Thursday, December 16, 2004

Santa Claws

So it's around Christmas time and children seem somewhat rambunctious to me. Probably anticipating all the crap they'll be getting for Christmas... Unworthy ingrates. But what occured to me, is that a lot of the younger children probably believe that they are still getting their gifts from Santa Claus as I did when I was a wee lad.

It also occured to me the amount of effort that my parents exercised to perpetuate the lie. I wasn't a dumb kid. I wanted to know what was up with this Santa character. And so, at a certain age, I began asking questions and each would be answered with an appropriate lie. And my mom being a sci-fi fan came up with some very elaborate lies.

Me as a punk kid: "How does Santa deliver gifts to all the children in the world?"
Mom: "I'm not sure, but what if Santa is able to freeze time on christmas so that he has time to deliver all the gifts?"
Me: "That makes sense..."
Dad: "Actually... Trinidad has it's own Santa... He's black."

At this point I remember my mom looking nervous. These lies were getting to risky. I'm sure when I left the room my parents had a falling out.

Mom: "Black Santa? Are you crazy? Do you want him to know there is no Santa? You'll ruin everything!"
Dad: "I want the boy to love who he is! Why can't there be a black Santa?"

And as I got older the questions became more intricate. How does Santa get into our house if we don't have a chimney? I think my mom told me he could pass through walls or something. Every question I had was answered until my reality based thinking was damaged beyond repair. I believed in Santa.

Until that day that every kid faces. At the tender age of 17, I woke up in the middle of Christmas Eve night, and found my Dad eating Santa's cookies.

Me, enraged: "What the F**k is going on here? Why are you eating Santa's cookies?"
Dad: "Son.. There's something you should know... Your mom killed Santa."
Me: "Enough with the lies... Tell me the truth."
Dad: "Your mom is Santa... So when she denied Santa was black she betrayed and murdered Santa... So what I told you was true, from a certain point of view."
Me: "A certain point of view?"
Dad: "You'll find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view."
Me : "I knew there was no Santa. How could I have been so STUPID!?!" punching the wall in fury

Imagine if Santa was real though? I mean... Why would he even bother delivering gifts? He's a super human. Like, an Xman or something. He could take over the world! I can see some megalomaniac kidnapping Santa, extracting his DNA and cloning him hundreds... THOUSANDS of times... making an army of unbeatable super human Santa soldiers. Passing through walls, freezing time to dodge bullets... They could graft admantium to his skeleton like wolverine... give him claws... Gifts indeed. Santa is no Saint... He's a warrior. That's the lie I'm telling my kids.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

No news is good news

It's that time of year again. Time for the I hate TV rant.

Oh man I hate tv... Dang old reality tv... I wish there was at least a funny sitcom to watch. With the exception of Scrubs, I can't even watch tv anymore.

Even the news. I often feel bad when people are talking about current events and I come off as the one who is totally ignorant of what's going on in the world. Usually I miss the news because I get home late or opt to watch Spongebob on YTV instead. But every now and then, the shame of knowing nothing pwns me and I decide to watch the news.

I hate it. Especially the medical report. "A study from Sweden shows that milk increases the risk of ovarian cancer! And a study from England shows that Pomegranate juice decreases the risk of...." I can't remember. Alzheimers? Whatever... Ridiculous statements like that do more harm than good. What am I supposed to do? Stop drinking milk? I don't want my ovaries to become malignant tumors but I don't want my bones to become brittle either? And I'm not Swedish... does it apply? None of this is taken into consideration. You just get one half truth, blurted out by some ignoramous. And I don't recall ever seeing pomegranate juice available in the grocery stores.

I also hate idiotic polls they have on the news. "50% of people on our poll agree that the government has the right to change the definition of the word "marriage"." Followed of course by a disclaimer, usually Bill Haughland saying, "This poll isn't considered scientific." ie... "This poll means nothing...Just... nothing at all.. Pay no attention to it... These numbers are useless to you and to everyone." And that's just Canadian news... All the ignorance of American news, without the exciting Shock value. What would americans be afraid of if there wasn't some idiot with a hidden camera revealing the jerk at McDonalds scratching his nuts before making a Big Mac? "What you don't know about you Big Mac!!!!!!" :-o

Access Hollywood proved mildly entertaining... Or did it?


Do I care that Britney Spears got married? No... Do I care that Julia Roberts has twins, Tiger woods getting married... George Clooney hurt his neck? No... No.. NO!!!! If I was to host one of those shows I think I would loathe myself... Like those tortured assassins in movies who hold the gun to their head and fight against all instincts to pull the trigger. Can you picture Nancy Odell sitting alone in the dark, playing Russian Roulette thinking, "If the gun goes off and I die... I deserve to die anyway... Because my existence on this planet is superfluous. Today, my biggest accomplishment was telling people that Britney Spears may have gotten a breast job... If this gun goes off, it's because God wants it to go off."


"Oh well, looks like I live to tell people about Dave Coulier's daughter losing her pet gecko..."

Damn tv... I can't wait for Futureshop to deliver Return of the King to my doorstep. I think the whole world should be organized like Futureshop. I say, all the countries should merge into one, and be managed by Futureshop. You go online and they deliver whatever entertainment you need... And food I guess...

I don't know how that relates to hating television but... I say less news and more Futureshop purchases!

Tuesday, November 30, 2004

The Mandatory Halo Post

So Halo 2 is out. I love that game very much... When I'm not playing, I'm talking about playing, or thinking about playing. Moments ago I was online checking my stats!! They keep track of all of it online! Not only was I checking my stats! I was showing people my stats! Some of them were women!

Me: "Hey Baby... I came in 3rd place last night in a Halo Rumble Pit match."
Hot girl: "Get away from me you loser!"
Me: "Obviously you're a Lesbian... I'm not a loser."

It's funny that girls seem incapable of understanding the joys of Halo. It's interesting to see the look of complete indifference when I describe how Droopy and Icemann Pwns U and I planted a bomb in the enemy base! It's funny to watch their brows furrow in confusion when I explain how Icemann Pwns U is a guy's name and why it's hilarious.

Here's a sad story. I was invited to a bar this Friday, and I spurned that invitation to play Halo. Let's examine why. Living on the south shore, going to a bar involves taking the bus in the cold. Then arriving at the specified venue and being charming. Playing Halo involves staying home and being as rude as I damn well please. I enjoy calling my friends punk ass bitches and then shooting them. That's the gift of Halo.

Mandatory Sister's BF complaint

So the dude comes over and asks to play Halo. He logs onto my account, plays for a few hours, and lowers my score!!! I just checked online. He came in 8th out 8 players in 4 games... 9th place in another... He sucks hard! And now his suckiness is online permanently for all to see! Under my name!!!

You know, it occured to me that when two people are dating, the expression used is "Those 2 people are going out." This is what I want for these two. I want them to go out. I want them to get out! Get out of the house! 11am on a Sunday is MastaCSG time. I dont want to put effort into not being hostile. It's sunday... A day for me to be obnoxious to my family. Not a day to bite my tongue while guests are over. Havign company means I have to get dressed before 1pm, maybe... wash up... It's ridiculous. On a sunday? Bloody hell!

Sister's BF: "Wow... I came in 8th place again!!! Oh well... The point is, I'm having fun."
Me: "Hey! Here's 20 bucks... Maybe you should take my sister to a movie or something. What kind of movies do white people like?? Is Spanglish out yet? You'd love it. It's about time Adam Sandler and Salma Hayek were in a movie together."
Sister's BF: "Actually Adam Sandler and Tea Leon-"
Me: "-Stop... I don't give a flying....... Now I want you, to go out with my sister. Go out! NOW!"

Monday, November 22, 2004

A lazy sunday

It was to be a beautiful lazy Sunday morning. I woke up nice and late and by 12pm I was on MSN still in my pyjamas. Who busts into my house? My sister's boyfriend.

So, the dude is white. Which is alright.... I guess... Some of my best friends are white! Really! But some of the situations that arise are just plain hilarious. Just like a sitcom. I remember he was over for supper once and my mom asked if he wanted white meat or dark. We all knew she was talking about chicken but I almost choked.

This weekend was particularly funny. I was studying in the living room listenning to music. I walked out to make myself a very late lunch. When I came back into the living room, there was my sister's bf all alone and guess what track was playing? Honkeytown.

I'm the Country Modee and I'm here to last!
I'll put any white boy in a cast!
Too many whiteys I'm going insane
I feel like an indian from John Wayne!
Say Honky, Honk Honk Honk! Honky Honk Honk Honk!

Me: "oh... I see you're trying to study. Let me turn off the music."
Sister's BF: "Oh, that's okay."

Well, that was awkward.

Later on that day, still studying in the living room sans music. Him and my sister bust in turn on the tv and start watching Hope and Faith. NO!!! In my sanctum????

Me: F**k that s**t! I ain't watchin' no f**kin' Hope and Faith! Go f**k yourself you dumb b*tch!
My sister's bf: That's no way to talk to your sister...
Me: I was talking to you!

That show's pretty white, but whiter still is my sister knows some of the people who were in the show from soap operas and what not. Nyarrr... Anyway, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the loathesome entertainment show on CFCF12 was on. The guy said, "Coming up, we talk to the actors of Blade 3!!!" Now anyone who knows me knows that Blade is my hero. I own Blade 1 and 2 and have been anticipatint 3 for a very long time.

What does my sister's boyfriend do? He actually changed the channel. WTF??? I took a few deep breaths. "Would you mind turning it back to CFCF, please." He complied. To my disgust they don't even interview Wesley Snipes nor do they show anything from the movie.

Sister's BF: Woah!!! Ryan Reynolds is in it!!! Two Guys and a Girl! That show was sick guy! Give me some props!!!
Me (revolted to the point of nausea): I will slap the hell out of you. They didn't even interview the star. Wesley Snipes.
Sister's BF: Who's Wes... Lee... Snipes?

Then I shot him.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004


Last weekend I attempted to answer that age old question; Who would win a fight between Dr. Octopus and Captain Benjamin Sisko?

Let's look at the facts. As we can see in this picture, Dr. Octopus seems bigger than captain Sisko. Even if the figures were to scale, I imagine Sisko would still not look as impressive. However, Sisko is the Bajoran emissary. He must have some eerie powers to defeat the villainous PHD!

Other facts... This weekend at the restaurant, I childishly began smearing hot sauce on people at the table. Saturday, after buying the Dr. Octopus "serial produced posable sculpture" (action figure), I went to Jbo's house to play video games for some 4-5 hours. This is after seeing the G-rated, Incredibles animated motion picture in the theatres.

