Waking up...

Wow... been in a bit of a slumber... too few posts, too many dreams...

Like the one I had last night... I dreamt about my parents (well, not my parents, but my buddy's parents... but they were my parents in the dream) going on a cruise... you know, one of those floating masses of white, aged skin, shuffleboard, exhausted tango dance instructors, and Norwalk virus...


Anyway, they were on this cruise and while they said it was just to get away from the grind of retirement, we all knew it was because my dad had heard through another couple that the cruise line made the best Baked Alaska this side of Anchorage (Note: I have no idea whatsoever if the Baked Alaska actually originated in Alaska... it doesn't even look like Alaska when baked...)

Once my parents were settled on the ship and they had set sail, my dad, in particular, was satisfied to no end... tango lessons? Not when he could eat the Baked Alaska... shopping at the latest port? Hell no, not when the Baked Alaska was there for the taking on the buffet table of love...


That's when the dream went as all dreams do... gunfire could be heard outside of the dining hall... people began to scream and an explosion could be heard near the front of the ship... in minutes, my parents were huddled with other passengers on the dance floor as their ship was hijacked by pirates from Somalia... looped up on khat, they randomly raped and killed a good number of the passengers... they even threw a few overboard in the shark-infested waters off the coast of Mogadishu (I'm still not sure if that was a nod to the Achille Lauro incident, but I digress)...

You see, after a few hours, the pirates decided to let the remaining passengers have at the buffet (hell, all that rapin' and pillagin' made the pirates hungry, too)... and seeing as how my dad had informed everyone from the crew to the Albanian stowaway how good the Baked Alaska was, everyone kept pretty calm, cool, and collected so long as they could feast on the hot/cold pie...


The high pirates, though, went a little too far one night with a poker game involving the cooking staff, slaughtered the cooks, but then quickly realized that unless they picked up the chef hats and donned the aprons, they, too, would lose out on no Baked Alaska. What's hilarious is that by the time the ship was finally found and boarded by US warships off the coast of Egypt, the scene on the ship had degenerated into a 1930's sailing version of the US deep South... the pirates/chefs bereted every 10 mins by the passengers over their lack of skill in baking the Alaska...

I laughed as I woke up... but then other things made me quickly want to go back to sleep... even if I didn't like Baked Alaska...

Is that the full moon I see?

Are these the tides that are finally turning?


Mr. Fitzgerald, in your methodical and meticulous attention to absolute power corrupting absolutely, has Mr. Libby always been the duck call on your hunt for the true game, both President Bush and Viceroy Cheney?


Mr. Blair, as your country erupts at your government's apparent rug-sweeping of video evidence, of which you knew full well, of Americans committing friendly-fire murder against one of your own soldiers during the fall of Baghdad, do you sense another calamity on the horizon, as your own absolute power corrupting absolutely abandons you in the face of a looming criminal investigation into money for privilege ?


Mr. Bush, will your repetitive banging of the war drums to bring about the End of Days via Iran, fall upon deaf ears and voices louder than yours who are exhausted in having witnessed the slow death of their great country, its values, and its status in the world?


Mr. Harper, will you fire your entire communications department, return to your roots as a true genius in policy development, put the knives away, and take on the Liberals in the area of ideas and not pig shit?


Oh Lady of Justice, will you be redeemed, and the lives of the forgotten and rotting paid notice, by those who trust and believe in the rule of law, and its application across all nations, no matter what the threat, no matter who the enemy, to ensure that your warm embrace is provided to all who walk this Earth?


But too soon does the sun rise, and the moon lost, before the tides have time to wash away the stains of the dead on the precipice called Iraq. When will the blood tell?

Message for Miss Nelly Furtado

Memo to Nelly Furtado and her stuck in the 80's Entourage: Crocket and Tubbs want their helicopter and their landing pad back.



I can only assume that Hype Williams had nothing to do with Furtado's latest self-indulgent attempt at style over substance in her new music video. Let's run through the checklist of lameness:

1. Incessant close-ups, CHECK.

2. Incessant changes to hair style, CHECK.

3. Incessant shots of Timbaland rapping/whispering/pretending to sing the sample in Furtado's ear, TRIPLE CHECK.

4. Incessant background dancers wearing the clothes and using the moves from the guys in the Black Box videos, CHECK.

5. Incessant attempts to make Furtado look sexy (e.g., wet t-shirt worn in the rain in some back alley) while leaving the viewer wondering how their gr. 7 gym teacher could look hotter in track pants and a perm (but damn, could she blow a whistle), CHECK

When your music videos are lamer than those of Mad Child and Prevail, it's time to hang up the vocal chords and go borrow Tyra's talk show mic. BRU-TAL...