Wednesday, February 22, 2006


Hockey Talk, Torino Style

Canada beat the Czech Republic and Russia beat the US yesterday in two games that, according to my new favorite sports reporter, Renzo Gilodi of the official Torino Olympics web site, were of "incredible intensity and pathos."

Did you hear that, those of you who still insist that hockey is just a game? PATHOS.

But enough from me, here's Renzo on the Canada-Czech game:

It is a powerful Canada, with Martin Brodeur that on Jagr and Tomas Kaberle performed one of the two most incredible ventures seen up to now in the Olympic tournament: two left hand saves stopping two terrific shots destined for the goal posts cross. The game is vibrant, fantastic, the Czech Republic attacks in the third period and shortens the distance still with Cajanek but the Canadians (superb Chris Pronger in backline, Draper checker, Martin St.Louis in the runs) conclude by winning.


Say no more.

(I've chosen to illustrate this post with a photo of Sidney Crosby, who is not on the Canadian Men's Olympic team but who is from the same province as I am.)

Monday, February 20, 2006

The Olympics on Monday or It's All Downhill From Here

I watched some women's downhill skiing while at a restaurant today (I'd intended to read the Economist but couldn't concentrate on Haiti's electoral woes with all that WINTER happening on the big screen.)

I found myself rooting for a cute little Canadian chick who held the lead for the longest time only to be knocked clean out of the medals at the end by two Austrians and a Croatian. The gold medal went to Austria's Michaela Dorfmeister.

Having since checked the official Torino Winter Olympics site for commentary on the race, I understand the Dorfmeister victory. Sort of:

"Like an great soprano, Michaela Dorfmeister has given an encore. The notes delighting the 'Fraiteve Olympique' track are still sung by the relentless Austrian, six days after the triumph in the downhill also dominating the super-G. This double win is a first in the ladies’. 'Miki' went after it with meanness, tackling every single gate with a hyena’s eyes, wanting a last taste of glory before the adieu to competition. She waved to everyone with the gold around her neck, perhaps worth even more than last Wednesday’s..."



I read some other postings about today's events and they're not written like this, they're dry, AP-style dispatches. This one reads like Dorfmeister's brother, the struggling poet, (who is secretly jealous of his sister's success, it's the only way I can explain the "hyena" reference)hacked the site and posted his own rough translation of his "Ode to Miki."

I really hope she wins something else. I'm not sure how he could top this.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Sympathy for the Dick

I'm really getting tired of all these holier-than-thou leftwing attacks on Dick Cheney. Just because the guy is the Prince of Fucking Darkness doesn't mean he's all wrong, all the time.

I'm calling for a little soul-searching on this one -- aren't we being a tad hypocritical? Hasn't everyone, at one time or another, shot an elderly friend in the face while hunting quail? I know I have. More than once, if truth be told. And I can see by the way you're all staring at your toes and avoiding direct eye contact that you have too.

And what's more (and this is the sort of hard truth no one ever likes to face in these situations) some of those old people deserved it.

Old people HATE OUR FREEDOM.

And I know what you're going to say, "But Dick is an old person." But that's where you're wrong -- Dick is young where it counts, at pacemaker.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Home Cooking

Okay, so, this morning, i COOKED.

I made scrambled eggs with onion and green pepper and guess what?

YOU CAN STILL SMELL FRIED ONION IN MY HOUSE.

Seriously. And that was like, HOURS ago.

Why don't the people who are always all, "Oh, cooking is easy, cooking is so much fun, cooking is great" warn you that when you cook YOUR HOUSE SMELLS LIKE OLD FOOD.

I'm going back to porridge. That only smells when I burn it.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Flag Day

Okay, so, apparently today is FLAG DAY in Canada, which I'm supposed to be embarrassed for not knowing, but I don't think it's a bank holiday and when I checked the Globe & Mail I saw some Canadian chick winning a bronze medal in short-track speed skating and "Canada's beer surplus widens: American demand for Canadian suds continues to outstrip Canadian taste for U.S. grog."