Sunday, I stood by while my mommy and daddy made countless measurements to figure out the best way to run an ethernet cable from my router to my Xbox. Then... drilling ensued.. hammering... Why? Cuz I need to play a video game, the forementionned, Halo 2. Oh yes, I felt like quite the spoiled brat. And not very mature at all when I had to explain the further expenses involved in Halo 2, ie, getting high speed internet, the Xbox live account which gives access to their network.

Dad: "You still have to spend more money on this thing???"

Later that evening, while talking about the Incredibles and showing off my Doc Ock action figure, my dad mentionned something.

Dad: "Hey, I finally saw that character on TV that you're always talking about... Mr... Soap... Something??? That movie looks REAL stupid Chris."
Me (enthusiastically): "Spongebob Squarepants!?!"
Dad: "yeah... you'd better bring your sister to that!"

Spongebob, Incredibles, Action Figures, Video games, Star Trek... It all comes back to my original question. Who would win a fight between Dr. Octopus and Captain Sisko?
Answer: No woman who reads this post will ever date me....


Monday, November 01, 2004

The Saddest Post Ever...

Here's a quick history of MastaCSG and video games.

Once upon a time, a video game called Street Fighter 2 was released. This was back when MastaCSG was just plain old Chris Gregg in an elementary school. But even then, my gifts were obvious. I was virtually undefeated in that game. I was so good I would actulally play with my back turned to the screen so that others would have a chance. I would still win. Droopy Mcc can attest to that fact.

Years later, Mortal Kombat, Killer instinct, Mario Kart.... A similar situation arose. I was like... the chosen one of video games.

To bring some balance to the universe, God created the real time strategy game, Warcraft 2. Only one person could beat me at that game; Mr. Kenny Chu. Aside from him, I dominated that game much as I dominated Street Fighter 2. Again, Vrej can recount the savage beatings he got in that game, though others have experienced my awful wrath. I think after a while, Vrej didn't even understand how he was getting beaten. He couldn't boast a single victory against me. He may as well have tried lifting a bus over his head, because I would not be defeated! Soon, he would just stop mentionning Warcraft 2 altogether. Like it never existed.

And then there was Halo. As I've explained to the good Rezaul Haque, the fact that I'm one of the few in our circle that didn't own Halo, kind of gave others a fighting chance against me. I still have many impressive victories in Halo, but nothing that has created anything close to the complete humiliation I used to conjure in my glory days.

This is why God has created Halo 2. This will be the game that Rez will be talking about the next day at work. "I don't know why I can't beat the Masta!!!! This shouldn't be possible!! Allah, why?????"

It will be the game that Vrej never talks about.
Rez: "Hey, Vrej, I hear Chris schooled you at Halo 2 last night. AGAIN!!"
Vrej: "I don't wanna talk about it... There is no Halo 2."

It will be the game that kids around the world will be crying to their mommies and daddies about, "I hate you for getting me Halo 2 for Christmas. Some dude named MastaCSG from Canada just humiliated me in front of my little friends... AGAIN!!!"

CHRIStmas indeed. You guys better effing practice, because if history is any indication, you will have your asses handed to you again, and again and again... Santa Claus will peer in through your window and wince at your humiliation. "Holy s**t!" Santa will say, "That sumbitch got his ass handed to him!!!" Then his elf will say, "You are correct Santa. One might say, that gentleman got served!"

"F**K!!!" Blitzen will bellow, his primitive reindeer mind somehow comprehending the severity of your many defeats, sheer incredulity forcing the animal to release a steaming load of reeking feces upon your rooftops!

Vrej, openning a christmas gift: "Ooh, what's this?? A present from Chris??? OH NO!!! NOT MY ASS!!! Handed to me... AGAIN!!!" weeps bitterly.
Vrej's Mom: "Vrej! Stop playing that game!! There's reindeer s**t all over the house!!!"
Rez, busting in through Vrej's front door: "Vrej man, I need a mop!!"
Vrej: "...Reindeer droppings?"
Rez: "Aye... Reindeer droppings..."
All three simultaneously: "DAMN YOU MASTACSG!!!!!!!!!"

The expense... The neglected studies... The waning frequency of social interaction... My God.. It will be beautiful. This Christmas, Chris Gregg will regress to a state of immaturity the likes of which hasn't been seen in over a decade. And if immaturity is the peanut butter, then video game prowess is the strawberry jelly, each condiment present in equally excessive proportions to bring strife and grief to all those who dare pick up their X-box controllers and challenge me to Halo 2.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004


You know what's cool? This new X-men Legends game. I got home really late on saturday, after having aquired the video game from a friend, that evening, I after went to a lounge called dulce. Anyway, the point is, I only got home at about 5am, and thought about playing the game all night. Finally I woke up at about 10 am, and just played and played and played.... My sister joined me for a few bouts.

Then my mom said, "Chris, seeing as you've been playing that for four hours... Could you help me set the table?"

I thought to myself, "4 hours? That's ridiculous. I ain't settin' s**t!!! Get one of my knavish sisters to set the damn..." A quick gland at the clock revealed that I had probably already passed the five hour mark. Oh my... Ridiculous indeed. The next day at work I got the most severe migraine I ever had in my life. I thought I would die. I wonder if it's from playing 5 hours of video games? Furthermore, I think playing hours of video games actually makes me stupid.

I do love that game though. And I love the X-men in general. I think all guys have a favourite X-man, no? For me it's a toss up between Nightcrawler and Gambit. Don't front like you don't have a favourite X-man! I was talking to someone who thought she could hide her HEART for the X-men. When asked who her favourite was she replied, "That guy with the ice powers... And Ian McKellen."

You're not fooling anyone by pretending not to know their names! Once you know their powers, you know their names! Ice powers = Iceman. Magnet Powers = Magneto. But what's really cool about X-men, is they don't say that the guys have super powers. They call them "gifts". I think that makes the whole franchise seem real. More real than real life actually! X-men means more to me than school, religion and family. I hope one day I can join the X-men for real! When I was young I really wanted to be a Ghostbuster but I guess I've matured since then.

One time, Wolverine fell in love with this woman who tried to kill him, then he had to kill her father! That really hapenned! And another time, professor X's brother tried to kill him and he had to wear this helmet so professor X couldn't control his mind. I wish I had gifts... Like, super-power gifts, to make things float and shoot electricity out of my eyes and stuff. And I wish I could teleport like Nightcrawler. Those would be awesome gifts.

Ahem.... On another note, I think I just ate the last of the candy that was to be for the tricker treaters. What will I tell them when they come to the door in their little X-men costumes?

Kids: "Can we have some candy?"
Me: "I done, already ate that s**t! And had some of yo mama's candy too... In bed!! Better luck next year, sucker!!"

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Masta's Pastapiece

So, I had a little free time on my hands and decided to pay homage to my favourite meat, the meat of the Gods, yes... I was going to do something with bacon. But what manner could I best honor porc? Usually I just slap some bacon in a pan and fry it up. A conversation I had with a colleague of mine came to mind. He gave me a veg description of how to make linguini carbonara. Using, milk, shallottes (spp?) and yes... bacon.

So, I took a knife to four slices of bacon, and cut a few fingers in the process. I fried up the bacon in a pan. The pasta was already cooked. The hard part would be the sauce. Normally to make a creamy sauce you would need cream but alas I had none. So it seemed to me that if I added flour to the milk, said milk would congeal creating the desired cream sauce for my bacon. So, I poured a non-specific volume of milk in a bowl and added 'some' amount of flour and stirred. Then I poured that over the bacon bits and lard and let it fry. Oil splashed on me, and I recoiled in horror like a little girl who has just seen a spider. "Oooh, that sumbitch is congealing quite fast!" I added more milk.

Still missing something.... I looked through the fridge, found a clove of garlic. Using the garlic press, I ground up some garlic into the sauce.... Stirred it up... It looked good, and it seemed to be keeping the Vampires at bay. Despite that... Not such a great experience. The kitchen was surprisingly messy from something that simple. garlic press, milk splashed here and there... flour everywhere... Dirty pans. I can't wait for mom to come home. "What hapenned in here? CHRIS!!!!! YOU'VE GOT SOME EXPLAINING TO DO!!!!!!" She won't be too happy. Especially after last week's disaster with the frying pan and the smoke detector and the burning!!! So many traumatic memories. I have no business in a kitchen.

Anyway, my pastapiece was complete. I took a forkfull... Meh... Not too awful, but not nearly as savory as I would have expected. The worst part is, it gave me some insane indigestion. I can't stop hicupping, even now. It's really bad. It's like there's this huge air pocket in my esophagus and it won't go away. I'm afraid to induce a belch for the sheer force of my hiccups would invert my lungs.

Oh well, I had best go tidy up a bit and peruse the cupboard for a tea that could cure these crazy hiccups. Perhaps some Earl Gray... Just like Captain Picard!

Thursday, October 14, 2004


People often ask me, "Chris Gregg, what's your favourite food?" Depending on what mood I'm in, I might answer different things, but Goddamn, do I love a good roti.

What's roti? It's a marvellous thing actually. Curried chicken (or shrimp or beef), with chick peas and potatoes all wrapped in a heavenly crepe-like thing. Roti has a 50% curry content, and that's per volume!!! Add a little hot-sauce to that and badda-bing badda ban, you have MastaCSG's favourite food.

So on the way home last night, I saw a restaurant that sells roti. I decided to check out the price. 6$ is a little steep for a roti. Or is it? They gave me a rather heavy bag which I brought with me on the bus with the intents of eating it at home. When I arrived at the bus terminus, I openned up the bag.... This roti was huge! It was like, the size of my head. I couldn't resist unwrapping it. I took a huge bite out of the thing and was already full. It was like eating Lembas bread!

I got home and forced my self to finish it. I took my last bite and emit a vicotorious groan, rubbing my aching stomach. Severe drowsiness overcame me... I staggered to bed at 8pm intending to take a nap.... I woke up the next morning at 7am... Now that is a good roti.

Where my dawgs at? We go get roti soon, yes???

