Best Song Ever?

I'm not using hyperbole nor am I being melodramatic.
I need to keep this short because the whole point of this is the link at the bottom of the page.
It's a "fuck you" song. They didn't write it that way. They just wrote it.
Click the link below and click on "Secret March".
It's the new "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious".
If you're being bullied at school, stand your ground, look the bastard in the eye and say, "You put your left foot forward; your right foot forward; put your left foot forward again."
If your boss touches you the wrong way, stand your ground, look the bastard in the eye and say, "You put your left foot forward; your right foot forward; put your left foot forward again."
I never saw Hendrix burn a guitar, nor did I ever see Pete Townsend destroy anything... But one night at the Biltmore, I saw The Wet Secrets play... Halfway through "Secret March" I leaned over to Grant Lawrence and said, "This might just be the best band I have ever seen." Tonight, walking home, the song popped on my iPod. No fear. No fucking fear.
Click the link below and go to their MySpace page.
Click on "Secret March".
Listen, learn, love. I can promise you, with this song playing in your mind, no one will ever wrong you ever ever again.

CLICK HERE

Turns Out Writing A Book Isn't So Hard But Admitting It's About You Kind Of Sucks

Writing about yourself is actually very easy, unless you plan to be honest about yourself, in which case, it kind of sucks the big one. I don't think it's too difficult to write about the life you're living because it's kind of obvious unless you have a "malignant secret" dwelling in that pesky id of yours. But writing about how you got to this spot can be trying. It's a good thing I have all this extra time to work on it because my only job prospects at the moment are winning the lottery and Charlie Sheen's Tiger Blood Intern position. Both have about the same chance of coming to fruition which is just fine by me. Though to be Charlie Sheen's Social Media Intern AND have $50 million in the bank would be pretty sweet. It will be sometime before I can open the door to my penthouse wearing my boxers and drinking champagne straight from the bottle, so until then I will knuckle down and concentrate on writing out the ridiculous stories that have made up my life so far, then try to find someway to make them all work as a cohesive narrative. For the next little while I be walking the street with my inner self trying to figure out the route that brought us thus far.
If Charlie calls, I'll take it in my office.

Laisse tomber les filles

Let's call it what it is: Girl Crazy.
I like pretty things. I like the "female of the species". The other night, my fave, big-eyed DJ played a song for me. With a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eye, she dropped the needle on "Dirty Old Man", as performed by Thee Headcoatees. I'd mentioned I'd met Billy Childish and she instantly knew what song she had to play. She said she was joking, and she was, but she knew the target well.
She wouldn't expect me to apologize. And you know what? The likelihood of me apologizing for chasing younger skirt is slim. Slimmer than them.
During my "post what-the-fuck-happened-at-The-Biltmore" interview at VGH with BC's top stroke man (children, please), I actually told him that I'd waited this long to be a Dirty Old Man, I don't want to ruin it now.
As it stands, I'm not a dirty "old" man; I'm a dirty "older" man. I am also a manchild, an aging would-be rock star, and I love beautiful things.
I am also not so shallow to see women as merely sexual objects and I am no predator. But I guess that is for you to decide.
I have been accused of many things, and misogyny is among them, but let me remind you that assuming that what I do and how I feel is based solely on what hangs between my legs is sexism, by strict definition.

Um... wow.

I am obviously not a fashion blogger, especially when the highlight of my commentary is, "Wow". However, I do love good clothes. This gang makes some of the best.

From the Giorgio Armani Spring 2011 (La Femme Bleue)

See the full line HERE
And the Emporio Armani Spring 2011 line HERE

The things I don't do for Zombies...

Bern's just this bunny, y'know.
Anyway, she made this and I want it.

She made this and sent me a copy.

I lost my copy THAT VERY DAY. She doesn't send me things anymore. Even a copy of this (which I BEGGED FOR):

Other people still send me stuff.
Like Jane:

And Jen:

She knitted that scarf just for me!
Someone even left this outside my door one night:

But it wasn't Bern. She'd be afraid I'd lose it a couple hours later.
But I want a slutty sock zombie. So I made this blog. I needed to link back to her Blog and take a picture of bread. You really should check out her blog; it is ten flavours of pure awesome. And now, ladies and gentlemen, bread.

If I had photoshopped in a cool way, I would have got two entries. Maybe it's lazy and FAT!

There you have it.
BSC.

