptive anticipation; "My fromagey-mimey apartment is your fromagey-mimey apartment."

Gay Paree, here I come!

Worst/Best Headline *Ever*!

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Yeah, I bet he takes it – takes it real good!

Now, if I was a repressed and closeted Hollywood A-lister like Leo, my publicist would be so fired for letting this headline get out there. As if he really needed to advertise the fact that he’s a big power bottom and a selfish lover.

Way to go Metro for dishing the kind of salacious news-gossip we all want to know!