Monday, October 11, 2004

Lab Tales - Part 1

The first few weeks of Master's program, the issue of safety came up a few times. In fact I was forced to go to a safety seminar! In one way, I hate safety seminars, because they're absolutlely pointless. They spend 3 hours telling you, "Be careful! Especially when you're tired!" The video's themselves are just plain hilarious. You get to see a montage of cartoon-like accidents happening in the lab. The directing is to thank. One scene in particular where you see some clown wearing shorts, sandals and a lab coat comes to mind. The camera starts at his exposed toes and then moves up to the fool handling some large unwieldy glass pane. He drops it and all you hear is shattering glass, leaving your imagination to conjure images of jagged shards severing his toes. Then you get quick shots of people accidently stabbing themselves with needles, spilling acid etc... I felt bad, but after a while I couldn't hold it in and exploded into laughter.

My supervisor, as always, had some hilarious stories (which he probably didn't intend to be hilarious) of people getting hurt in labs he worked at back in Europe. One time he walked into the lab, and as he openned the door to say hello, a heavy metal stand fell on some girls neck. Or another time, a brilliant scientist he knew, put something he shouldn't have in an autoclave(a machine that sterilizes things at very high pressure and temperature). A huge explosion ensued and everyone just turned to look at the man who was using it. He continued smoking his cigar as if nothing hapenned. "What???"

But the most unlikely story he told, was about a centrifuge (see last post). As everyone knows, RULE #1 of centrifuges is they have to be balanced carefully or they could concievably send your sample flying out of the machine and through your head!!! For this story, my supervisor became very serious. He said that one time, the samples were loaded into the machine unevenly such that when it turned on, the rotor actually rose out of the centrifuge and began spinning out of control across the floor like some deadly top. The way he described it, he and two other guys he knew were running away from this crazy thing as it left a wake of devastation in the centrifuge room. I imagined them in one of those long hallways with dozens of doors on either side

and the rotor spinning after them.

I did learn one important thing though. This SDS stuff that I've been using without a mask for the past two years, should ALWAYS be used with a mask. Sorry lungs! Another fun factoid... The way bottles are labelled in our lab, anyone could come in and drink toxic stuff, feign ignorance and sue the pants off of whoever is responsible for their violent illness!!!

"What's chloroform? " guzzle guzzle guzzle

I wouldn't recommend trying it though.... that means you Vrej!

Here's a sad story... I've been sitting in the lab alone typing this post for so long, that the lights just turned off because they weren't detecting any movement. That's sad and scary. Happy Thanksgiving to me... :-(

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Can't get no respect...

Unfortunately in the lab, we have a new centrifuge machine. What's a centrifuge? you may be asking. A centrifuge is like a big washing machine. It has a rotor inside of it, where you place tubes for purposes of spinning them at ridiculously high speeds. Why would you want to spin stuff at ridiculous speeds? You might be wondering. Cuz scientists do stuff like that for purposes of purifying samples of... things... In our case we purify parts of yeast cells. Here's a picture of one!

So, what do I hate about our new centrifuge? Many things, but mainly, I hate that one of the rotors always gets stuck in the machine. And then I have to go tell the professor that it's stuck and he would come and pull it out. So it hapenned again this week. Bahira hapenned to be there, getting ice in the adjacent room. She implied that I wasn't strong enough to pull it out myself! Actually maybe she didn't really have to say anything. I felt weak. I mean, is my supervisor really stronger than me? So I began feebly pulling at the rotor... It wouldn't come out... During my mad tugging I think Bahira left, and I went defeated to inform the professor of the stuck rotor. After explaining that it was stuck he said, "That's okay... I suppose removing it would require force that you are... uncomfortable in applying...."

WOAH!!!!!! What's even worse than the fact that he thinks I'm weak, is the fact that he pitied me so much, he had to be tactful about it. Uncomfortable in applying? Just say you think I'm too scrawny to pull the damn thing out!!! So I started making excuses, "I think it gets frozen, cuz we spin it at 4 degrees! So by the time you get there, it's warmer, and you can pull it out!" Professor: "Whatever, I'll pull it out later!"

Now just cuz I'm skinny, doesn't mean I'm weak. Anyone can tell you! MastaCSG is the most underestimated muscle man this side of south central! These guns are capable of great things. In a rage, I ran to the centrifuge room, where another colleague from the lab was working with a smaller centrifuge. I started pulling at the rotor again. She laughed. "Dr. Titorenko is strong!" she said with a laugh, and then left, me still pulling at the rotor.

Finally, indignation overcame me, and with one mighty tug, I ripped the rotor out of the centrifuge and held it in the air like Excalibur!!!! That's right!!! REPRESENT!

I went back to tell the professor. What does he say? "Oh, see, EVEN YOU can pull the rotor out! Well, I didn't mean to say even you... I meant... you can pull the rotor out..."


Can't get no respect...

On a sadder note, Rodney Dangerfield passed away. He's one of those celebrities I'll miss knowing was around. Oh well...

Friday, October 01, 2004

I, Masta

So, one of the oddest things about starting a master's degree, is that I have to be a teacher's assistant. I gave a list of choices of classes I would like to be a TA for. Somewhere at the bottom of that list was the Genetics class. I like genetics and everything, but I knew it would be the most work. I have to quiz the students every week, and give them an assignment question. Then we have a two hour problem solving session, where they solve problems in groups and ask me questions.

So far so good, but last thursday I wasn't very well prepared. I haven't taken this class in a few years and definately don't remember it very well. So, what to do, when you know nothing and the students think you know something? I could only smile and nod to so many questions during the 4 hours I had to TA. I drew on the knowledge of previous TA's I've had in the past. There are a vast, vast store of responses that divert attention from one's ignorance.

But it occured to me that only 3 maximum 4 responses are necessary. As such, I predict that in the near future, human TA's will no longer be necessary. All students will need is a tape recorder that loops those three responses over and over again. I figure for a more personal feeling, a paper plate with a picture of my face could be propped against this tape recorder, so the students will still feel like they're interacting with something. I can imagine what such an exchange would be like.

Student: "Ummm... Sir? How do you solve question #18?"
Greggbot: "How do you think you solve it?"
Student: "I don't know, that's why I'm asking you!"
Greggbot: "You should solve it on your own!"
Student: "I can't! I'm lost!"
Greggbot: "I'm Chris Gregg, the TA! Good luck on your exam!"
Student: "What??? I need help with this problem!!!"
Greggbot: "How do you think you solve it?"
Student: "Shut up!!! I hate you Greggbot I hate you!!!!"
Greggbot: "You should solve it on your own..."

I could only hope that such a sophisticated mechanation would not become self aware and take over the world. Could you imagine an army of self aware Greggbots? What if they evolved to actually help students? TA's like me would become obsolete!!!! I can just see Greggbot, filthy rich, lying in bed with my wife, my money... my life!!!! I HATE YOU GREGGBOT!!!

Technology is like a double edged sword. But you know what's more like a two-edged sword? One of those blade thingies with two edges... I think they're called super knives.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Do these have trans fats?

I was in a pretty lousy mood yesterday. I was just looking for something to complain about. So I came across a box of Oreo cookies. They have a long rant on the back about how good and wholesome they are. So I grinned wickedly to myself and looked at the ingredients on the side, hoping to find some ingredient that sounded chemical and not so wholesome. Surely I would find something like, Ethidium Bromide or 'may contain traces of animal semen'... Producers would do anything to extend the shelf-life of their unhealthy products. Even if it meant introducing a toxin into the population that would mutate future generations into bizarre, emu creatures...

But all I found was something called soya lecithin. I don't think that's so bad. It certainly isn't worthy of a blog bashing. "Oh diss!!! Oreo's have Soya Lecithin!!!" Who cares? After eating 4 delicious Oreo cookies I decided that Orea cookies are in fact perfect. Creamy icing sandwhiched in between two perfectly round biscuits made from rich, dark cocao. All of this, infused with the awesome power of soya lecithin.

So might I suggest you unlock the magic... Go have some Oreo cookies immediately.

Sunday, September 19, 2004


I can only imagine how confusing it must have been for the guy at the Depanneur last night, when seven 23-24 year olds, of various ethnicity, bust in and start rifling through the candy. Loud comments and rude jokes abounded while we selected our sugary treats, all the while I'm expecting the guy behind the counter to pull out a shotgun or something.

Anyway, any fear felt on his behalf was of course, unfounded. I just felt like having candy. I never feel like candy but I suddenly got the urge. I suspect it's because I stopped having sugary cereal for breakfast. Maybe my body is craving sucrose.

So, sucrose body wants, sucrose body gets. I bought those fuzzy peach candy's, watermelon candies, little chewy coke bottle thingies... It was great... Today I asked my mom, "You know what I love about Willy Wonka's nerds?" My mom immediately replied, "Willy Wonka was thoughtful enough to name a candy after you?"

Both of us simultaneously, "OOOOOOOOOHHH!!!" (diss!!!)

Then I continued, "No, actually, what I love about nerds is they have two sides to the box. You can pick two flavours!"

I do heart my Nerds. I really think I have some growing up to do. I think all of my friends have some growing up to do. I really had to do some soul searching when Kenny told me he couldn't sleep cuz he was on such a sugar high from all the candy he ate. When you're 23 years old and ruining your sleep and probably your appetite with Candy, somethings wrong.

Friday, September 17, 2004


So last Sunday I was watching Men in Black the movie. I realized how much I really did enjoy it. It was fun, good special effects... I love that giant cockroach creature at the end. Sure enough, a few days later I find myself listenning to the Men in Black Soundtrack on the way to school.

What an amazing soundtrack! The biggest shock was that after all these years, I still remember the words to most of the songs. Particularly Make You Happy that my cousins and I used to sing, arguing over the lyrics:

Baby let me make it happen
Take you ridin' in my caddy
If you want me, you can have me
You can even call me daddy
Good lovin' chocolate covered
Sweeter than a mother, mother (MOTHAAAAA!!!!!)
Make you never want another
Freak you underneath the covers

I can make it happen
If you want me to
Let me make ya happy like your man won't do

One thing I seemed to notice for the first time, is that for a movie about extra-terrestrials about to destroy the planet, the vast majority of the songs are about getting "freaked underneath the covers".

Excellent soundtrack, but I have to admit when Men in Black started playing on my diskman with Will Smith busting out those High School Homeboy lyrics, I turned down the volume. It was pretty embarassing. I could just see some white guy popping up out of nowhere, "Are you listenning to Men in Black by Will Smith??? Dude... that is so gay!"

Why doesn't Will smith make raps to his movies anymore? Those were good times for everyone... I, Robot could have used a cheesy ass rap song.

