TODAY'S SPECIAL EXPLAINED!

Out of context most children's television doesn't follow any real logic. Today's Special is a perfect example. Here's the pitch for the TVO execs:
"Shit's gonna be classic: a magical mannequin, rhyming mouse puppet, Walter Matthau/Security guard puppet...

"A magical mannequin? I'm not sure I follow..."
"His name is Jeff he is the crux of show. Not to sound too hyperbolic, but throughout history certain objects have had a profound impact on humankind: the holy grail, the Arc of the Covenant, and now Jeff's hat. Yes, by merely placing the magical chapeau upon his dream box, Jeff becomes a sweet man-child only trying to understand the world around him, while simultaneously cursed to spend his life in a department store, and to live constant fear of losing the enchanted hat."

"My god Clemens, your prowess in the children's t.v circuit is goddamn impressive, gives me goosebumps. Who else knows about Jeff?"
"Jodie. She's the voice of reason of the TS gang. She's also black and wears a two toned jumpsuit."
"You sir, are a daring son of a bitch, but that's why we hired you. I expect to see some finished scripts by the end of the week. And, for god's sake, get some sleep. After the Crofft incident we don't want any more accidents.

Some big footed stripper left her shoes in our office, so I decided them to give them a go. Awkward doesn't even begin to describe it...
In other news, the Greatest movie of ALL TIME is coming out soon. It's called Big City, and from what I gather it's a western played by little kids!
That maniacal smile can only mean one thing: Cult Classic. There's been posters promoting it all over the city including rue St Denis, a street famous for its old a.m whores. Nothing like seeing an the old withered whore leaning against a poster that featured all the little girls in the movie, including this one:

The WTF factor with this movie is so incredibly high for me, I'm sure it won't be quite as good as it is in my head. At least I can bank on outdated stereotypes and racist caricatures galore.
Here's the trailer:

DUNGEON PARTY IN PAREEEEE

Last night I went to a Fiasco System party with Mathieu and Baker. It was at les caves de Chapelais in the 9th. Very, very awesome venue, you know if you're into dungeon style clubs with no windows. The crowd was a delightful mix of disgruntled 30 year olds, and models from South Carolina. On the metro we saw this first time wino. He was great and had a frown for the ages:
Anyway here's a short clip of Soft Circle from last night's party.

SPORTS? HUH?

When you move to another country most of the time you're too busy discovering your new city to get homesick. Of course once in a while, when you have a few moments to reflect, you can't help but miss your family, your pals, local haunts etc. Yesterday was one of those days. Thankfully I called up the new vice intern Baker to get a little taste of America. We watched football, and ate nachos! It was nice to have a person explain the rules of Football to me, for years the word "down" only really meant the opposite of of up for me. Turns out I was wrong. I wasn't fully convinced by what I saw, but I did kind of understand the thrill of seeing a man swerve through a bunch of 400 pound beasts, just to get those 10 yards.

LSU Tigers 2007 SEC title, 21-14. Well done fellas!

UP TO NO GOOD

I went to London this weekend. I guess I went for Vice UK's 5th Birthday, but come on a party? That's a pretty silly reason to go anywhere. Plus I don't have any pictures to prove I was there - I realized that I'd left my camera, and to a lesser extent my cigarettes at the place I was staying at. Anyway there are pictures from the party here, you know, if you care enough. The afterparty was at the old blue last
I overheard one disgruntled patron ask if she was in Trainspotting. Apparently the rampant boozing, and indulgence wasn't what she expected at an afterparty. I felt bad for her, so I spilled a drink on myself (not pictured here).
I enjoyed my time away from Paris because it allowed me to realize that I should be grateful for a number of things. For instance, Parisians are much better looking than the English. I assumed that the looks difference would be minimal, but turns out I was wayyyy off. To prove my point I have selected two random French and English specimens to compare
They may share the same name, but one of these two birds needs to loosen her headscarf! I also learned that not all breakfast places are equal, and just because a place is called the Paris Café doesn't mean they use butter on their toast, and don't cater to the obesely depressed. And for the record, Fried bread always sounded pretty decent in my brain, but after a short jaunt down that road I came to understand that I was wrong.