So maybe it's actually BEER DAY, but Miss Universe here can't be seen drinking, so she waves the flag hoping no one notices her massive tiara is actually a modified beer helmet.

All of this simply makes me nostalgic for my own personal favorite Miss Canada -- Danielle House, from Newfoundland, who lost the title after being convicted of assault following a catfight in a St. John's bar.

Now that's something worth celebrating.
Of Love, Skulls, and the Coming Apocalypse...

Here I am, back from my traditional Valentine's Day celebrations (I make a papier mache cupid and beat him to a pulp with his own arrows. SUCH fun! I've borne a grudge against the little guy since that time I fell for the Nazi, looooooooong story. Let's just say, I thought he was Hells Angels. I get my skull insignia mixed up. So SUE me.)

I have no water here this morning. It's become of a kind of running theme this winter (except it's not running). I suspect it has something to do with the way a large chunk of the sidewalk in front of my house collapsed two weeks ago. (I would have mentioned this earlier, but I wasn't actually standing on it when it collapsed, so it slipped my mind.)

Or perhaps it's just ANOTHER sign of the coming Apocalypse. Like these (supplied by my waiting-for-the rapture friends) weren't enough:

1. Our [or THEIR as the case might be -- ed] vice president shooting his friend.

2. One of Saddam Hussein's co-defendants wearing underwear in court for two days in a row.

3. Dominik Hasek's goalie equipment getting 'lost' on the way to the Olympics

4. The discovery of bird flu in a swan in Naples.

5. Matt Dillon's bid to replace Kofi Annan as head of the U.N.

(The Matt Dillon one is a joke, sadly. Were it true, it would be a sign that something is actually RIGHT in this world and the powers that be have recognized the need for a CUTE UN Secretary General. And please, don't start writing me to tell me who you think would make a cuter UN Secretary General than Matt Dillon because, children, NO ONE IS CUTER THAN MATT DILLON.) Posted by Picasa

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Torino 2006

The Olympics have started in Torino (that's Turin, for those of you who don't speak Italian) "Home of the Shroud" as it says on the big sign welcoming the hordes of athletes and spectators to the XX Winter Games.

Sometimes wrongly considered a grey and serious town, Torino surprises the visitor with its social liveliness, cultural vitality and the artistic aspects the city has to offer right from the very first impact.

Or so the official website would have you believe. In my experience, when a town is considered "grey and serious" it's usually because it is (HELLO FRANKFURT).

Anyway, it's the Winter Olympics and if you're like me, that means only one thing - BIATHLON.

It was my sport until I tested positive for AK-47 assault rifle. This is a hidebound sport, strangling in its own petty rules and regulations. There was no room for a visionary like myself (pictured, above, in my heyday competing, for reason's I'd rather not get into, for Germany). I was ahead of my time.

But I'm not bitter, and you'll find me glued to the tube throughout this year's medal competition, rooting for whoever seems most likely to win. Or for any Jamaican competitors, for obvious, Disneyesque reasons.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Rasinovo Nabrezi 76: Where speech is free, or at least, talk is cheap

I started working on a picture of Mohammed in Microsoft Paintbox, thinking I could post it and then watch hits on my site go sky high, propelled by the subsequent moral outrage.

I encountered two problems: first, it occurred to me that given that my blog name is also my address, provoking the wrath of Islamic fundamentalists mightn't be so wise.

Second, my Mohammed looked too much like Chachi Arcola to provoke anything more than nostalgia for Happy Days. (I probably shouldn't have drawn him in the center of the 45 on the record player, but it looked so cute.)

Instead, I've opted to play it safe and post a picture of the real Chachi Arcola.

On a related topic, if I were ever to take to the streets to protest a cartoon, that cartoon would be "Nancy and Sluggo."

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Canadian Dipstick

I owe thanks for this item to my eye in Okmulgee*, who follows Canadian news so I don't have to.

