Spicy Song Of The Week

Last week was a female singer/songwriter, and this week is too. But don't think that it was MY choice. I just follow the orders of the all-powerful Spicy Song Of The Week gods.

Either way, I hope you enjoy the song "Help I'm Alive" by Metric. It's a touch over played, but I really like how they produced it in studio.


Click here to hear it, or check out the bottom of the page!

I just discovered this comic today!

Free Spaghetti Thursdays

Hold Everything. I'm declaring this a momentous moment! I have created something everyone needs to know about.
Starting in September, I shall stake a sign in the front of my lawn, and once they read it, it shall attract many people city-wide.

It Shall Read

Free Spaghetti Thursday

BYOB (bring your own bowl)

Everyone welcome

This is my attempt to meet new people. I can throw up posters everywhere. They don't have to be fancy. Not even the spaghetti has to be fancy (though everyone knows I make a Prime Plate of Pasta). Eventually, I'll have my friend’s friends bringing People out for a fire Pit, Poker, and Pasta.

Maybe I'll set up a donation jar. Maybe we'll play some songs for them.

Maybe we'll also serve garlic bread.

You won't know unless you come.

Who is Hellen Keller?

A model who has a unique walk...i think.

Besides the obvious depressing fact that people are asking this question and even worse, answering it like this^^, the comments on the post are equally amusing. I laughed, you will too.

Free Pizza

For all my countless readers who own a Camaro, it should be noted that this wednesday, you can get a free pizza at Papa Johns by showing your keys.

Consider it pity pizza.

Just kidding.

But seriously.

Frizollie

Josh, Darcy, Marya, and Lena have invented a new game. Here are the rules:


Frizollie is played on a volleyball court (preferably on sand) with a Frizbee (referred to as a Frizolliebee). Two people on each team, three maximum.

Team A will serve the Frizolliebee under the net and attempt to have it land beyond the back boundary of the court. Doing so is considered a point, and Team A will maintain possession and continue to serve. Should Team B catch the Frizolliebee before it touches the ground while standing inside the boundary, the frizolliebee is returned over the net in rally fashion, attempting to have the frizolliebee touch the ground on opposite team's side. Should either team accomplish this, they are rewarded one point and possession.

If a serve goes over the net or lands out of bounds off to the side, or hits the ground inbounds, possession goes to other team.

If a serve hits the net, there is a race to the frizolliebee for possession.

games are played to 15, win by two.

Happy Monday

Goodness knows I'd rather still be out camping. However, since we're all here, then we're all in this together. So I've gone ahead and created a new facet* to this blogging experience:

Spicy Song of The Week.


Spicy because it'll put a little zest in your day.

Spicy because that's how you like it.

The Spicy Song of The Week is Ingrid Michaelson: The Hat

Oh Em Gee I love this song. She certainly has a way with words, and makes up wonderfully for her name with a sweet voice. I have a voice crush. And it is she.

*Still under construction. To be updated every Sunday. Currently at bottom of page.

I want to be more like this tea.

Hakuna Matata

Pumbaa: Hey, Timon, ever wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?
Timon: Pumbaa, I don't wonder; I know.
Pumbaa: Oh. What are they?
Timon: They're fireflies. Fireflies that, uh... got stuck up on that big bluish-black thing.
Pumbaa: Oh, gee. I always thought they were balls of gas burning billions of miles away.
Timon: Pumbaa, with you, everything's gas.

I didn't have any plans today.

So I decided to relax and eat a BC peach.





Now I'll be busy cleaning up the kitchen all day.

Silversun Pickups!

Despite the fact that I couldn't convince anyone to go with me, I went to Silversun Pickups a few days back. Being a very influential band and definitely in my top 6, I couldn't miss the opportunity.

I love/hate (It's complicated) how some bands come on stage: Without any intro music, preliminary cheering or buildup. They slink onstage in the dim glow of the few lights left on to remind the anxious crowd that there is indeed a concert tonight, and that they haven't forgotten. The band will pick up their guitars and launch into their first song like an office worker on his way to his cubicle first thing in the morning. They don't smile or jump around. It reminds me that this is their job. But instead of toting coffee mugs they bring guitars. and instead of filling out forms, they add drum fills. It is their job to lose their souls and their minds to the song...to the show. They answer to someone and there is little job security.

But when they hit that opening chord, it doesn't matter one bit because while people might pat you on the back for a job well done in an office, here at the concert, they will be screaming your name and cheer you on, losing their minds and souls with you when you are on stage.