In bed I'm like a Robot
Makin' love to my Ho Bot

Now Dance wit me, Just Dance wit me, Just dance wit me!!!
Let me see you just slide with me, just slide with me, just slide with me!!!

Yeah... And they could play it on the radio every two minutes. And there would be an awesome music video with robots dancing with Will Smith... Bad Boys, The Legend of Bagger Vance, Ali... All should have cheesy title raps!! In fact... I say they make a law, that any movie with a black guy, the lead actor should do a rap song. Malcolm X. The Negotiator. Training Day. Amistad. Play the race card up!!!!! I can't wait to have my own movie.

I'm a rapper slash actor
Welcome to Gregg Factor
Bulldozin' Mc's like a tractor
That's why I macked em' and sacked her!

Yeh. I can see the music video with corny dance.... Motions like driving a tractor intermixed with pelvic thrusts. Greggscellent.

Monday, September 06, 2004

Masta in China

The much anticipated spinoff Blog is here!!!!

It's comin at yeah!!! BIG!!!!!

Saturday, August 28, 2004

Masta in China-Part 1:Yup!! Good to go!!!!

So, the obvious question, and the one I was asked most frequently is, Why? Why would a black guy, who can't speak Chinese, go to China alone??? I don't really have a good answer, resulting in many people speculating that I was up to no good. People concluded that I would either come back with a wife, or a disease. I have returned with neither. Or both!!! You can decide after the most epic event in blog history hits your modems!!!! Masta in China is a multi part blog experience that will change the way you look at Blogs forever!!!

The trip starts off in the air port. The trip there included stops to Chicago, Tokyo and finally my destination in Beijing. The flight to Chicago was uneventful. I chat it up with the girl next to me a little bit.

The flight to Tokyo was a horrific contrast. Instead of sitting next to a cute girl, I was seperated from an obese white guy with a taste for airline food. After eating a bag of crunchy... glossy... nasty stuff, dubiously marked, "delicious food" My stomach wasn't feeling so hot. But the "gentleman" next to me proceeded to turn the "delicious food" into methane gas. I can only conclude he was turning it into methane because his farts were not human. They definately smelled like bovine farts and I had 13 hours to contemplate this. "This is not a man... This is a cow-creature,"I told the stewardess. I thought I should kill him... Just stab him Gangsta- like to stop the mad air pollution. Don't judge me!!! 13 hours with that smell and you would at least consider murder!!! What would the stewardesses say?

Stewardess: "Why you stab american cow man?"
Me: "He was farting near me during my vacation."
Stewardess giggles uncontrolably! "Fart!!! That's an american word!!!"

And that pretty much sets the tone for most of my trip. Gross bodily functions, me complaining about said bodily functions, and subsequent feminine giggling and embarassment. There's other stuff... Beautiful scenery I saw, hilarious people I met... Contaminated food that I ate... All will be recounted to you.

As of now, the best pictures are on a cd which my computer can't read... I'm trying to solve the problem that I may bestow the gift of gorgeous photographs, to you, Black Logaphiles...

For the next few weeks, maybe months, I will recount to you China as you have never seen it before; through the eyes of a black man!! Join me on my journey!!! You'll meet who I meet, haggle who I haggle, eat who I eat!!! Stay tuned!!!

Saturday, August 07, 2004

The End of an Era 2

So they're gone. The Dreadlocks are finally gone. It was a good run while it lasted. I can remember the first week, when strange questions and requests about my dreadlocks were abundant. ie. Do you wash them? How do you do that? I'm white, can I get dreads?
Or my all time favourite: "Did you know when Bob Marley died, they found hundreds of different species of insects in his head?"

And why is it when dreads are involved all social etiquette goes out the window? I mean, since when is it acceptable to just touch someone's hair? And it doesn't matter if I say, "No, don't touch my hair!" I have no choice. It's as if my dreadlocks are public property.

Person says: "Wow!! Dreads are so cool!! Can I touch them?"
Me: "Actually, there's beeswax in them and it might..."
Person: "This is some f**ked up repugnant, STICKY s**t!!!! What do you put in this s**t? F**K!!!!"
Me: "Thank you..."

Well, removing the dreads was no less awkard. My dad brought his scissors and electric razors. Unfortunately everyone was in the house at the time. My mom, my two sisters and even my dad's cousin watched as dad removed the dreads. My mom was getting her hair done by one sister, and my other sister was content just standing there watching, providing commentary. The following dialogue is a dramatization (slightly dramatized)

Mom: "It's about time!! It will look a lot neater once they're off!"
Sister: "I like you better with the dreads."
Me: "It burns."
Dad: "I thought you washed your hair? What is all this?"
Mom: "It's not so bad... Could you do something about his eyebrows?"
Dad: "Your hair seems thinner on top... You know, my dad is balding."
Sister: "EWWWW.... I really do like you better with dreads!"
Dad: "Oops! Nicked ya again!"
Mom: "Take the razor to his eyebrows!!"
Me: "NO!"
Mom: "They're bushy!!!"
Dad: "You know, I could just trim..."

I don't know how long it took, but when it was all said and done, I had shaven eyebrows and no more dreads. When I went to wash my stubly head, it burned so badly I wanted to scream out loud. It was quite an unpleasant experience.

Anyway, those dreads were a year and a half in the making. Now they're all gone!!!! Another phase has come to an end. Oh well!

I'm off to China now! I don't know if I'll get a chance to update while I'm there, but be sure to check the Black Log for some zany stories from China! Or at least... semi-zany... Or not... We'll see...

Sunday, August 01, 2004

The end of an era...

After almost four years, I have given my resignation to the Brossard municipal library. It's been a good run, but unfortunately my Master's degree will not allow me to continue there any longer.

I remember when I first began working there. I was really worried about working with a bunch of older ladies. I remember during one of our breaks I was witness to a rather graphic discussion of child birth. "My son's head was huge!!! My vagina was so dilated that-"

There was one lady who shrieked for the first week any time I turned the corner. "Bonjour!" I would say, and she would respond with a blood curdling shriek. I would have attributed it to her getting used to having a black guy skulking about the library the first time, but she was black too!

Now that I'm quitting, I feel a great deal of grief at leaving them. It's almost like losing 20 aunties. They're all such sweet ladies. There were times when they just had me laughing out loud with their stories. And they ask you auntie like questions like, "Have you been eating? How's school going?" Of course, now that I'm leaving in a few weeks I get to play the spoiled brat!

The other morning for example, I woke up and made breakfast. I was about to take the first bite when my boss calls.

Boss: "Good morning Chris? How are you?"
Me: "I'm fine."
Boss: "What are you doing?"
Me: "Eating a sandwich.. You know... Just chillin..."
Boss: "You're supposed to be at work."
Me: "Well, ain't that some s**t??? I'll be there... later... I guess."

And when I did get there, it was to smiles and jokes. The previous day was even more relaxed. I earned my fee by sharpening pencils chatting with people... Walking around... One of the ladies gave me chocolate. Then I did something I always wanted to do... I took one of the cheesy children's chairs from the Youth section. It's all yellow and green and blue and it's super tiny. I almost got stuck in it. Anyway, I sat in that to check the books on the shelf, regaling the ladies, "Oh que t'es mignon!" they laughed.

But today was the topper. While sharpening pencils, one of the bosses came up to me and one of the other students. "Chris I need you to..." then she paused, and looked at the other guy, "Nevermind... Marc Andre, go put away those books over there." I grinned and continued sharpening pencils. I felt like such a little brat!

What else could I get away with in my last few weeks? I always wanted to push over one of the bookshelves and cause a cataclysmic domino effect where all the shelves would fall making a glorious mess of books. Or walk around the library with no shirt, bust in with a boombox. Or I could be totally hostile to the people who come to borrow books.

Old lady with a British accent, "I would like to procure these documents, young man."
Me: "Well ma'am, just give your library card a swipe." pulling down my pants and showing her my ass.
Old lady, "Oh, you beastly, horrid man..."
Me, talking with my ass, a la jim carrey: "Oh, don't be mad. Let's kiss and make up!"
My Boss: "Oh... Chris is so cute. Let's buy him a present!"

Anyway, none of that will happen now. My last day was Saturday and my send off included many kisses and heart felt goodbyes. Even one of the cute girls who works with me seemed upset.

Cute Girl: "Where are you going?"
Me: "Time to start my masters. Why do you ask? Couldn't let a gorgeous guy like me out of your site without getting a goodbye kiss?"
Cute Girl: "You can't leave like this! We need you!!!"
Me: "We need? What about, you need?"
Cute Girl: "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Me: "You probably don't... Now stop following me."
Cute Girl: "I was just going to say goodbye to the Janitor!"
Me: "Good! You could use a good kiss!!!"

And there was of course the evil rant from my boss. "Who would have thought, you've worked here for 4 years. Time sure does fly. Remember Chris. Time is a predator. It stalks you every day, waiting to claim your life. And eventually, it will catch you!"

But though she called time a predator, I prefer to think of time as a friend, who travels with us along the road of life, reminding us to make the most of every moment as each might be our last.

Four years well spent I'd say. Now I'll sign off before I get sued for copywrite infringement.

Friday, July 23, 2004

Keepin' it Gangsta

There's a funny aspect to being black that you may or may not accept as true.  This bizarre consequence of being black is that you tend to draw psychos.  People with social problems are in fact drawn to black people.

Today for example, some random white guy with a beard sits down next to me and points to the tiles on the wall in metro station and says, "Wow!  It looks like the Milky Way." Now most wise people would just respond with a nod and a grim discouraging scowl.  I, being less wise, decided to dispute the point.  "No it doesn't!" I cried, "Since when is the Milky Way orange and blue?"
And the guy said, "No it does... If you let your mind wander... As mine often does."

Anyway, when the metro came I got a seat far from him.  But I watched fascinated as he approached another black man and his wife.  "Is that a digital camera?" he asked, "Those are my favourite!!"  And as that black couple became annoyed he found yet another pair of black people, this time a frightenned mother and daughter and began to converse with them.  And yes, even another black guy got on the metro was accosted by this bizarre and probably drunken gentleman.  Staggering over to another seat, I noticed the man sat down, looked at a white man as if considering to speak to him, and then declined the opportunity.  It's as if he wasn't good enough to talk to other white people.  But he was good enough to talk to any random black person he came across.

Another time I was walking down the street with a friend of mine from the university.  We're both black and the woman who approached us decided to work this fact into her begging pitch.  She adressed us, "Woah!  Eddie Murphy... ummm... (struggling to think of another black celebrity) Bill Cosby!!!"  Seeing my friend's displeasure at being called Bill Cosby, she decided to try again..."I mean... Denzel (super pleased with herself)!!!!"