It is NOT a shoe fetish

If it had been me, instead of Dr. Raymond Stantz, choosing the form of Gozer at the end of Ghostbusters, it very well could have been a pair of Vivienne Westwood shoes destroying NYC and not the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
It's not a shoe fetish. It really isn't. I like boobs and bums and lips and eyes and don't want to drink our urine out of your size 8's, but when you see something like these (below) how can you not accept shoes as [sometimes] being art for your feet?

Sure they're impractical and you'll probably need back surgery the next day but it would be cool to scare the shit out of every man in any club with one step. AND they really are art for your feet. Something like these (below) are a lot more practical and definitely toned-down from their older sisters above, but they are still nice to look at.

Now, I know that clothes do not make the man and shoes do not make the woman but some people really need to ease up about appearance. Thinking visually is not shallowness. Likewise, and I've been wanting to say this for a LONG time, finding a woman physically attractive is not sexist. However, believing that I only find her attractive because I'm a man and, therefore, don't think about other things IS. 

Okay, enough about that...

So why am I suddenly effusing about shoes? Well, I went people hunting (camera, not spree) downtown today. It was a lousy day for it. There was bad light, it was too cold, and I felt like crap. On cold, crappy days in Vancouver, the downtown core is usually awash in well-cut but drab coats. You need the sun to poke out to get a bit of variety. But not always...

I wimped out and didn't take the pic but crossing the street at Georgia and Granville was a great pair of shoes. I didn't take the pic because she was looking right at me. She knew. Of course she did! She wore the shoes. She wore a very professional and flattering ensemble, but dark, monotone... Except the shoes. They were some kind of rich pink... I don't even know what colour they were (I am a guy after all). Anyway they looked a lot like these:

And, yes, I did pick that picture just to annoy a lot of you. And, no, that isn't her. Well, I'm guessing it isn't.

Vancouver has as many styles as it does people and we often find ourselves disappearing into a cold, grey wash when winter hits our city. So it was refreshing to see someone dropping some insane colour out there. 

Here endeth the rant...

WORKING TITLE

Only narcissistic ponces blog about having nothing to blog about.

The Annual [Christ] Mass Blog

So here we are again, Christmas time (actually it’s been “Christmas time” since about 10 seconds after the Jack O’Lanterns hit the porch) and it’s time to celebrate the birth of Jesus by rampaging through Wal-Mart looking for the perfect gift. Let me get one thing straight right now: I am not what most people would refer to as a “Good Little Christian.”

My Bibles (I own four) share shelf space with The Koran, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, The “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” Companion Book, and “How To Catch Trout” (plus another 800 or so titles I won’t bother to list here).

I don’t say this to be glib. I have never prayed to anyone (except the first time I laid eyes on a Lamborghini Diablo VT Roadster), I haven’t been to church in decades, and I don’t believe in a God, but I still manage to view Jesus as being a pretty amazing person.

Jesus doesn’t need to be the son of a phantom landlord for us to appreciate Him (I keep the capital “H” out of convention, not conviction). He was a visionary, mortal, fictional, or otherwise. But no one made Martin Luther King Jr. a god, and neither Lech Walesa nor Vaclav Havel have ascended as far as I know.

Yet these men could also be credited with leading their people to the Promised Land. Lech Walesa never walked on water, but prying Poland and her people from the grip of Soviet Communism is a modern miracle indeed.

Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech, delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963, is derivative of The Sermon on the Mount, and more potent. Nobody really believes that the first shall be last anymore but most of us agree that stringing Black people up in trees isn’t a terribly good idea.

The point here is if we spent less time preaching the Bible and a bit more time actually reading it, we might be able to revert this whole ridiculous thing into a birthday bash again. One problem though, the more you read the more you learn. However, though the times have changed, people haven't. Imagine this conversation taking place between a man and a woman, anywhere, anywhen...


Mary: Hi there.
Jospeh: Hello.
Mary: I'm a virgin.
Joseph: Really? You're um... pregnant.
Mary: Yeah, I know. It's God's. I've been calling him but...
Joseph: So, you want to get married?
And scene...

Also, while we’re on the subject of fact- Jesus could not have been born on December 25^th.  Flip over to Luke 2:8, and you’ll see that the shepherds were “keeping watch over their flocks at night.” Anyone who is an expert on Middle Eastern farming and agriculture (which I am not, just so you know) could tell you that this little blurb means that Jesus was born sometime between April and September. 