London I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
London two pounds and twenty-seven pence November 24, 2007.
I can't stand my own mind.
London when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb

Those last two lines don't really fit, but you get the idea. Ouch. Tomorrow is Monday. What gives, clock of eternity?

NEVER GONNA HAPPEN

There are a lot of things the guidebooks don't bother telling you about Paris. One of the most glaring omissions relates to housing. If you're planning on living in Paris for more than a month you'll probably consider getting a place of your own. For one you can totally forget about finding somewhere classy cos those places are reserved for the secret Royalty that still controls the country (more on that later). So what's left? Well in my case it took a month of visiting a number of depressing apartments- one place belonged to this sad sack type. He was trying really hard to convince me that this was the place of my dreams, but red flags went up when I had to climb over the toilet to check out the shower, and I just couldn't shake the confusing smell of paprika, depression, and garbage. Actually, most of the places I saw weren't half bad, usually too expensive, or in an awkward part of town (does the 15th arrondissement actually exist? who takes the 7bis line?) the real problem is the tenants. Owning an apartment in Paris gives people a superiority complex. Chances are you'll show up at a place and end up doing a pathetic song and dance trying to prove your worth. This is nothing compared to the sad show you'll put on if you're required to submit a "dossier" to an "agence". No one told me that these agences were a big deal, so it came as a shock when I got flat out denied . In fact, I'd say it stings as hot rash in the sun that just got bit by a jellyfish-scorpion hybrid (jelscorpionyfish). Suddenly you're thrust into apartment purgatory, and your possessions are forced to suffocate in garbage bags until you find a sketchy hole in the wall that accepts that you get paid like a 12th century serf, or You can try and shack up with your significant other which is how most couples in Paris take it to the next level. The truth is most couples in the city can't stand each other, but the thought of having to find a new apartment is so awful that they stay together, and pretend to be happy when they attend the dreaded couples dinner.

I KNOW WHAT YOU REALLY WANT

-This has been stuck in my head for a week now.

-Deerhunter were pretty excellent on Wednesday. Also I really dig the Maroquinerie as a venue it has 2 floors, a nice terrasse, and affordable demis.
-I didn't make it to the Globo, but frankly I didn't feel like going just the thought of waiting around to see the same set, ok fine Feadz is cool, and A-Trak would have been a nice change of pace, but man they need to step it up because Ed Banger is becoming the McDonald's of dance music. Can they stay the course?
D.A.N.C.E is in the trailer for a movie called 27 Dresses starring that guy from Boogies Diner, and the blonde from sexy doctors (btw is she supposed to be ugly or something?)

PARIS HALLOWEEN OPTIONS

I'll be attending both events. No real costume in mind. I keep asking the frogs about their costume ideas, but to no avail. All I get are dull eyes, and pity.
I'm pretty confident that I can come up with something on the fly. Groucho Marx turned out quite nicely last year. All you need is $5 and a dad who smokes cigars from time to time.

ANDY BERET AIN'T RIGHT

France is a pansy ass most of the time, but when it comes to drinking it's your vitriolic grandmother. Where else will you see someone order a cognac at 9:30 am. You also have to hand it to the metro winos who continue to perpetuate a long and outdated stereotype. Shit they basically have bubbles floating out of their mouths every time they hiccup or yell obscenities at you on the subway platform. If only they had an icon to follow like the British and their Andy Capp.

HERO PAIN

Last night I was listening to Nostalgia radio in the car and I heard this amazing song by Daniel Balavoine "Je ne suis pas un hero." The song is a detailed account of a Baywatch: Nights! plot in which a rockstar Diego Silver goes on a killing spree after he becomes disenchanted with banging nameless broads, and being called a hero by the press. Listen as DB begs not to be called a hero over, and over, and over again. I can only assume that the recording session was similar to Feel My Heat.
Fun fact: the song managed to capture the French imagination, and Balavoine was made honorary president for a day, where he banned trampolines and magic tricks. He currently resides in the Galapagos with his pirate bride "Tina"

Daniel Balavoine-Je ne suis pas un hero (zshare)

SONY ROLLY

A few months ago I was asked to be an extra in a commercial my boss was shooting. It was for a musical egg. Personally I couldn't really see the use of it beyond a nice accessory for a mushroom trip, or to keep small children preoccupied for 6 minutes. The truth is I have very little interest in modern gadgets of this nature. Ipod I get, but a dancing egg? Fuck that. I'm so glad I can finally get this off my chest, I had to sign so release form, and I wasn't allowed to talk about the egg. Frankly, I think a little grassroots buzz never hurt anyone. Anyway here's the dancing egg video - in which I do not appear. At least I didn't organize a screening for all my friends and family, only to find out that I didn't make the cut.