At this point I'm already displeased at being the Eddie Murphy to my friend's Denzel.  Then she goes into praising black people.  "No I love Black people.  You guys are... survivors!!  Like me!!!"  Well, hooray!  Another huge leap for the black race.  We are now up to the level of this vagrant woman. 

So, what messed up stereotype do people have in mind nowadays?  Are black people more accepting and tolerant because we've been through so much?  I think I prefer the image of being potentially violent with criminal tendencies and an affinity for stealing.  At least I wouldn't get harassed by the dregs of society.  Yes... They're dregs!    I mean, hasn't the black race been through enough without having to fraternize with idiots?

And it's not just beggars.  I work at a library.  Imagine my horror at being approached by an old Vietnamese man who is pleased with himself because he listens to hip hop.  "I like hip hop!"  I mean, that's all well and good but...  No...  Or some little kid who comes up to me and says, "What's up dawg?"  I scowled at him angrily.  There's no dawg... No.. No dawg kid!  No hip hop!  I guess I was in a bad mood... It was just a little kid he didn't know any better. 

As the years have passed and we shed our agressive and dangerous image, people regard us with a kind of gawky, patronizing fascination.  They slap together an image in their mind from various things they've seen on TV and with an added a dash of Bill Cosby, mixed vigorously with Will Smith, next thing you know, any black guy not wearing baggy clothes is friendly and approachable.

I want to go back to the old school stereotypes.  You approach a black guy, yo' a$$ is gettin' stabbed or shot!  I would have liked to have known what it's like to walk into a room and have everyone hide their valuables, avoid eye-contact and run in terror!  I'm an evil man... I want to be feared!  Damn my boyish good looks and approachable demeanor!  FEAR ME!!!

Honestly though, I don't mind someone coming up and talking to me about hip hop or other "black" things.  But there should be some reciprocity in the whole thing.  I mean, anytime a black person shows interest in anything besides hip hop and... I don't know...drugs, there's always some fool nearby waiting to call you white. 

Me: "Mmm.... I truly did enjoy going to see the Phantom of the Opera on Broadway!"
Some fool: "You so white, guy!  You so white you make Peter Jennings look like DMX."
Me: "Oh... I mean...  Ummm... I heart... hip hop music... And... errrr.... Substance abuse..."
Some fool: "You're the man now, dawg!!!"

Me: "I need to study tonight!!"
Some fool: "OOOh...  You so white, you're like Betty White's white brazier!!  With white frills and white lace... and big white bows!!!  You're white!!"
Me: "Hey.. I'm not Betty White's bra... :-( Ummm... What I meant to say was, I need to take a relaxed attitude toward work and...  wear baggy clothes..."
Some fool: "Hoorray!  I love predictable, easy going negroes!  They make my lack of ambition more acceptable and my inadequacies, less obvious.  Let's light up a big fatty to that, my nizzy."
Me: "Well, I don't smoke!"
Some fool: "You don't?  What kind of black guy are you?"

Why can't I have other interests without being blasted for it?  This sounds racist...  Maybe I should take it "back to the hood", as they say.  Bust into a supermarket with my "gat" held high, hand on my nuts, wearing a visor upside down AND backward,  "Aiight, Everybody get on the f**kin' floor, this is a stickup!!!" Then write a rap song about it.  Now that's a stereotype with some cojones!!  A few random instances of that, and I'm sure no one will come up to me with some meaningless BS like, "Hey, guy! 50 cent!  Ummm... weed!  Fubu guy... fubu..."

Monday, July 12, 2004

Dejunked! (anti-flossin')

I don't know what it was about today... But I seemed to be especially repugnant today. As if the whole world loathed me. I could see it in there eyes. I can see it in YOUR eyes... What was it about me today that reviled most people I came across? You think I'm being paranoid? Consider this!

I was walking down St. Catherine's street, I was really tired. You know when you don't feel great, and you just pray you don't have to talk to someone on the way home. This was one of those times.

So, I run into my cousin's boyfriend. It could have been worse. He's one of the coolest people you'll ever meet. He's super friendly and he's talking to two cute girls. But I was really, tired though. Headache, backache Bleh... I was not feeling well. Like Superman wearing a Green Kryptonite Bling. And that's when it came. My cousin's bf raises his hand... It was time for the Blaxploitation handshake.

Now I was in no position to execute the complex hand gestures necessary to effect such a handshake. Even when I am alert, I have trouble predicting the elaborate combinations of the handshake. Maybe I lack the coordination, maybe I lack the quick wits... But here it came. Everything was going in slow motion... I could here the 50 cent music in the background.

The hands come together with a manly clap! Good! Drag the hands away so the fingers lock! Success! Rip the fingers apart... Well, that wasn't so bad... But wait??? More of this handshake? Props?? Bumps??? Hand Slaps???? What the...? Stop the madness! Dear God end this handshake! It sounded like an old martial arts flick, with cheesy punching noises. The sun sank beyond the horizon. Epic Gregorian chanting could be heard. Knuckle lock, fist twist, the white crane landing on placid lake... It fell apart when his fist came over mine, and I just grazed it... And it still wasn't over. He came again from underneath and I missed entirely. That my friends, was one failed, black man's greeting.

And with that came a look of embarassment on his face, and disgust on the faces of the two girls. Wow... If there was a scale of blackness ranging from the Olson Twins to Malcolm X, I was measuring off the scale... Hilary Duff perhaps... Or... Paris Hilton/Jessica Simpson hybrid creature.... Wearing "My Stuff!" Peter Jennings is also white. As is Angela Landsbury.


Anyway, moving on, I found out these guys were all old friends and had barely recognized each other walking down the street. I grogilly slurred, "Yeah... It's hard when you're ... walking down the street... You sometimes... don't recognize each other..." :-|

Now the taller girl is looking at me like, "Wow... This guy truly does suck." And the smaller girl is thinking, "I want to squash this boy like an insect... I loathe him." They keep talking and again I interject at some point... Making some pathetic comment about sleep. I can't even remember. "Me... I like sleep." Bad...

Another surge of hatred pulses from their eyes, "If you speak again, I will mace you, taser you and then kick you in the nuts. And if you don't die, I'll stab you!"

Anyway, eventually, one of the girls looks right through me and says, "Hi Mat!" and with that they began to leave. This Mat guy was their out and they thanked God he had walked by when he did. "Nice to meet you," I whimpered as they left. They didn't even look back. Thank god, because I think the smaller one wanted to spit on me, just to unleash some small fraction of her seething contempt for me. I imagine that hate saturated saliva would have burned quite a bit.

My cousin's boyfriend raised his hands for more hand slapping hi jinx. Some fingerlocking routine, but this time everything was hapenning above the shoulders. I didn't know how to end it. Was the finale of this some kind of pointing?

I tried to point... But my finger wasn't really straight... It was curled... powerless... flacid... I let my hand drop and walked away in disgrace.

Monday, July 05, 2004

Mediocre Bedlam

I was standing at the autoparc waiting for the bus when I heard a bunch of car horns honking. Everyone turned around. Two guys pointed fingers, like when people point out Superman in the movies. "Look! It's the Greeks!" they declared.

As you know, the Greeks are the soccer champs which means that they MUST drive around in cars with Greek flags sticking out. I say must, because many of them seem bored with the whole thing. As if it's their duty to go careening through Montreal, more than their pleasure. I mean, there weren't even any good riots! What kind of faux soccer hooligans are they? For God sakes, break something! You won at soccer!!!

I can just imagine the lead up to one of these drive by screamings. The soccer game ends and some Greek guy has to call up his friend.

John Stamos: Hello? Can I speak to Yanni?
Yanni: Hi John, it's me... How are you?
John: Did you see the game? We won...
Yanni: Oh...
John: You know what this means right?
Yanni: Yeah... I'll be right over.

Then Yanni would calmly go to John Stamos's house.

John: Let's see... Greek Flags? Check! Blue and White body paint? Check! Dishes for smashing? Check! Crowbar...
Yanni: Crowbar?
John: you know... In case there's a riot... We could smash stuff.
Yanni: There's no time for that!
John: There's time!
Yanni: No! No smashing!
John: Maybe you're right.
Yanni: Fine, fine... get the crowbar.

Then they would calmly walk out of the house, their light footfalls, barely making a noise. They'd wave to their neighbour, "Hi Mr. Appleby! Your garden looks lovely today!"
And mr. Appleby would reply, "Why thank you gentlemen! And a good day to you both."
Then Yanni would nod politely.

But the moment they get in the car, they let out a howl of delight and peel out of the driveway yelling and hollering, with an insane look in their eyes. "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! SUCK IT!!!!! YOU ARE ALL MY BITCHES!!!!!!!"

That's what I love about soccer. The hooliganism. I mean, John Stamos didn't do anything to win at soccer, why should he be so elated that they won? But he's on cloud nine for the next few days, and it's all thanks to soccer! Other sports can't do that. If the Japanese win the Benson and Hedges fireworks competition, you won't see a convoy of cars with Japanese flags sticking out of them, with some Japanese guy sticking out of the sun roof screaming, "Suck my nuts!!! WE WON!!!!"

Someone told me today that when you go into England during soccer tournaments, they ask if you're a soccer hooligan. I don't know if it's true or not. It doesn't seem like a reasonable question. Who would say yes?

Are you a terrorist?

Do you have a bomb?

Are you a soccer hooligan?

If you checked off 'yes', or 'oy' for any of the questions, please go home.

Well, maybe we'll get some good riots during the olympics. Who knows what nationalites will tear through montreal, looting, smashing and pillaging like enraged Vikings? If you've ever seen the carnage left in the wake of a good riot, you've gotten that warm feeling in the pit of your belly. When you looked at shattered glass and demolished cars and other various types of flaming wreckage you know, "Awww... Someone had a good time here. This... is good!"

Long live sports related carnage!! And congrats to Greeks everywhere, from John Stamos to Mr. Snuffleuppagus!!

Sunday, July 04, 2004

Good effing movie...

Once upon an msn convo....

Andre says:
I just got the movie listings for the fantasia film festival

Andre says:
sooo many cheesy movies

MastaC$G says:

Andre says:
but there a bunch of cool martial arts ones, and two cool werewolf movies

MastaC$G says:
Werewolf ninjas?