So liven up a little, rock stars. It may be your job, but it's far from a bad one. If you aren't going to look like you're having fun, you are as replaceable as the interns working for ATCO. When the show gets going, put some heart into it.


Silversun Pickups write great songs, but since they are an artificial group created in a studio in LA, they have zero passion and feeling. they're a business project. I was slightly more than disappointed. When I saw Wintersleep (also in my top 6), I realised that the music was far better when it pertained to MY life and MY problems and MY experiences. Not watching them play the songs.

Billy O in one conversation

This is my post in honor of Billy O, who has put in his 2 weeks notice at Safeway (good on ya, lad). He is a regular stoner and aspiring lawyer. He never worked too hard and didn't hear half of what anyone said to him, but because his name is Billy O and he rode to work on a longboard, he was well liked. The following conversation with our assistant produce manager defines him:

Lynn: Billy O, you didn't fill the bananas before you went home last night, so i had to do it this morning.

BillyO: What was that?

Lynn: Billy O, you didn't fill the bananas before you went home last night, so i had to do it this morning.

Billy O: Well I was busy working on the apples.

Lynn: Well you know it's my biggest pet peeve here when bananas are empty in the morning.

Billy O: Well you know it's my biggest pet peeve to fill bananas, so what are we going to do about that?

Why are we here?

2 Things

First, I've set up a subscription service to these posts. All you have to do is click HERE

and then these posts will go straight to your inbox. That way you don't have to go looking for them. They will come to you!


SECOND,
Darn. I forget. I guess just read the first one again. Sorry.

The Pants Situation

I'm the kind of guy who buys something and then keeps it until

A) I lose it
B) I break it
C) Brynn decides to purge my room and throw it out (this happens approximately once in 21 years)

So when I buy a pair of jeans from bootlegger in 2006, you can assume I'm wearing them right on through 2009. They are my rock star jeans, and I love wearing them for shows.

However, They've become increasingly tattered and torn. What started out as a edgy hole in the knee has slowly escalated to a white trash gap. It's a little much.

So now what?

Do I go buy a pair of Jeans and wait for a new hole to form? Or do I make my own hole? There's some sort of strange taboo about wrecking new clothes for style. I never really cast my vote either way on this debate, but from my uncomfortable position (with one overly cold kneecap), it seems totally reasonable to buy a decent pair of jeans and "customize them." No?

A man decided to go for a walk

since it was a really nice day. He called out to his pet centipede who was upstairs.

"Hey Centipede! Let's go for a walk!"

A couple minutes went by, and there was no response.

"Hey Centipede! Let's go for a walk!!"

Still no response, the man was getting impatient.

"HEY CENTIPEDE! LET'S GO FOR A WALK!"

The centipede yells back:

"Take it easy! I'm putting on my shoes!!"

Honestly, people.

There is a difference between yams and sweet potatoes.



Let's examine, shall we?

People come into Safeway and tell me "Psshh...same thing!"


NO.

Not true.

One important point to begin with is that they do look quite different. Yams are grown on a vine and are also known as tubers. Some have grown as long as five feet. On the other hand, the sweet potato is grown in the earth and does in fact resemble a potato but it is only distantly related to the potato.

Sweet Potatoes: light and fluffy...like mashed potatoes and yummier.
Yams: harder and yammier.

geez.

Get it straight.

My Birthday Weekend

This is going to be a black diamond post in length. If you can navigate yourself to the bottom of it without getting stuck in a tree, falling over the edge of an abyss, or getting eaten by a hungry grizzly who realized that black diamond trails fell skiers by the dozens and they can just walk up and grab an injured one...then you clearly are not ADHD. Congrats.

(If you do not feel like reading it here’s the short version: Darcy and I went into interior BC with no plan, no supplies, and no shoes. But we did bring our guitars. We hitchhiked with stoner truck drivers, ate watermelon for free, burnt our feet beyond recognition (literally, toe prints were missing), and ate little more than trail mix and spinach dip. We slept outside and froze, and played guitar on the highway. How was your weekend?)

Here we go.

Random Friend: Hey Josh, I hear it's your birthday this weekend. What do you have planned?

Me: Actually, I'm going off into the wilderness with nothing more than my guitar and some spinach dip this weekend. Darcy will probably come too, since there’s spinach dip.