(That's my new Canadian symbol to the left. I was wearing out the flag.)

Our story begins last year, when Belinda Stronach, a star Conservative politician, joined the Liberals, provoking some interesting comments from her erstwhile fellow party members.


"She was called a whore, she was called a prostitute, she was called a dipstick. I mean these are inappropriate. No man would be called that," said Manitoba MP Anita Neville.

Okay, first of all, I think MANY men, especially in Canadian politics, would be called "dipsticks." (I actually scrawled it on my last absentee ballot next to the name of the Conservative candidate.)

Still, a whore, a prostitute AND a dipstick does smack of sexism.

Now, however, the Conservatives have a chance to make it up to Belinda. They (as you may know from reading this space) were just elected and this week announced their Cabinet. It includes - wait for it - a LIBERAL who crossed the floor to join them.

If they will make a point of referring to him (even just once) as a whore, a prostitute and a dipstick, I'll be satisfied. And maybe Belinda will too.

*I mispelled this in the original post, but I've fixed it. And I wrote the correct spelling out 150 times. On my wall. In spray paint.
Posted by Picasa
The Merm

Some weeks ago, I stole a friend's best-of music list for 2005 (cheeky, I know, but I LIKE that about me).

This week, that friend, The Merm (pictured at right in an earlier incarnation, Man in Kimono) heard I had a blog, requested the address, and will be discovering any minute now (what time is it in Toronto?) that I helped myself to his critical appraisal of the 2005 music scene. (It's not like I COULDN'T have done my own. I listened to some music that came out in 2005, like that ring tone song and stuff I heard on Top of the Pops while I was waiting for Every Woman, I just thought his sounded hipper.)

So, Merm, if you're reading this, thanks ever so for the loan of the best-of list, I'm done with it now and will return it ASAP. Posted by Picasa

Monday, February 06, 2006

Tokyo Calling

I accidentally deleted this post earlier and must now try to recreate it.

My cousin Catherine lives in Tokyo and this week she wrote to me:

Mary P. [the 'P' is for Perpetua, for those who don't know]I'm enjoying your blog, but just want to inform our mutual acquaintances that whoever is making the posts under the moniker "tokyo sexwale" is NOT me! My email monikers are much more decorous.


I forwarded her comments to the Sexwale himself, and he responded:

decorous? does your cousin realize that tokyo sexwale was a freedom fighter? you tell her that the prison he was left to die in with nelson mandela wasn't in such goddamned good taste. and that there's nothing wrong with his living up to his reputation for tremendous endurance and ability to satisfy at the frequent sex parties he throws in tokyo hotels!


For those interested in discovering more about the Tokyo Sexwale (this means you, cuz), I suggest they check out Tokyo Sexwale's Tokyo Sex Whale Blog

For those interested in discovering more about my cousin, I suggest they ask her. But she's enjoying my blog, so really, what more do you need to know?

Dateline: Warsaw

It's been almost two months since I left my post at the People's News Agency but I receive regular updates from Stepan, who pastes them together, ransom note-style, with letters cut from yesterday's edition of Blesk. (I keep telling him he could just email me, but I think he enjoys the intrigue.)

The latest news is that the new management in Poland (is it just me, or does the thought of "Poland" make you laugh uncontrollably too?) has failed to pay the Prague Bureau's rent and internet for the past five months. The internet provider has sent the bill to a collection agency. This means there's a very real possibility that Stepan will arrive for work some day and find his "things" (a half bottle of Jim Beam and an RWE Transgas sun visor) piled on the sidewalk in front of the building.

Should that happen, I've told him he's welcome to come and work from my home office, although we'll have to take turns at the computer and I will not provide secretarial services or bottled water. Tap water is good enough for me, it ought to be good enough for him. And besides, the Jim Beam will kill anything that might hurt him.