MastaC$G says:
Cyborg Werewolf ninjas??

Andre says:
zombie werewolves

Andre says:
training to be ninjas

Andre says:
while working at second cup

MastaC$G says:

MastaC$G says:
"It's hard to get the woman you love, when you're a zombie werewolf, working at second cup..."

MastaC$G says:
"This summer..... Drama has a new name..."

MastaC$G says:
"Zulgraff - The zombie, werewolf ninja."

Andre says:
"I like it"-barney gumble

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Tarnished beauty

So it seems everyone got sick last week. Bad flus and what not. And the day after I boast that I never get sick, I suddenly got violently ill. It was the first time I could remember pinpointing the moment where I got sick. It just hit me. Though the fever/flu only lasted a day, something far more sinister was festering inside of me. By the weekend my eyelid was becoming swollen and now quite frankly, it's pretty ghastly to look at. This horrible eye infection caused two bulges in my eyelid, one which is turning kind of red. It's gross.

And people aren't too sensitive about it. Even my mom who's very concerned will simply blurt out, "Well, let's face it... It looks bad!" And she scorns it with every ounce of her being. She treats me like a leper. "Did you wash your hands? You should use a Kleenex when you handle that. Did you wash your hands? Don't lie on that! Did you wash your hands? Don't touch your eye! Did you hands your wash? I mean... Did you wash your hands?" And so forth.

Then my sister called me the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I really didn't get that. Did she mean that I was to eyes what the Hunchback was to backs? Does Quasi Modo have an eye infection? I don't know.

And people at work are no better. During lunch I was doing a freestyle rap about yogurt, to the tune of row your boat, when I noticed one of the girls I was having lunch with was a little too enthralled by the whole thing. "Are you staring at my eye???" She nodded yes and laughed for the next five minutes.

Macking the ladies is definately much harder with an eye infection.

Here's how macking goes, before the eye infection:
"Hey baby, you so fine, I wish I could plant you and grow a whole field O' Y'all!!!"
Lady: "Oh Chris!" Makeout session ensues.

Here's how macking goes with the eye infection:
"Hey baby, you so fine, I wanna pour milk all over you and make you a part of my complete breakfast!"
Lady: "Oh... Chris..." :-( Projectile vomitting ensues for five minutes.

Trying to have a conversation with dazzling scientist/biowife Bahira without her staring at it, was impossible. I tried things like, standing to her right, looking upward...

Bahira: "Why are you looking up?"
Me: "I'm a dreamer, Bahira. Where you see a ceiling, I see the future!"

Eventually I just gave up and asked her if she wanted butterfly kisses. She spurned me! Can you believe it? Infected eye Chris gets no love. Much like healthy eye Chris... Nyarrr... :-(

There is an upside to it. The drops I have to take are pretty cool. You can almost feel them working. And they're a striking white. So after putting the drops in, I get streaks of white going down my face. A black man crying white tears is a very powerful image. It's symbolic of something... I just can't figure out what. When in doubt, it's racism.

So I'll use my grim eye to strike fear into the hearts of evil doers. I can see it now, a bunch of muggers running away with some old lady's purse. Then I would jump from the rooftops wearing a cape and an eye patch. Drawing twin fighting sticks, I would ravage the mob and loom mencacingly over their fallen leader who would be snivelling, "How did you do that man? You only have 1 eye!!! No depth perception!"

Finally I would remove my eye patch, revealing my swollen eye, dripping terrifying white tears and I'd say my cool catch phrase, "In the land of the blind... The one-eyed man is king!!!" And the guy would start screaming in terror,"AAAAAAAAAHHHH! Help! This dude's crazy man!!" and I would start laughing maniacally. "Muhahaha... Muahhahahahahah!!! AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Finally an awkaward silence would fall on us and we would just stare. Then he'd point out, "Isn't that line from that Tom Cruise movie?" just as the old lady comes onto the scene with two cops next to her, "There he is! The black guy with the eye patch!"

And I would run like hell!

The end

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

The Ultimate Reality Show

So that new show, The Next Action Star, was pretty awful. I caught it today. For those of you who don't know the premise, they get guys and gals to act out scenes that could potentially be in an action movie. I guess later on in the series they'll be doing stunts and stuff. But in this episode, they did some melodramatic thing where their "spouse" was trapped under debris and they were about to die. No action.

So the contestant runs in, and delivers their lines.... "No... Don't give up on me!!! I love you baby!!! Don't die on me... Come on, mofo... Breathe, Christ!!!" and so forth... It was terrible. Then the judges decide who couldn't act. They never agreed, cuz let's face it, it's all very subjective. Some people like John Travolta, some don't. In my opinion, everyone on this show was ridiculously bad.

So then, they choose 14 people to stay. After they've called off the people they want to keep, one by one, the others have... and I quote... A few seconds to say their goodbyes. Seconds??? I guess that's the action part of the show... "To all the sucky actors, you have a few seconds to get out of here. After which the room will fill with a potent nerve gas which will peel the flesh off of your bones in the most excrutiating manner that modern science can devise... "

The asian girl took her seconds to complain that, she should have stayed because she knew martial arts, insisting that, "This is whack!". Oh, it was whack alright. It was all heinously whack! Insufferably whack!!

I guess in most cases knowing martial arts is the only criteria to starring in an action movie. Remember Matrix: Reloaded, when Keanu Reeves had to bring what's her name back to life. He delivered this memorable line, "I can't let you go trinity. I won't let you go... I just love you too damn much!!!"

They already have a reality show with people who can't sing, now I have to watch people who can't act too??? Maybe one day they'll make the ultimate reality show, where people, sing, dance, act, box and play Yugiyo, while racing around the world all to gain the favor of one lucky man or woman, who they could potentially wed. Or they could screw the guy or girl over and take a million bucks. The lucky bride or groom to be must suffer the most cruel cosmetic surgery available, before the wedding. Eye transplants... nad inflation using liquified lead... vertebrae insertion... sawing bones to a more aesthetically pleasing lengths... cauterizing orifices and stuff.... The works!

Here's the twist!! The cosmetic surgery involves a sex change, resulting in two grooms or two brides upon the season finale!!!!

Girl sex-changed to a guy who looks suspiciously like Kenny Rogers with a perm: "Could you love me... Even like this??????"
Guy with Duke Nukem voice: "No baby... Not like this... No..." *grabs dollar sign bag with a million dollars and leaves*

Oh television, how I hate thee.

Sunday, June 20, 2004

Flavour Country

Simply put, the Indian restaurant I went to on Saturday was some of the best food I've eaten in a long time. The sights, the sounds, the smells... It was an orgiastic feast for the senses!!! It's called, Shapla(an Indian term meaning, orgiastic feast for the senses, I assume) located on 166 Prince Arthur on the second floor. It's Rez's dad's place. The only problem is I can't remember the names of the dishes... I remember I had something called, Dansach..... I remember that cuz it sounds like Dan's Sack. It wasn't really made from a man's sack, but rather a harmonious blend of chicken, curry and as Jbo would put it, pure heaven.

There was a nice view from the restaurant too. There were some good looking girls who went by, but the moment was eventually ruined by a dirty looking, portly gentleman who started fishing around in the nearby fountain for change. Here's a dramatization.

Jbo: "Hey Chris, what do you think of her?"
Me: "You mean that fatman, reaching into the fountain with his friggin' underwear showing? That's not really my bag, Justin."

As he reached in, his butt was pointed right at us on the second floor of Shapla. After a few minutes he blundered around, looking for something. Rez assumed he was looking for a stick to get change out of the water. I didn't really think a stick would do the job. To my credit, the bum seemed to agree. The guy patrolled a small area around the fountain, and just when we thought he was about to give up, you know what that tenacious, noble bum does? He manifests a Naya bottle seemingly out of nothingness and plunges it into the water!

I wish I had his patience. I usually spend 5 minutes tops figuring out how to get change out of phones, fountains, vending machines and Kenny's wallet. Then I move on to more lucrative ventures... ie, getting a job, embezzlement or other skullduggery.

As people walked by, it looked like he was trying to explain his strange behaviour. Either that or he was asking people for help. "There's probably like... 3$ in their guy! If you could just hold onto my legs while I reach in, I'll cut you in for 6%!!! Come on people!!! 20 minutes and we'll be rich!" Twenty minutes later, the bum walked away, wet and dejected.

Dinner and a show!? Where does it end?????


Thursday, June 17, 2004

Too $hort

It was just another day, I wasting time online when Lars (one of the founding fathers of the original Itoop some 4-5 years ago) suggests that I download a song by Too $hort, a rapper of course. I tried doing the search by title "Pimp a Ho", but found only one remotely queued version of the song. Stupid Kazaa. So I do a search by artist, and I use the term artist lightly. Here's a partial list of the songs I get.

-My D*ck, My Sack
-Burn Rubber
-Ain't no bitches
-Two Bitches (??? I thought their ain't none... I mean... ain't weren't any...)
-Pimp Life
-Punk Bitch
-All my bitches are gone (I wonder why? He seems so charming)
and of course, the much anticipated
-Pimp a Ho

Keep in mind this is just a partial list. There were other songs like Blow Job Betty, F**k my car and much, much more!!! You don't believe, go onto Kazaa and try! Too $hort! Please note the dollar sign S.

Lars got some information about him that I found interesting:

Too Short was the first West Coast rap star, recording three albums on his own before he made his major-label debut with 1988's gold album Born to Mack; his next four all went platinum. Anticipating much of the later gangsta phenomenon, he restricted his lyrical themes to tales of sexual prowess and physical violence, with the occasional social-message track to mix things up. After the release of Gettin' It (Album Number Ten) in 1996, Too Short decided to retire, his status assured as one of the most successful solo rappers of the 1980s and early '90s, although that decision would prove short-lived.

Retired because he was one of the most succesful rappers of the 80's and 90's? Wow... I used to think I knew a thing or two about rap music, but why have I never heard of this guy before? Someone must have been trying to protect my innocent ears back in the day. I was listenning to happy rap back then, ie, Mc Hammer, The Fresh Prince and occasionally, Bart Simpson. One would think his, "occasional social-message track" would have found its way to mainstream.

Oh well, farewell, you punk ass bitches...PIMP? F**K?? Ho??? Bitch, Punk, Ho!!! Punk ass Pimp!!! Biatch!!! Sack!!!

Yay!!! I'm the man now, Dawg!! :-)

By the way, the lyrics to Pimp a Ho are as inspiring as you would expect.