The 25^th was co-opted by Popes to steal the thunder of Saturnalia festivities that dated back to Ancient Rome. Other possible explanations for December include the belief that because He was the son of God, He had to have been conceived on the Spring Equinox. What, if any, logic is behind this, I don't know. Let's not forget people also thoughts their gods were serial rapists. It is also because of Saturnalia and other “pagan” fertility rites that we have Christmas dinner, Christmas trees, Christmas presents, Yule logs, and mistletoe... and "mummers". WTF?

And (and this is a BIG and), ever see a picture on TV of all those terrorists the Americans keep not finding? You want to know what part of the world they come from? Yup, that’s right… Jesus was not white. Some might point to centuries of artistic depiction as evidence, but a million Elvis fans could be wrong. Besides, Botticelli and the boys never met Jesus! An artist’s depiction is what you get on the TV news when nobody took a picture. So what if he wasn’t white? I’m sure we’re all grown up enough to get past that one together. If you can’t, go back and read the book.

So what are we to do with an Arabic Jesus who wasn’t born on December 25^th?

For starters we could all lay off the Revelation of St. John for a while and try to think about being nice to people or not punching thy brother in the neck for taking the last Sponge Bob Square Pants interactive action figure.

I’m not saying we should stop buying toys or anything crazy like that. I just think that “Peace on Earth and Goodwill to ALL Men” is a pretty neat idea (not Jesus’ gospel of course, but it’ll do in a pinch) and might serve us well all year round. He would have wanted it that way. We all know how Jesus lost his cool at the Temple; can you imagine Him at the Mall?

Picture Jesus surrounded by a bunch of hectic shoppers, all of whom look as though if they had to spend one more hour shopping they’d wish it had been Santa Claus that was beaten, dragged through the streets, and crucified by Longinus and his Legion. I don’t imagine He’d enjoy it very much.

I imagine He’d want to know why we needed holidays to be thankful or think of our fellow Earth-ridden Mortal Compatriots. So this Christmas, be nice to people. And then on Boxing Day, keep doing it. 

Just remember: Messing with his birthday is one thing but God help us all if He ever comes across an Easter Egg hunt…BSC. 

This pic has nothing to do with Christmas but I saw it on INSURGENCY INC. the other day and just had to repost it.

Did you have a stroke? No, but she was damn cute.

Sometime between 10:30 and 11pm last night, as I was watching The Stumbler's Inn perform at The Biltmore, my left arm went numb and I dropped my beer. A second later, I went down with it. I never lost consciousness and was fine mere moments later. I was prepared to chalk it up to booze and keep going. That wasn't going to happen...

PART I: Tox

4pm -  Vancouver vs. Toronto, The Squarerigger Pub, West Vancouver.
Five pints, two glasses of Sleemans Original Draught and I march off to catch the 6:40 bus downtown.

The bus was crowded but not unpleasantly so and I got off at Burrard and Georgia. This was odd. I usually get off and Granville but just decided not to last night. It has no bearing on what happened later in the night but still weird.
When I'm going to The Biltmore, I usually take the Skytrain to Main and Terminal, then a bus or cab up to the club. If it's a nice night, sometimes I'll walk.
The Skytrain took on passengers at the Stadium/Chinatown stop. I looked at my watch. I had time. I bolted out the doors and they closed behind me.
The Keefer Bar is about four or five blocks from the station. I snuck over for a cocktail before sucking back the PBR at The Biltmore.

7:30pm - The Keefer Bar
One very strong (but freakin' awesome) cocktail
They were hosting a private party but the manager, Danielle, had a little fireside pow-wow going on the patio outside for non-private party people. My cocktail was great. I had a quick but nice chat with Danielle and a handful of customers before heading off. I catch a bus up Main to 7th and walk the last five blocks to The Biltmore.

8(ish)pm - The Biltmore Cabaret
Three cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon (and a secret double vodka and tonic, consumed upstairs while singing karaoke)

I like The Biltmore. I like it even more when friends are playing there. The "early show" last night were The Stumbler's Inn with Shiloh Lindsey and James Wood. I caught Graham Myrfield outside the club and he put me on the guest list. I said my hello to the collected "gang" inside and headed to the back to dispose of seven beers and one cocktail. I noticed the poster for last night's "Glory Days" party and Fan Death were playing. Score.
At this point in the evening, I actually started to pace myself, slow down, so that I could make it to see Fan Death play.
James was awesome. Shiloh was Shiloh (read awesome) and The Stumbler's Inn were kicking ass...
And then this...

