Thursday, February 1, 2007

I love Randall Moore. In a non-sexual, non-creepy sort of way.

Randall did what I think was his best commentary in a while yesterday. I love it when Randall rips the Conservatives a new one. Not that I'm anti-Conservative, but when he does, he's always right on the money.

This time, it's about those attack ads. And yes, I'm still sour that they copied me so obviously. But once Randall gets going, it becomes more of a general offensive against all Conservatives and their hypocrisy. Especially that recent hypocrisy that makes my skin crawl ever so slightly whenever I see John Baird wearing that green tie, or Stephen Harper paying lip service to Kyoto.

We didn't need the Liberals to come out with the documents, like they did yesterday, that showed Harper deriding Kyoto, and suggesting global warming was likely a big fallacy. We didn't need that, because we can remember. It was mere months ago that Harper and the rest of his party were basically ignoring the environment altogether.

Which makes it painfully obvious that their current "green" stance is at best political posturing and electioneering. And to attack Dion through ads saying his record on the environment was sketchy? Hello kettle, it's the pot. You're black. Global warming is not something we need to attack because it will win us an election. In fact, it won't win an election. It won't be an election issue, because finally people are coming around and they are all on the same side. The Conservatives HAVE to get on the bandwagon because if they don't they will lose. Simple as that. But does anyone really doubt that they never really wanted to do so?

Come to think of it, I have a great way to help combat global warming. Sure, I do all the other stuff - I don't leave my car idling to warm it up in the mornings, I turn off all the lights and stuff and turn the heat down to 17 when I'm gone. But my big contribution comes from laundry. I have been wearing only black and blue shirts, most of them CHEZ clothes, so I don't have to do two different loads of laundry every time. I feel that this will save some emissions by the end of the year. Go green!

Tomorrow...the artistic community awaits.

Tomorrow, I shall be carving an ice sculpture. Not just any ice sculpture, either. Now that I am an internationally recognized artist, the number ONE best-selling, foremost ass-painter in the world, I have a certain artistic standard to which I must live up. I am waiting for the muse to hit me, which I expect will happen overnight sometime.

In the meantime, I would like to state, for the record, that Doc and Woody obviously do NOT appreciate my artistic gifts. They have been mocking me all morning, suggesting that I tend to take my talents too seriously. "Maybe you can make the ice sculpture with your ass!" How juvenile.

Tomorrow kicks off Winterlude at 7:00, and I'll be out there from 6-7 doing the concert before the concert on CHEZ before Randy Bachman hits the stage. Free show, presented by CHEZ, and he'll likely hit the stage at about 8:30. During that time, I'll be doing the concert before the concert for the Hip at Scotiabank place, 7-8:30. But first, I will unofficially kick off Winterlude with some brilliantly artistic ice-sculpting!

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Things I did today...

OK, I'll come clean. The reason I write so much blog stuff is that it gives me something to do while my girlfriend watches crappy TV. I can say "no baby, I can't sit and watch The Notebook with you, I HAVE to write a blog". Here is a list of things I've avoided today:

1. Dr. Phil. This is a show where a fat bald pompous ass pontificates about subject matter that is basically Jerry Springer stuff dressed in a suit. Everything that comes out of Dr. Phil's mouth is just common sense, wrapped in a Southern accent and delivered through a mustache. Garbage.

2. Montel Williams. This man is the whitest man on television, but no one has told him. When African-American guests are on the show, he talks to them in ebonics. When preppy caucasian guests appear, he talks to them like he's Ned Flanders. And he never lets anyone finish their stories! He'll interrupt with information, then wait for the person telling the story to correct him. Fakest TV show host South of Ben Mulroney.

3. Maury Povich. Thank God for paternity tests and women who sleep around! Otherwise, Maury would be known only as Connie Chung's ugly-ass husband. There's something exciting about watching a girl parade eleven guys out onto a talk show, testing them all, and NONE of them is the father of her baby? Excellent. Actually, we've tested the baby's DNA, and it turns out the father is...a German Shepherd. But even better are the "is it a woman, is it a man?" shows. Only Maury can take a full hour to do what should really be a six-minute segment.