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

La Ronde the world in 80 days or God Forsakes the Black Log

So La Ronde on Sunday was fun. The weather was perfect and most people were gone to Grand Prix so there weren't too many line ups. Nice day. I think the Vampire is now my new favourite rollercoaster ever!!!

After La Ronde, a trip to the grocery store turned into a "Birthday Palooza" for me. Jbo's coverage of that was beyond reproach, so go to his site to see the awesome cake we had! Thanks guys (and especially Pam for being the hostess with the mostest).

Aside from that, not much to talk about... I graduated... Birthed a son... Found a cure for Alzheimer's. Nothing, "blogworthy". Though I did spend an unusual amount of time contemplating the word, forsake. I was really tired today on the bus and couldn't stop laughing at the word. I like forsaking things... people... places... I find it funny when God forsakes stuff in the Bible. "And so God forsook Bill because he ate rabbit on the Sabbath. So he unleashed the hordes from the north, to slay Bill's people. And their eyes they did pierce and then feasted upon the fluids that flowed forth."

I spent so much time thinking about the word, for a while I wondered if it actually was a word or if I just imagined it. I think I need more sleep.

Anyway, don't forsake your friendly neighbourhood blogs (and Itoopia which is updated every now and then). Check out Rez's new blog, which should have the unique characteristic of being relevant.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004


So on the way to pick up my grad gown last week, we were given a box of free crap! A bottle of water, secret anti-perspirant and a solitary condom! Score!

We also got a new freaky razor. It had four blades. It's called the Shick Quattro. Have you seen the commercial for this? There's an absurdly clean cut white guy who says, "First there was one blade, then there were two. Finally someone put three blades, and that was enough, right? WRONG!"

I mean, I think the razor industry is lacking inspiration. Whenever they put a new product on the market all they can do is add blades? What difference does it make how many blades are on the thing? I own the Mach 3, which has 3 blades and an earlier model with 2 blades. Same crap if you ask me. But what's so insidious, is once you've had numerous blades, you don't want to go back to less blades.

What's going to happen? At 40 years old I'll be shaving with some monstrosity that has like... 27 blades with some dude telling me, "You thought 26 blades was redundant?? Guess again, beeitch!!! We added another blade. Welcome, to Gillette Vingt-Sept, the last razor you'll ever use!" Then the following weak, "We did the unthinkable... Gillette Leap Year, 29 glorious blades for a shave so close, it's basically removing skin!!!"

I think the secret to creating a new product is to make a hybrid of two existing products. If you want to pimp up a razor put a toothbrush on one end I say! Make it dispense contact lenses. Maybe when you press a button it gives you compliments. Call it the Gilette Complimento 3000 with extreme toothbrush action and hyper contact lens delivery matrix. Or how about a diamond studded razor that you can wear around your neck like man-bling? It can be a new style. Anything... But please no more blades...

Sigh... Gone are the days of Magic. Magic is this powder that you mix into water and make a paste, then layer it on your face. When you scrape it off, the hair comes with it. Like Nair but... Manlier.... somehow.

Sunday, June 06, 2004

Long Live Diversity

So it's been an interesting week. I've wanted to post a few times but didn't get the opportunity. So for a while I was wondering, what should I finally write about. Bahira doing stuff, Cristina brazenly teifiscating my shrimp, Jbo's Mike Tyson stuff. But, once again McDonald's loitering proved most suitable for this Black Log entry.

There we were, the five high school friends looking like the United Nations. Kenny, who's chinese, Vrej, who's Armenian, Rez from Bangladesh, Justin of Welsh/Lebanese descent and me of Trinidadian descent. So we're doing our usual late night McD's ranting and raving when some drunken cop from Sorel comes up and decides to talk to us about ethnic diversity and of course, the French language and how it's in danger of being lost.

In french he would start off by saying, "Hey... I'm not racist... homophobic... I don't care if you're ummmm (brow furrowing as he looks at kenny) Vietnamese???... (looks at Vrej) I don't know... Jewish? (Rezaul) Indian? (looks at me) Ethiopian???"

Rez really got into it! We all had our two cents to say on the subject. And after a stretch of about 15 minutes, the drunken cop's brain seemed to reboot... "Hey... I'm no racist! I don't care if you're ... Japanese...ummm... Greek... Hindi... Miscellaneous... Black... guy with dreads...?" Watching him struggle to guess our races was very entertaining. He must have done it 3 times for the night.

Anyway, I live for moments like that. It's always interesting to hear how different people think, and what better way than to talk to them while drunk? The guy seemed nuts to me, but I suppose there are lots of people who think like him. I mean... I'm not a racist... or a homophobe... But cops from Sorel are so gay!

Monday, May 31, 2004

May 31st...

The collapse of the Soviet Union... The assassination of Tupac Shaqur... The season finale of Friends; These are a few of the tragedies that come to mind when one says the name Anthony Soung Yee.

After a tragic plane crash, ASY was horribly mutilated, making him the ideal candidate for experimental cybernetic surgery. Now endowed with a supplementary, electronic nervous system, and a titanium alloy musculature, ASY is the most feared international terrorist of our time providing his deadly services to the highest bidder.

Cruel, ruthless and without scruples ASY has also been called Skeletor, as he is as close to pure evil as... ummm.... Skeletor!!! On this, the anniversary of his horrific surgery (or his birth? or something..?) I think we should take a moment and wish him a happy birthday I guess.

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

American Race War

I hate American Idol! The "judging" is absolutely ridiculous. There's such a thing as consructive criticism. Something like, "Maybe you should have sang a different song" or "You missed a few notes here and there." Instead you get.

Randy: I'm black. I heart saying black things like, "dawg" and "whack" and "I wasn't feelin' you, dawg, that performance was whack."

Paula: I heart everything! Everyone is superior to everyone else!

Simon: You suck! You're fat, you're ugly and you smell bad!

And it doesn't seem to matter what they think anyway. I mean, eventually it's up to people to vote on who their favourite singer is anyway. So, it comes down to a white person and a black person, people vote which leads to the inevitable race war the next day.

White Guy: "I heart the white guy in the competition. Black is Whack!"
Black Guy: "The Black person is a musical genius! Don't you never let me hear sayin' that s**t again!"

Actually, I didn't really like any of the singers. I'm not a big fan of the show. Though something about Ryan Seacrest is funny. The way he just says his name at the end of the show. "YO! Seacrest! Out!" Pretty sweet job if you ask me. Doesn't even have to be coherent. I say they should make a show where Ryan Seacrest and Uncle Phil from the Fresh Prince fight zombies or... Orc-mummy-nazi-robots... with lasers!

But there's a new reality TV show coming up. The Next Action Hero, or something like that. Where dudes and dudettes compete to become the star of a new action film. That should be interesting i guess. Though, I see some guys who can do backflips and Kung Fu. To me, that's the competition. In my books, backflips beats no backflips regardless of what the contest is about. It could be a spelling bee; you must give respect to someone who can do backflips.

Saturday, May 22, 2004

Anything in moderation...

So everyone's talking about this Super Size Me documentary. I haven't seen it yet, but from what I hear, it sounds like more American sensationalism. ANOTHER bunch of producers trying to make a few bucks by scaring the public. Any Canadian who saw Bowling for Columbine probably shrugged when they made it seem like none of us locked our doors. Well, just like that movie, this one probably has few good points, but like everything should be taken with a grain of salt.

I mean, who among us didn't know that McDonalds is unhealthy? Who doesn't know the consequences of high cholesterol? Everyone knows. So why is it such a surprise that this guy, after eating McDonald's 3 times a day for a month was on the verge of death? Is that such a surprise? Not to me.

I could make a documentary about any number of foods. I'm not stupid enough to eat, let's say, bacon three times a day for a month. Does that make bacon evil? I love my bacon! But I eat it in moderation, cuz I'm not a moron!

Let's make a documentary where I drink 10 beers a day, drive around town drunk off my ass and get into fights and become an alcoholic. If my liver is ruined, and I gain weight, that will prove that beer sucks!


But don't blame McDonalds for America's obesity and poor health. There are McDonalds' all over the world! It's just that, other countries just have better judgement, and better lifestyles than our own.

So I will go see this movie, and I know what to expect. But I'm not going to let someone shock me into thinking that McDonald's is the ultimate cause of bad health. Terror sells! Look at Bush! Look at Dateline, 20/20. This guy is making himself look like a genius for telling us something we already know! Eat junk food in moderation! Not just McDonalds, but all the cookies, chips, ice-cream and crap that's proably in our cupboards right now, contains tons of cholesterol, and the new dreaded trans fats.

If you're worried about your health, you know the drill. 3 glasses of milk, 2-3 servings of meat, 5 servings of bread, 5-8 servings of fruits and veggies. And for god sakes do a sit up or 2 every once in a while! You don't need a movie to tell you that.

Man, I'm going to miss loitering at McD's... Who can forget Jbo and Joe pissing on bags of caramel? Can an establishment that brought us so much joy, really be that evil?

Monday, May 17, 2004


I remember a few weeks ago while we loitered at McDonalds, Jbo asked if I was afraid of anything. I boldly replied, "NO! I fear nothing! My logical mind is immune to fear!"

But I'm glad no one was around to see me deal with the spider on my wall last night. For some reason I grabbed a cardboard tube, the kind used for wrapping paper. That's how messy my room was incidentally. Trying to tidy up is like being an archeologist, each layer like a page in history. "Here's the carboard tube from Christmas... Here's my Genetics quiz from November."

Anyway, the carboard tube wasn't very effective in killing the spider. It sped along the edge where the wall met the ceiling. Then it let itself fall to the window cill. The thing was freaking agile... Like... Spider-man! No... that doesn't make sense. It was as agile as The Incredible Hulk!

Somehow, in my mind I thought I needed a better tool. What do I grab? My freaking bamboo staff! And I start thrusting towards the thing. Not too bright obviously... The spider easily dodged the normally devastating weapon. I had a nice little Kung Fu routine going: Staff, cardboard, staff!!! But I was bested by the spider until it finally escaped under my bed. My heart sank.

I REALLY hate when that happens. The humiliation of being bested by something with the brain the size of a pin head is bad enough. But my mind becomes obsessed with the consequences of letting the creature escape. Especially under my bed. That's a pretty good environment for a spider. It can build its web, catch all the little critters that live down there... Get big and fat! What if it was ripe with eggs? Then it's at this moment laying eggs where I sleep. If I woke up with little spiderlings crawling all over me... I don't think I could handle that... Emotionally I would be.. broken...