Became this...

Continued tomorrow...
PART II: Detox - Cute Aussie nurses and bumming smokes from crazy people.

The words of the one of the best writers you never heard of...

Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness and they live by what they hear. Such people become crazy... or they become legend.


~ Jim Harrison

The Jagermeister Warning Label

OH DEAR GOD!

The Twizzard of Oz

Read this entry only if you don't mind a few laughs (and a couple cringes) at the expense of your precious childhood memories. The following is a transcript of the drunk "Tweets" I sent while watching The Wizard of Oz about 2 o'clock this morning.

Bedtime movie: I was thinking "Third Man", "Touch of Evil". Went with "Wizard of Oz" but it's taped over "Hells Angels on Wheels", still manly.

Dorothy gets picked out of a pig sty without a spot of mud on her dress. I'm starting to think this movie might be fiction.

"Over the Rainbow" even straight guys can appreciate this as one of the best songs ever. Okay, 'some' straight guys. #garlandsadish

Just looking at that hat Miss Gulch is wearing... She might be a witch but with a hat like that you know she's an evil cunt.

Yeah, pissed drunk and doing colour commentary for Wizard of Oz on Twitter.

How do we know Wizard of Oz wasn't made recently? A hustler like "Professor Marvel" would have whored her out instead of sending her home.

Never underestimate my ability to ruin every childhood memory you might have.

Wow colour! Munchin suicide watch starts now.

Dorothy Gale v. The Ghostbusters: Dorothy, the next time someone asks you if you're a witch, you say YES!

Ding Dong... Certainly the cheeriest song about homicide ever written.

I'm glad I'm drunk and not high, otherwise the stunted ballerinas of the Lullaby League would be fucking with my head.

Glinda's high as a Kansas tornado... Smiling away... The trailer park prom dress. Pure valium. That's probably where Judy got her habit.

The Scarecrow explains BC politics: taking directions from a guy with no brain and a stick up his ass.

Another clue that the Wizard of Oz is fiction? No good looking young woman who left Kansas would be in that big of a hurry to get back.

Yes Dorothy! Lube me up! A man without a heart wants to be oiled up by a teenage runaway. Go figure.

Don't go with her Tin Man! She's just going to sell you for scrap to buy valium!

You wonder why Judy Garland got in so much trouble later in life when she considers two utter fuck ups she just met as the best friends she's ever had.

Okay, not a hanging munchin but a bird. More's the pity.

Ah the good old days, when cowards attacked little dogs and girls in gingham dresses instead of shooting up their high schools.

Poppy field makes them fall asleep and "snow" wakes them up? I don't have to ruin this one. It kind of speaks for itself.

The witch puppet on a string is more believable than all three Star Wars prequels.

Scarecrow's day at the spa looks like a TSA pat down.

Afghan peasants can shoot down a Soviet gunship but the people of Emerald City can't take out a bitch and her broom? Surrender Dorot...BOOM!

Wikileaks reports the Wizard thinks Dorothy is a whiny little cunt.

The Wizard looks like a Star Trek alien on stage at a KISS concert.

I suspect the flying monkeys are just a flash back to the poppy field.

Okay, I'll admit it; it's been over 30 years since the first time I saw this movie and the flying monkeys still scare the shit out of me.

*Note to palace guard: the guy at the FRONT does a head count to make sure the guys at the BACK should actually be there.

"Hurry! Please hurry! The hourglass is almost empty!" We'll be right there! Have to change out of our disguises first!

Looks like the wicked witch was actually Wiccan. Give her a bath and she dies.

It's amazing how quickly her loyal storm troopers turned on her. Looks like Nuremburg. Bastards, hang 'em all!

Wizard of Oz remake: Toto pulls back the curtain and Karl Rove is back there jerking off Rupert Murdoch.

If you pause the movie and look closely at the piece of paper the Wizard hands the Scarecrow, it's actually George W. Bush's Yale diploma.

If Dorothy had got in that balloon, the FBI would have found her head in a freezer in Oklahoma 10 years later.

That scene would have been better if they had munchins hanging off the balloon like the GI's and the Playboy helicopter in Apocalypse Now.

Valium-whacked bitch, if you told me 3 days ago I could've clicked my heels and gone home, I would've believed you. Thanks for the heads up.