4. Tyra Banks. This is the worst show on all of television. And Ben Mulroney hosts TWO shows! Tyra Banks is no longer hot to me. I WOULD in fact turn down sex from Tyra Banks if it meant that I was allowed to step on her neck. The most self-aggrandizing, obnoxious host on TV. And the shows are about pretty well nothing at all. Nothing. A girl wants to keep her boyfriend. Fat people are also nice sometimes. This other girl really likes pizza. That's NOT INTERESTING! And not only is she egomaniacal and phony, she's also dumber than toothpaste. And not regular toothpaste either. You remember the sparkly kind that came in stand-up tubes and tasted like bubblegum for the kids? Yep. Dumber than that.

This is what I put up with from 3:00 on. And Doc wonders why I blog.

Doc hates my blog!

Doc is beginning a campaign against my blog. I could tell, this morning, when he called me out on the air over my tendancy to go on, and on, and on, and on about nothing. Well. Just because I have become reasonably comfortable with the process of "blogging" does not mean that I have succumbed to blog addiction. Or Bladdiction, as they called it this morning. Or bladder, whatever.

So I will adjust my blogging, and maybe not go on so much. Perhaps I will become more succinct, more concise, less verbose and less effusive. Maybe I will curtail my desire to ramble on and on about nothing. And there's a good chance that I will no longer meander aimlessly among the dense forest of words which I have created for myslef, and instead get directly to whatever point it may be that I am trying to make.

You know what I hate? American Idol. Yet I am forced, by some compulsion, to watch it when it is on and I pass by the TV. Would you believe I flipped AWAY from the hockey game last night to see some fat lady dressed as big bird, with obvious mental defects, compete for momentary stardom on Idol? And I actually enjoyed brief moments of it! Especially the one guy who said his sole reason for being there was to make David Hasselhoff cry. So rarely has there been anyone on TV with such a similar life goal.

But I like Frank's Red Hot sauce. I have started to put it on everything I eat. Eggs, nachos, chicken sandwiches, celery. I heartily endorse this product.

I am watching Mommie Dearest right now. I do not endorse this movie. Faye Dunaway is excellent, but it's a lot of wasted effort in what is otherwise a crappy movie. No wire hangers!

I just had a chicken sandwich with hot sauce.

More blogging to come! But it will be concise, to the point, and effective, like Doc's.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

I'm a genius. Write that down.

I decided last year that I would become a real snowboarder. That way, I could embrace winter, rather than dreading it, and I would have something to look forward to when the cold weather arrived. But in the small amount of time I spent on the slopes at Mont Cascades, I improved only slightly.

I found that the biggest source of pain was getting back up off the mountain once I'd fallen. So I discovered that I hurt somewhat less when I went really fast. It hurt more when I fell, but I would go farther between falls, so I had to get up less. It was win-win. By the end of the winter, I was able to make it all the way down the mountain without falling.

So now I figure I'm ready for the next level. What was really holding me back was a lack of proper equipment. It's so tough to get used to something when you're using a different rental every week.

So I need new snowboard equipment, but it's expensive. And I make $9 an hour or something. So I've discovered a great way to get new equipment for free. Pakenham is holding a half-pipe snowboard competition where the grand prize is snowboard equipment. So all I have to do is win the competition and I will get the equpiment I need to become good enough to win competitions like this one! Perfect.

I figure if I have no fear, and go all out, and I use my natural athletic ability to it's fullest, then I will manage to overcome my lack of experience and win. It won't be easy, some of these guys are very good, but if I have the ability to go all the way down a mountain without falling, I can certainly do the half-pipe.

So on the 17th, I'm heading out to Pakenham to acquire snowboarding gear through competitive snowboarding dominance. And the proceeds from the event go to the Children's Wish Foundation, so even if I don't win, some kids do.

My creepy pictures

There are pictures of me on the Doc and Woody Fun Page that, frankly, creep even me out. The pictures from the polar bear dip, that feature me, naked, with large (or not so large) yellow blotches over my junk. I find them fairly unpleasant to the eye. As do most people.

Not one woman, apparently, who called in this morning. Taken in, I assume, moreso by the size of the yellow blotches than by the sight of by corpulent naked body, this woman wanted to know if the originals were available anywhere. Even for purchase, she said!

The originals ARE available, but I wouldn't wish those on anybody. And, although I hate admitting this, the yellow blotches in the pictures ARE kinda doctored. The real pictures themselves would be a fairly large disappointment to this woman. Or a fairly small one.

I spent some time this morning mulling over this poor woman, who obviously suffers from some defect, either a mental one or a vision-related one. Then I realized that if anyone I know has a complex, it's porno guy Jason. I mean, promo guy Jason. Not only did he have to take the pictures, but he also had to edit them. Which means he had to look at me, au naturel, for quite some time.