Was the spider sent to teach me a lesson? When Jbo asked if I was afraid of stuff should I have whined like a little girl, "Oooh... i hate bugs!" Firstly, I don't think I was 'afraid' of the spider. I just don't like them. Secondly, even if I was afraid, acknowledging the fear is the first step to defeat. How do you think people on Fear Factor eat all sorts of nasty cockroaches and what not? Denial! How does George W. Bush respond to accusations that he attacked Iraq to aquire oil? Denial! How does Shaggy tell his friend to defend himself against accusations that he was sleeping with another woman? "It wasn't me!" Denial!

Deny your fears! Deny any reality that doesn't suit you, emotional or physically manifest. Deny them until you actually believe your own lie. Then when someone asks you if you have fears, you won't be lying. It's not a lie, if YOU believe it!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep... In the living room... with my staff.

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

My new hat

My mom bought me this hat... It makes me look like an angry black poet!! And as they say, clothes make the man, so looking like an angry black poet makes me feel like an angry black poet. It inspired the most roughneck, thug MASTApiece of my career. What better place than the Black Log to premiere it.

Anger Management

You ask me why I frown, when I put this hat on my crown!
Why I get pissed when Snow says a licky boom down!
Cuz that's a black sound!
And the man's holding me down!
What do you think I am, some sort of clown?

The stereotypes say I'm a riot!!! So that's just what I'll do!
Smash, Break and Pillage yo s**t! Take yo copables from you!
And kick yo ass too!
And mac yo girl too!
Drink, smoke... gunz and S**t! That's what real thugs do!

And though I will be upset when Frasier ends
I don't give a Motha f**K about Friends!
What? has New York been ethnically cleansed?
The show is whiter than Michael Jackson
That wannabe Anglo Saxon!
To hell with tv, I want some action!

And why the hell is the black one 'Scary Spice'?
On behalf of all my people, that's not very nice
And we gaveprops to vanilla ice?
We should all pay the price!
For being creedless pop puppets, we're as pathetic as mice.

That's why the graduation gown is black!
So how you likin' that?
I'm a big, black, pimpin' roughneck Daddy Mac!

Sorry about the swearing and abrasive racial content. I blame the hat. And the man.

Monday, May 10, 2004

I'm bored. School Defines me.

So Friday was a bust. No girls from last Friday. In fact, no one showed up where they were supposed to at all. It was a very small evening between some of the ladies from Bio, myself and Jbo. Fun anyway I guess. Baton Rouge, went to see Kill Bill2. I don't know why people like that movie.

So, the first week after the last exam is over. and I realize that summer has phases. I've just finished phase 1) which is making up for lost time. Whereby in the last 2 semesters I've seen about 5 movies, last week I saw 4! I've eaten out everyday and went to many bars as opposed to my usual 0. (technically... though I didn't stay). All in all, I've spent some hundreds of dollars just putzing around in this manner. And you know what... I'm good for the summer.

Phase 2 used to involve getting a job. But I already have TWO JOB! Phase 3 involves unrealistic projects. Droopy and I usually claim we're going to write a novel and or screenplay or something else that would require putting aside maybe a few hours a week. That never happens. I usually write an outline. Droopy talks about what he doesn't like about it. Then we do nothing! "WOW... THIS IS THE BEST STAR TREK STORY EVER!!!" we declare simultaneously our nerdiness so overpowering it often puts Jbo in a coma.

This year he even has a job so, there will be none of that. Aside from the board games we used to make when we were younger, and the comics we used to draw, our last succesful project was itoop. Itoop is now little more than a link to droopy's blog, and a weekly star trek review. Nyarrr...

Phase 4 might involve a trip. But succesfullly organizing a trip usually involves people with a certain level of maturity. Mel and Pat are usually needed for this... AND THEY'RE GONE for 3 months.

So, if history is any indicator, most of what I would have to accomplish to have a "succesful" summer is unfeasible. The most I can look forward to is making some money and seeing the spongebob squarepants movie when it comes out... I'd better mark it on my calendar. Otherwise, this summer is effectively over. On that note, I think I will go back to bed and take a nice long nap! Peace!

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Battle for Food

Last Sunday my mom made a magnificent feast of chicken wings and little fried shrimps and stuff. We all ate it greedily and revelled in its deliciousness. After the meal, there were still some wings and shrimp left. And so the battle begun.

Mom wanted to take the remnants to work for lunch the next day. So did I! Mom offered sharing it, but I argued that splitting the portion in half would not provide an adequate meal for either of us. Like when King Solomon was approached by two women who were fighting over custody of a child and Solomon said, "I'll cut the baby in half! Then you can both have some.... baby that is." So one woman said, "Yeah, that would be the s**t!" and the other woman said, "No, don't kill my baby!" So Solomon decided that the latter woman loved the baby more and let her keep it.

Such was the case with the remnants of the chicken wings. I loved them more. I didn't want to see them bisected like innocent babies in ancient Jerusalem. But there was no wise King to recognize my heart of the food. So I challenged my mom! "We'll put a glass on top of the tv, and chuck slippers at it. The first person to knock the glass off of the television, gets the food to take to work!"

Mom didn't care so much for that challenge, so she proposed we try throwing pennies into the glass. First one to get the penny into a wine glass got the food! I figured that worked too, so we began tossing pennies at a glass on the table. It was really hard. One of my pennies actually bounced out of the glass. Anyway, ten minutes later, my mom emerged the victor. There was a wailing and a gnashing of teeth the likes of which had never been heard in my house.

But being a mom, she let me have the leftovers anyway. Can you here the live studio audience going, "Awwwwwwwww...." I can... I can.

So, this weekend is Mother's Day, a token day in which we try to compensate for causing our mothers years and decades of inconvenience by buying some kind of gift, or bringing them out for food. So... do it you selfish bastards! I just wish I had an idea what to get for her.

Sunday, May 02, 2004

Drunken Revelry

Friday I went out with some people from biology. Nice night, beautiful people. Good stuff!

Anyway, the most shocking part of the eveing was going home with some of the guys. Properly soused, we were offered a lift home (well, I wasn't drunk but... whatever). So we headed to the car, not a long way from McGibbins. It was pretty damned embarassing for everyone who was not drunk off their ass... at first... But eventually it was fun! The guys were having the time of their life shouting obnoxious slogans at total strangers on the street!

"I love Beetles!" said one as he proceeded to hump the Volkswagon Beetle with 2 horrified loooking women in it. "Don't give it away for free ladies!!!! Make your man work for it!!!!" "You're beautiful ladies!!!" they cried to a man and a woman. I've never seen people so horrified by a group of drunk men... Not to that extent at least.

But their reign of terror ended when 3 women were actually "feelin" what the boys had to offer. "What are you girls doing alone tonight?" they shouted. The girls slurred back something... And it was good. In moments, they were litterally dancing in the streets to the fury of motorists who came very close to running them down. I got particularly worried when the guys started mounting each other and riding around in the streets like cowboys. Two of the girls proceeded to do the same. The girls ring leader was slightly more sober than the others. She seemed pretty cool. Apparently she has a degree in Math, wow!

So after getting to know the girls, the guys begged for their numbers. The girls busted out their pens and proceeded to write on their chests and adorn us with sparkles. Eventually we agreed to meet up again next week at Winnies! Good times... If they do in fact show up next week. One of my friends came up to me and showed me his chest, proud of aquiring the phone numbers.

Friend: "What does it say?"
Me: "Actually, it's a drawing of a penis and balls, and it says, 'Have fun!' next to it."
Friend: *frowning* "Is it hairy?"
Me: "I'm afraid so..."

After which the person driving us home asked me to keep the drunks put while she got the car. That was pretty interesting. The moment the car pulled up they all scattered, yelling drunkenly. "Come back guys! Our ride is here!" I yelled.

"We should get back to crazy dreadlock man (me I guess)!" one of them yelled. Miraculously, we got home safely. Those guys are my heroes. Next week should be fun.

So stay tuned next week for, "Fun at Winnies with the Girl's from last week's post!" or "School defines me: I'm bored."

Thursday, April 29, 2004

The Village

Exams are finally over and students far and wide are blanketting downtown to consume excessive quantities of Boozahol! Oh yes... Not that I drink or club much, but I like to watch other people get drunk.

I got a rather odd invitation last night, though. I was watching American Idol last night, a show I hate, but I wanted to see them boot off that dorky red-headed guy(take that Glen!)! During this time I got a phone call and asked about the details of a clubbing excursion the following night. I said, "Sounds like fun! Where is this club?" She quickly answers, "The village."

I thought nothing of it at the time. I repeated the word village a few times, my mind was focused on other things. Then I went to bed and when I woke up I knew something was wrong. As I often do, I indulged in internal monologue to get to the bottom of what was troubling me.

Me: So... we're going clubbing tonight?
Myself: Yeah... Should be fun... Where did she say that club was again?
Me: The village...
Myself: What... village?
and I: She meant the gay village idiots!!!
Me: *staring blankly* You mean.. happy village?
and I: You know... gay! Homosexual.
Me: *still staring blankly*
and I: Chi Chi man Village!!!
Me: Chi... Chi... man? AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!
Myself: Nice job, Bumblenuts, you just agreed to go to a gay club.

Anyway, obviously I wasn't having any of that. The next day I politely declined the invitation. "Woman! Are you mad??? What the eff do you expect me to do at a gay effing bar?"

"But the musics good and guys don't hit on me as much, don't worry, you're not that good looking, you won't get hit on(that was a dirty shot by the way, Cris!)!! and blablablablabla!" I refused. I'm not a big clubber to begin with, but isn't the point to socialize with potential dates? Throughout the course of the day the word, homophobe came up a few times.

Now I'm many things, but not a homophobe! I prefer to think of myself as... non-homophillic. I'm very nice to gay people. When I see a gay person I give him a stern nod.... No smiling... Just in case. Is it so wrong to refuse an invitation to a gay bar if you're not gay? Imagine the awkardness of being hit on by a guy?

Gayman #1 "You lookin' mighty fine in them there jeans, boy!!!!"
What am I supposed to say to that? "Thank you sir. Your advances are flattering but I'm not gay!"
Gayman #2 "You have really pretty eyes."
Me: "Thank you... I get them from my mother... But... as I told the man with his hand in your pocket, I'm not gay!"

I'm sorry if I sound like an ignorant bigot... I don't mean to offend but...No. Just... No...