Okay, movie's over. Just in case you missed the sarcasm fest, I'm posting it all on my blog when I wake up. Twizzard of Oz.#culturethug

Don't quote ME on that

I often steal the remark, "The most uncommon thing on the planet is common sense". The world seems consumed by a pity-party/hate-fest that doesn't show any sign of receding any time soon. This is alarming. But, it is not new. 

Was anyone actually surprised when it was revealed that Keith Olberman was a Democrat?

I know one person who wouldn't have been and really wouldn't have given a fuck either:

"So much for Objective Journalism. Don't bother to look for it here--not under any byline of mine; or anyone else I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a pompous contradiction in terms." 

Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72

The one thing that keeps some of us just above the fray, the pity-party/hate-fest, is the one thing we possess that others don't: the truth.

But that doesn't seem to help. The blind are blind are blind. But we knew this.

"Don't hate the media, become the media." 
Jello Biafra 

But we endeavour to carry on the good fight. Some are calling for a much more dramatic approach. I am still formulating mine. But as soon as I know, so will you. The dawn of the Culture Thug is upon us, well, me at least.

"This story shall the good man teach his son; 
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
From this day to the ending of the world, 
But we in it shall be remembered- 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; 

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, 
This day shall gentle his condition; 
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed 
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, 

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks 
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

Henry V (IV.iii). 

A Broken Clock Is Right Twice A Day [unless it is digital in which case you're fucked]: How the "Information Age" is anything but

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by the "Internetz".

I have decided that people really are that stupid. And the "Information Age" sure as shit isn't helping much. For years I'd heard that, "cheap advice is seldom good and good advice is seldom cheap", but there is now so much advice out there that no one seems to be able to pick the music from the white noise.
We have lost our "grey area".
People either don't believe a word anyone tells them or will believe anything they are told. There seems to be fewer and fewer people in the middle anymore, the ones who actually look into things before dismissing or accepting them.
The whole TSA "Don't Touch My Junk" escapade was a set-up from the get go. Did no one wonder why this guy (a personal liberties crusader) just happened to be videotaping his trip through the security check? It is what was commonly referred to as a publicity stunt. Now we call it news. Balloon boys and White House party crashers seem to be the norm now and we are constantly bombarded by media from all angles. [Possibly] the next GOP presidential candidate has book deals, her own reality TV show and a daughter on Dancing With The Stars.
Add to this the Internet and the wheels start to come off. You needn't point out the irony to me taking a stab at the Internet, but thanks for at least spotting it. Anyone with a computer and access to the Internet can say pretty much anything they please and people will accept it. When you ask someone for the proof their opinion is based on, they send you a link to a YouTube video.
The greatest information tool ever created by humans and we use it for porn and spam. If you stop exercising a muscle, entropy sets in. Our minds, our curiosity, work under the same principle: we need to keep using them in order to navigate through this sea of obscene pap that is thrust upon us everyday with growing intensity. When the spoon-fed drivel starts being accepted as fact on faith, infotainment wins, and everyone loses. Especially the ones who are too ignorant to see it as a loss.

Baron S. Cameron, thy name is vanity [and unemployed]

Dear Friends,
It has come to my attention that having money and a legal source of income is somewhat of a necessity these days. To that end I have decided to promote and sell action figures. Please browse the catalogue below.

University Grad

BA Literature and History, UBC 2001 Model shown.

Advanced Professional Communications, Capilano University 2007 Model also available

Construction Worker

Rivendell Dreamworks, Courtenay, BC, Model

Wakefield Millworks, North Vancouver, BC, Model available

Gardener / Landscaper

Home Model shown.

Documentary Filmmaker 

The Poetic Voice (1999) Model shown here.

Video and Sound Editing Models not shown but also available.

Writer

Short Story Model shown.

Screenwriter, Research, and Editing Models also available.

Culture Warrior and Social Commentator

Radio BSC/BSCTV (Interviews) Model shown.

Hey, Dumbass! (Social Commentary) and The Aging Rockstar Reviews (Local Music) Models also available.

Photographer

Musician

Other models include:

Home Depot Hardware Dept.

Safeway Meat and Fish Depts.

Karaoke Host and DJ

and Just All Around Swell Guy.

So, if you or someone you know is interested in purchasing one of the above action figures (more of a rental actually, 9-5, Monday to Friday... that sort of thing) please feel free to contact me.

If you have a sense of humour and don't mind helping a guy out, please repost this blog.

Cheers,

BSC