RF: Uhh...okay. I've always wanted to be on the news. (mockingly) "Josh was a great guy. Too bad he’s gone forever."

Me: Haha...see ya next week....maybe.



And then I left. And this is the story of what happened:

For the last three years, I've done epic things for my birthday. I turned 18 in Rome, 19 camping in BC, and 20 in Hofn Iceland. You don't even know where that is.

This year, since I’ve just moved out and am trying to save for school, I didn't have such a grand far away adventure planned. In fact, I didn't have anything planned until Thursday night. Over a game of Age of Empires, Darcy, Quade, And I formulated a plan.

Quade would drive to Vancouver to say he'd gone coast to coast this summer. Meanwhile, somewhere along the way, he'd drop Darcy and Josh off. There was no talk of WHERE they would get out or what they'd do when they get there. Friday night, the three casually locked their door and headed out.

They drove as far as Revelstoke that night to loud music. Refusing to spend a penny, they pulled over beside the river and reclined their seats (Darcy was in the back seat curled up in foetal position) for the night. Let me tell YOU. If you ever have the opportunity to sleep a night in a Dodge Calibre...DON'T DO IT. Sleeping under the train tracks wasn't the best plan either, and several times they awoke in fright from the screaming sounds of a train above them. Somehow, Josh left his sandals at the river.

The next morning, they groaned, grimaced, and grunted and carried driving to Sicamous. “Pull over here,” said Darcy. We were at a beach and park.

They decided this was the place to begin the adventure. The three of them strolled over to the park, sat in the shade and relaxed.

“This ain’t so bad, eh? We can survive all weekend without basic necessities.”

(It’d been five minutes)

“Yeah totally. I don’t even want to take shoes!”

(Our feet were deep in the lush green grass)

“Alright. Let’s leave them in the car with Quade.”

(hold on...let’s stop and think about that)

“What a great idea!”

(What a terrible idea!)

So off Quade went.

We stayed on the beach for a few hours. Playing guitar, eating, talking. Easy peasy. Then we decided we’d walk back to Revelstoke. I said “let’s do it. how far is that?” Eleven hours. “okay....let’s do it.”

We picked up our guitars and small backpacks and headed out. Shirtless, shoeless. Planless.

Now let me say that it’s really easy to make bad decisions when it’s 45 degrees on a beach. Your brain gets lazy. It’s also really easy to fully comprehend a bad decision when you are walking along the highway when it’s 45 degrees...our feet were burning!

We headed to the east end of town, trying to walk in shade or on grass. However, the grass is so dry out there right now that it’s like walking on needles. Darcy preferred the stabbing feeling, and I chose the burns. However, as time went on, it didn’t matter what we walked on: it all hurt. We didn’t even make it out of town before stopping. The river ran alongside the highway, so we thought we’d try walking in the cool water to give our feet a break as we carry on upstream. We hobbled to the river in severe pain and realized that it was mostly lined with cliffs and was deeper than we thought...so it wasn’t an option. We groaned as we realized we were far along a road to nowhere and had to turn back around to go back into town. It was only getting hotter as we approached midday. Our feet were black and swollen by this point, and we realized we could go no further without some sandals. I suddenly realised I had a pair of socks in my backpack, and we each put on one sock and proceeded to the far end of town to buy sandals.

IMPORTANT LESSON: If you want to be taken seriously, NEVER wear one sock. A person with only one sock and no shirt will automatically be regarded as crazy and unstable. TWO people wearing one sock each is approximately 20 times worse, as now we were a gang of crazy people.

We politely walked into a store and had a look at their sandal collection. All they had were crocs. And I hate crocs. I even hate them when the next best option is blistered, bloody feet on hot, black pavement for long hours. So we left.

Pff. Crocs. Please.

We found another store that sold flip-flops for $1.50. Bingo. That’ll do, pig. After carefully searching the front door of the store for the “no shirt/no shoes/no service” sign, I put on my smile and walked in. The lady sold me the shoes, mumbling something about the poor, poor dogs. I don’t think she was talking about me...but now that I think about it, she might’ve been.

A car of girls slowed to honk at us, but that wasn’t worth the pain. I was beginning to sunburn (no shirt), and the flip-flops were the worst I’d ever worn. We were getting blisters on the TOP of our feet now too. And even worse: whenever we took a step, the sandal would slap the bottom of our feet, reminding us of our stupidity. We conceded that we would never make it out of town on foot. The new plan was to hitchhike home.