Good Housekeeping

On Sunday morning, I got up at the crack of 10:30, made myself a pot of coffee, went to heat some milk and discovered that the gas had gone out. I then (accidentally) knocked over the coffee pot, spilled the contents all over the top of the stove, got disgusted, and left the whole mess to be dealt with after I'd calmed myself with the "Vows" section of the New York Times.

Seriously, nothing soothes my nerves like reading about the matings of the rich and famous. Or the just rich. On Sunday, I soon forgot about the coffee that was dripping down the front of the stove and puddling on the kitchen floor as I read about the Juan Mendez/Beth Formidoni nuptuals.

They'd met when Mr. Mendez "took a few hours away from a long evening of work to join a birthday dinner for Suellen Ratliff, a friend since they had worked together on a war crimes tribunal in The Hague two years earlier. The only other celebrator was Elizabeth Marlyn Formidoni, a pert blond law associate with a big anchovy and capers pizza."

I was imagining that I too, might one day make a friend while working on a war crimes tribunal (although I'm not sure what I would actually do on a war crimes tribunal, and what if the friend I made turned out to be a war criminal?) and wondering whether the big anchovy and capers pizza was a meal or if Ms. Formidoni wore it on her pert blond head, when my doorbell rang.

It was my landlord. And the guy from the gas company. They were fixing the gas and wanted to see if it was working.

What could I do? I led them into the kitchen where my landlord somehow managed to light the burners on my stove (they looked like perfectly round islands floating in a dark roasted sea). Then the gas guy (OH THE HORROR!) went into my storage cupboard to check my water heater and knocked over my entire fall/winter collection of empty booze bottles.

How could I return to my reading after that? The contrast between the squalor in my kitchen and the life of the new Mrs. Mendez was heartbreaking. Even when I read that she'd "given up her job as an associate in the New York office of the law firm of McDermott Will & Emery to indulge her passion for food," I knew it didn't mean she'd spend the next three months trying out every flavor of Delvita-brand bottled pasta sauce, which is what I've been doing since I quit my job.

No, I must face the harsh reality: I am no Elizabeth Marlyn Formidoni-Mendez.

And I really should clean that coffee up.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Canadian Politics: Ad Nauseum

Okay, now things are getting serious. I must shake off the Valley Girl persona for a moment and explain that Ken Dryden was not "that old weirdo with a beard the Israelis killed with a missile last year." (See: comments section of last post).

Ken Dryden played for the greatest hockey team ever on the face of the earth -- the Montreal Canadiens -- from 1970 to 1979, during which time the team won SIX Stanley Cups. He won the Vezina in 1973, 1976, 1977, 1978, and 1979.

Ken Dryden had a goals against average UNPARALLELED for a rookie NHL goalie.

He later ran for parliament as a Liberal, won, and was named Minister of Social Development (okay, I don't know what it means either, but they probably couldn't have a "Minister of Goals Against Average"). He won again during the most recent elections and will continue to serve as the MP for York-Center in Ontario.

The picture at left shows Ken Dryden in his classic "standing with my chin resting on my stick pose." I'm sure you can all see why he is considered one of the greatest goalies of all time -- how you could stand with your chin resting on your stick and still stop pucks is beyond me, but he did it.

And I bet he could stop missiles too, if he had to, but he doesn't, for reasons I believe I have outlined sufficiently above. Posted by Picasa
The View from Here

This is what I could see out my window at about 10 o'clock this morning: nothing. A reliable source tells me the wall of grey could well be an official inversion and that exercising in it would be like "smoking a pack of Starts while running behind a trabant."

Since smoking a pack of Starts while running behind a trabant is my exercise of choice in winter (in summer, I prefer to drink Gambrinus while rowing behind a barge piled high with medical waste), I don't think I'll let it stop me.

And actually, the sun is starting to elbow its way through the smog now. I can make out the shadowy forms of a group of tourists across the street, bundled up like so many globe-trotting Michelin men, gazing at the Dancing Building while -- what else? -- having a smoke. Posted by Picasa