Jason may now have a substantial complex due to these events. My main reason for believing this is that not only are the original naked Eric pics still on his camera, they are also still on his computer. A normal person would have deleted them by now. So...either he's planning to blackmail me later, which is scary, or he really likes the pictures, which is scarier.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Slot machines

For those of you looking to spend your platinum points on the slot machine on the CHEZ webpage, this may not be the best idea. I know it seems like a last-ditch sort of way to grab a ton of points and maybe win the bidding war on that next Toys For Boys key. But there are some bugs that may need to be worked out.

Doc played the machine this morning for about an hour, and lost all of his 14,000 points. So he gave himself 10,000 more points so he could keep playing. (Doc, by the way, has a small gambling problem.) He lost those in ten minutes. So I came home to try my own luck.

I lost 20,000 points. Almost immediately. Of course, for us it doesn't matter, we can't use them anyway, so if we lose 20,000 points it's no big deal. But the odds of winning anything are slim, and the jackpots aren't big enough to warrant the effort.

I am certain we WILL work out the bugs in some way, and there will be an improved, more fair, slot machine game, but until then, save your points!

And trust that Doc, the slot-machine junkie, would be the one to notice the flaw! Of course!

The Conservatives are copying me.

Damn Conservatives. Stupid Stephen Harper. Can't come up with ideas of their own, now they have to steal mine. Attack ads are MY idea. And maybe the Republicans as well. But pointless, random attack ads have been, until now, exclusively my domain.

I found out this morning that Harper's Conservatives are revealing their attack ad campaign against Stephane Dion. Was an election called and I wasn't informed? No! It turns out that making attack ads at election time is de rigeur, it's expected. To truly surprise the the masses, the best plan is apparently to spring attack ads on the public when they are not expecting them. Like February. Or a Wednesday.

The best way to throw a surprise birthday party, after all, is to throw the party two months before the actual date of the birthday. Ergo...the best attack ad is one done three years before the election. Surprise!

I guess the idea is that this way, people won't clamor for the election, since Harper believes one will be counter-productive and merely preserve the status quo. Which is fine. But how can this campaign aid the cause? First of all, Canadians historically dislike attack ads, and do not respond well to them. Apparently Michael Ignatieff and Ken Dryden, of all people, will figure prominently in this campaign, with footage from the Liberal leadership race where they questioned Dion's environmental record and leadership skills, among other things. Boring!

If you're really going to copy me, to follow in my footsteps, really ATTACK! Say that Dion runs a puppy mill. Dig up pictures of him with an underage hooker in Thailand, or selling crystal meth on the street. Attack ads can't be half-assed! Use the whole ass and go all out! "Dion isn't a good leader." Boring! "Dion caught with goat at Experimental Farm." Now THAT's interesting.

And here's the worst part. The ads will debut during the SUPER BOWL! Not only is the perception that Super Bowl ad time costs 75 million bucks for each ten seconds, but no one wants to see political stuff going on while they sit down with beer and chili to watch the game. Of course, in Canada, Super Bowl ad time is no different than regular ad time...I think. But if taxpayers are going to think that you, the government, spent 100 million dollars of their money to attack your opponent at an unnecessary time in a really lame-ass way, they probably won't like it.

Hey Harper. If you REALLY want to copy me, go swim with some sharks!

Why do they make juice boxes so hard to open?

I discovered this morning that I am either a complete moron, or I have the motor skills of a six-year-old. I was trying to open a juice box on my way to work. In the car. And Kool-Aid doesn't make juice boxes like boxes any more. They make them like bags. Juice bags. And you have to stab them very hard with the straw to make any progress.

So I showed up at work, covered in blue Kool-Aid. Delicious, but it stains. There goes my Bubba Gump shirt. At least I was wearing my bum-style jogging pants that I didn't care about at all. But what is Kool-Aid thinking with these bizarre packages? If I can't open it (and it's not just in the car - at the best of times, I am barely able to bust into these things) then how do they expect children to open them at school?

But luck was with me today. I arrived at work to find a care package from Sinister Choppers, a local motorcycle company (I think), complete with photos of motorcycles, a nice letter, and a new shirt! No one knew that I had looked like the sloppiest person on Earth moments later. I just looked like a skull-shirt wearing motorcycle afficionado. Much better for my image. Well...I was still wearing jogging pants.

I must call Sinister Choppers to thank them for my image-saving shirt and to find out what, exactly, they do.