It was now approaching 1pm as we reached the Husky gas station and restaurant at the east end of town. I went in and asked for tape, a Sharpie, and some paper. The girl working the restaurant would not meet my eye. Her name was Jodie. I peg her at around 17. She was cute.

We made a sign that read “CALGARY” and taped it to Darcy’s guitar case. We set up shop on the highway and hoped someone would stop. No one even blinked, so I pulled out my guitar and began to sing. NOW we got reactions! People waved, cheered, took pictures, laughed. But still, no one would stop.

8 hours later, it looked like it was going to rain. We needed to find shelter. We saw some old semi trailers parked behind the Husky, and decided to sleep there. Just as we were packing up our stuff, a man crossed the highway and approached us.

“Hey, I saw you two trying to get someone to pick you up. Too bad you had no luck. But here’s half a watermelon and a couple drinks. And some sardines. Good luck!”

What bliss! Euphoria! Watermelony deliciousness!

(We tossed out the sardines. Seriously...it’s not like we’re homeless...though we did borrow two spoons from the restaurant to eat the watermelon.)

Halfway through eating this sudden turn of luck, the cute blonde named Jodie came outside. Darcy was convinced I'd end up marrying her.

“Hey, I’m off in two hours. I can give you a ride 20 minutes up the road if you want.”

Darcy and I just froze, spoon half way to mouth.

“Uhhh...”

Ok lets step back and examine this situation. A cute blonde 17yr old girl is offering to pick up two slightly older guys late at night and drive them out of town. She doesn’t know our names. Nor why we are here. All she knows is we have a ferocious affinity for this watermelon and we clearly haven’t showered in a couple days.

“Do you realise how dangerous that is?” I ask.

“Should I be worried? You guys seem pretty nice.”

I chuckled to Darcy. We’d spent some time debating whether we look like that stereotypical psycho hitchhiker you see walking along the highways, or like a couple harmless hippies who might be fun to party with. Jodie is either attracted to the older grungy type/psycho rapist cannibal or we look harmless like kittens.

(Side note: Kittens aren’t all that harmless. I watched a kitten sink it’s baby claws into, and hang from, some guys nipple this week.)

We accepted the ride, and sat in silence as we both contemplated how many ways this COULD go wrong for her had we been the crazy psycho rapist type. We actually got fairly stressed about this for a while. I mean, she had just given us two hours to decide what we would do with/to her. Then we suddenly laughed and realised that us being us, nothing unpleasant or gruesome would be happening to Jodie tonight. But seriously. She shouldn’t have offered.

Ten Minutes Later.

Trucker dude approaches us and says “Hey guys, I’ll be in Calgary at 3am. Wanna ride?”

*Pause*

We had just spent 9 bloody hours at this husky trying to get someone to give us a ride to Calgary. The first words out of our mouth when we are offered a non-stop direct drive in a comfy semi:

*unpause*

“I dunno...what do you think, Darcy?”

“Hmmm...”

“I mean, we couuullld...”

He sweetened the deal:

“I’ve just picked up a load of fresh blueberries and I’m taking them to Costco. We can eat all the blueberries we want.”

Done.

I went to find Jodie.

We are ditching you for blueberries. Yeah. I know. But it’s a killer deal. Oh...and don’t ever offer to pick up a hitchhiker again. And thanks.

We walked over to his semi and jumped in. The first thing he asks is “Hey, you guys smoke up, right? You know, a little bud?”

Oh Em Gee. Honestly...not while he’s driving all night through mountain passes?!

“Uhh no.”

“Oh! Then I won’t bother either.”

The next few hours were mostly silent. We found out that this guy lives in his truck and works 7 days a week with a girlfriend on each end of his route. Ew.

I missed Jodie. She would have been more interesting. Plus, she was going to drop us off in a place called the Enchanted Forest which I assume is pretty freakin’ scary at night. Jumping in the truck with Trucker Tom Cuggins would end our trip much sooner than anticipated. So Darcy and I decided to get out along the way. Golden was too cold, so we decided Banff would be a sweet spot to be homeless. Up to now, we had considered sleeping in 6 different places: Sicamous, The Enchanted Forest, Revelstoke, Golden, Banff, and Calgary. That is truly a homeless mentality.