Teaser Sony Rolly Dance Class
Uploaded by BriKO

RACIST BLACK GAYS!

I was in a rush, so I didn't check to see if they served Me So Solly soup (thanks GK), did laundry in the back, and had bucktooth waiters bumbling around and being hilarious. This reminds me that I definitely need to take photos all the shops/hotels/etc. that have statues of black men in their windows. Most of them are usually jazz musicians, or jockeys? Check out this knucklehead:


The truth is I could go on like this with just about any French brand on the market, sooo yeah I guess what I'm getting it at is that French people are all racist black gays.

BABY'S FIRST STRIKE

After so much hype I'm a little disappointed by the Strike. I mean if you're going to give the day an ominous name like "Black Thursday" you have to deliver something. M wondered if Sarkozy announced his divorce on the same day to put the focus on himself, rather than the strikers. Pretty brilliant strategy. The point is I didn't really notice anything out of the ordinary, I mean it was a bit harder to find a Velib to ride to work, but nothing serious, and frankly I should stop slacking, and start riding to work everyday. It probably takes less time, and I get to see tons of neat little shops. My new favourite street: Charonne. So here's a map of my voyage
What you can't see on my map is the giant fish water puddle I stepped in while attempting to cut through a market at Bastille. As my foot sunk into the ankle deep puddle I immediately felt the pain of a slapstick comedian hell bent on resurrecting his career: desperation, anger, and fish stink - with no one around to see it, well except for a lucky fish monger.
Later the same day I saw a wonderful pile of trash on the Blvd Magenta.All and all a successful strike!

WHA HAPPENED?

Got the new Hives record today. Was I a fool to believe that it'd be good? All the signs were right there, staring me in the face.
-They just finished a tour with Maroon 5 (HUH?!?!?)
-They did that Nike ad,
-They worked with Pharrell Williams who apparently decided he wanted to play Rock band again.
It seems so obvious now. In fact, it's like they got passed through one of those old-timey clothing presses. You can practically see an evil suit maniacally turning the crank, and laughing a hearty, despotic laugh.
Why didn't you people buy their last album? It was good. What happened to sticking it out for a band? I know they were part of that rock and roll revival, but is that a reason to forget them like some 2 dollar whore you decided to take a chance on? She was nice, she was exciting, and most of all she worked hard. And now you've dun gone and cast her aside like last week's Big Mac you decided to keep in the fridge for some reason. It ain't right.

Where do I go from here?

It seems like every movie I enjoyed in my childhood involved a tight ass business man trying to reconnect with his family (National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Plane Trains and Automobiles, Parenthood). In all these films there were a number of obligatory scenes: the busy New York street scene where the protagonist is either lost, or trying to run through the crowd (!) ideally with some South African flute music in the background to add dramatic flair. Then there's the scene when he walks through the busy office, and heads straight to his office where he proceeds shrink into his chair, and realize that his life has no meaning. These scenes always struck me as a kid. I always worried about ending up in an office, facing a computer and not knowing what the hell I was supposed to do. I mean did they teach that kind of thing in University? What other secrets did adults keep from me? More importantly, would I be discovered as a fraud when I eventually found my way into an office? Was there any other way to survive in the world if you didn't work in an office? This might have something to with the fact that life in these movies was always pricey and involved department stores likes Macy's which I assumed required a fancy office job.
Many of these questions still plague me. Currently, I think I might suffer from selective ADHD. For example: I probably shouldn't be writing this right now, but I can't help myself - also I'm stuck on the other things I have to write about. I tell myself that maybe if I worked from home I'd be able to manage my work schedule, but who am I kidding? I'd be like that terrible Adam @ Home comic that runs in the Toronto Star, and I DESPISE that comic.
Case and point:

Goddddd it's like one of those neverending Honks that happen on a Sunday when you're really hungover and it hurts to open your eyes.