We jumped out of the train at Banff and began walking along the road into town. It was pitch black with glass on the roads (we’d long ago ditched our shoes again) so the going was slow, and we were brutally delirious too. Suddenly, we heard this very eerie sound. Like wolves, crying babies, and nails on a chalk board. The trees are swaying, and no one is in sight. We hold our breath to listen. A light shines through the trees, moving slowly towards us up ahead. I grab my phone and notice that the clock says it’s sometime after 3am. It’s now my birthday. Whoop dee, I’m about to be eaten by Sasquatch.

But it wasn’t the Sasquatch, it was a slow moving train (no more than 10 km/hr) up ahead. And it was about to cut off the road to Banff. If we didn’t make it past this train in time, we’d be sitting there for hours if it chose to stop. If you think we could have just climbed over it, you haven’t spent much time around trains.

Everything happened so slowly, since we couldn’t run due to our blistering feet and delirious minds, and the slow moving train.

“Darcy! Ruuuun!”

“Jooooshhh we woonnt make it!”

“Cooomeee ooonnn!”

“chuga...chuga...chuga...chuga”

When I jumped in front of the train, it was from your pillow to your bedroom door away. And believe me, that is one scary rush of adrenaline. Darcy and I collapsed on the road in a fit of psychotic evil laughter and relief. The conductor leant out the window and shook his head at us. We looked like idiots.

Let me tell you. Banff gets cold at night.

Well say, Josh, didn’t you bring any warm clothes?

Of course I did! I brought a hoodie. Please, I’m not stupid.

No shoes, though, eh?

....

After attempting to sleep in the mosquito infested lawns of a hotel I once stayed at while working, I gave up. I don’t remember waking up, but 45 minutes after collapsing on the lawn, I was standing, looking down at Darcy. He had his jacket pulled up over his head. He zipped it down to his nose and looked up at me. “J-j-j-osh. Why is it so cold?” It was more pathetic than Oliver Twist asking for more.

“I don’t know Darcy, I don’t know.” And I walked away. I sat in the lobby of the hotel and watched the clerk drool all over his desk while he slept. When my brain thawed, I realised I’d left Darcy outside in the cold for 20 minutes when he was already shaking and delirious. I raced outside, avoided running into an elk, and found the spot where we’d slept. He wasn’t there. “Darcy?” I heard a sniff. I turned to see Darcy clinging to the side of the hotel, trying to absorb any warmth it may or may not have been emitting. “Darcy, let’s go somewhere warm.”

We stalked some guy until he told us where he’d bought his coffee, and we slept in McDonalds for two hours until 8am. It was full of people dressed like Smith from The Matrix. I think they were there, anyways. When I woke up, they weren’t...so we’ll never know. I think I took the blue pill.

Feeling like absolute garbage, we decided it was time to get home. We attempted to hang out at the last gas station in town and get a ride there...but we just fell asleep and ended up sprawled out on the sidewalk blocking the payphone and washroom entrance. This was the low of the trip. We were disgusting homeless people who you try and avoid. Old ladies glared. Meh. We needed the sleep.

At 11:30am, we realised no one was going to drive us if we were sleeping on the sidewalk, so we cleaned ourselves up and headed out to the highway. We sang and laughed and waved. We saw Tom driving back the other way. He was probably high as a kite, since he didn’t wave. At 11:45am, a very nice couple in Subaru picked us up and we chatted all the way back to Calgary. We gave them our CD and they dropped us off at Foothills Hospital where we walked home from. All in all, we were only gone 42 hours....but it was ridiculous and dumb the whole time, so it felt much longer. Our feet were totally black and blistered from the heat and our whole bodies sore from the sleeping conditions. Happy Bday Josh. Aaallright.

Happy Birthday Me

So I'm 21. But everyone already knew that because Facebook told you. I have a good story, but i'll wait until i have more energy to write it. For now, we'll just leave it at the fact that I'm another year older and 20 was the craziest year of my life thus far.

Movies I Love and Own

Across The Universe
Blood Diamond
The Bourne Identity
The Bourne Supremacy
The Bourne Ultimatum
Braveheart
The Departed
Edward Scissorhands
Fargo
Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas
Fiddler On The Roof
Forrest Gump
Garden State
In Bruges
King Arthur
The Legend Of Bagger Vance
Memoirs Of A Geisha
Mr.&Mrs Smith
Napoleon Dynamite
The Notebook
Ocean's Eleven
Ocean's Twelve
Ocean's Thirteen
The Prestige
The Pursuit Of Happyness
The Truman Show
Wedding Crashers