if i were australian i'd want to tour as much as possible as well

i am no friend of tourists. in fact, i hate them. this is mostly because they take up valuable sidewalk space, crowd stores, ruin the beaches, and support the moose-dressed-as-rcmp-officer industry singlehandedly. whenever i am in gastown i stand infront of the steam clock with a sad expression on my face like i'm having the worst time ever and someone is forcing me to have my picture taken, just to stick it to those foreign dickwads. everytime i bump into a tourist i wish they'd go back home to whatever lousy country they're from and leave me alone. apparently the city wants to attract more of these pests because they're good for the economy or something, which is such a load of shit. i don't own a restaurant, hotel, or tacky store, why should i have to suffer so those jerks can get rich?

the worst tourists of all are australians. they're loud, rude, and usually drunk. additionally, all the australians who come here tend to stay for weeks or even months at a time. i don't know why this is, maybe it's to escape the poverty and oppression of their awful homeland? if it were up to me, i would deport every person with an australian accent back to their prison colony island. i'm not being unreasonable here, i've met one or two australians who weren't all bad, and even they were embarassed by the drunken stupidity of their hostel dwelling, beer swilling, outdoor voice inside talking countrymen.

for example, the last time i spoke with an australian was at the cambie (before i started avoiding them), he sat down beside me and started telling me how great vancouver was with lots of swear words i didn't understand. i remember he leaned over to me, pointing at a very fat girl at the other side of the room and, in that drunken slur they call english, informed me that you were not a man if you hadn't had sex with a woman you couldn't lift. charming.so it was with this attitude that i went to richard's on richards to see midnight juggernauts. i even brought a bag of rotten kiwis to throw at them and spent the better part of the afternoon looking up australian swear words, just in case.

as it turned out, the band was actually pretty good so neither of those things were necessary (i left the kiwis in the men's room behind a toilet and forgot the slang). this was actually the first pleasant evening i have ever spent in the company of australians. even though they're apparently justice's favourite band they were pretty listenable. also, the guys in the band were quite skinny, so they were probably all men unless they secretly have really strong upper bodies.

they were loud and cheerful, but not in a drunken frat boy way, more like a klaxons with more bass and less neon way, which was really nice. anyways, these guys and cut copy are about the only australians i don't mind bumping into in the evening.

reckless abandon

the rising sun found me sitting alone in the master bedroom of my country manse holding my head in my hands, a dead prostitute sprawled on my bathroom floor. not knowing what to do, i stood and began to pace. obviously i needed some sort of alibi: there is no prison safe enough for a man as handsome as myself. my mind began to race, concoting and rejecting wild stories to tell the police when the inevitable questions began.

after what seemed like hours, my frenzied imagination finally seized upon one plausible enough to work: i would tell them i was at the teenagers show!

but i knew a good story would not be enough. i'd need details. i checked on the girl in the bathroom one more time, still dead. think craig, think.

they'd probably ask general questions about the show, like what time it started and how big the crowd was. i'd have to tell them something that sounded plausible.

the show was scheduled for 10, so i decided it would be safe to say they started at 11 because french people are rude and don't care about other people's time. that sounded pretty good, i knew if i were a cop i'd believe that. and if they asked me about how many people were there i'd have to tell them that the crowd was pretty big, but nowhere near capacity, which is probably for the best, because there is nothing worse than a room packed with people you don't know.

believing this to be a workable solution, i stopped worriedly pacing. the whole thing was just an accident, nothing more than a simple misunderstanding, really. a misunderstanding i would be able to clear up as soon as the cops arrived and i told them my story.


unfortunately, things didn't go exactly as planned. i met with them in my large rose garden, my face a picture of shock and innocence, but the cops who questioned me asked a lot of specific questions i hadn't prepared for. i told them that the new song (i even made up a name - streets of paris or something lame like that) was pretty boring but homecoming was still badass and i would have given them all high fives if it were a true story. they pressed me further and i told them that this time only two girls went on stage, but they both seemed to know most of the words which was better in some ways but far less awesome in others. gaining confidence, i told the officers that the teenagers' problem was that there weren't enough beautiful women on stage. they need more attractive session musicians and they also need to sing blink182 style pop punk ballads about making out with girls at parties or pretending not to be high when your parents come into your room because that is what i think of when i hear the name "the teenagers."

things seemed to be going well until i was asked about their clothes. the cops wanted to know if they were better dressed than last time. i began to sweat. was this a trick question? the band had only been touring north america for 3 months, do they still look like the drama team from my highschool? did that one guy with the tape holding his shoes together get new shoes? i had no idea. my story was ripped to pieces, and i slumped down to my knees and stained the floor of my gazebo with tears while confessing the entire thing.

i guess the cops took pity on me or i was able to explain my position very reasonably, because after i had recovered my composure, i was told i was free to go, but warned never to do it again. i can honestly say that this weekend i learned a very valuable lesson about honesty and french people. also, it turns out they were better dressed than last time.

birthdays are terrible

i've never really understood why people make such a big deal about birthdays. they were fun until i turned 14, but after that they've just become a lot of work and another reminder that i am getting old and will die soon.

birthdays are very similar to new year's in that they're supposed to be big milestones and people get desperate to have a good time, even if it makes them miserable. why should getting older and recieiving a dozen facebook comments from near-strangers saying "hppy bday!" be a milestone to celebrate? maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you only had to see your good friends, but birthdays become a terrible reminder of your wasted life when every drug addict loser you know from highschool wants to talk to you. the only times i've been able to have fun on recent birthdays have been when i've managed to forget that it was actually my birthday because they're fucking depressing.


i've always wanted to have a fun birthday, or atleast know what one is like, which is why i ask everybody i meet from california if their 16th birthday was on mtv. no success yet. all my friends must be poor. i bet having just one fun birthday party would change my entire outlook and maybe even be the one ray of sunshine in the otherwise grey and cloudy day that is my life which keeps me from killing myself. it wouldn't matter if my daddy bought me the lexus or not.

perhaps it is foolish of me to invest so much hope in what could still easily become a catastrophe for the ages to be recorded in a thousand largely-unread blogs, but i am very excited about this year's birthday party even after it was forcibly rescheduled at the last minute: my one chance of ever being happy was very nearly stolen from me by a Cormac McCarthyesque twist of fate. i've put a bit of work into this one so everyone should come if they want to still be my friend in the morning. or don't, see if i care... actually that isn't true, i base my self worth on how many people show up so if you don't come i will feel like a miserable failure for weeks and not even my mom will be able to cheer me up by telling me how smart and handsome i am.


finally, getting older has been a totally bogus experience for me. sure i can vote and drive and feature in pornographic films, but i have yet to attract one teenage girl who grew up without a strong father figure with my chest hair and partial beard. when i was younger i was always getting cockblocked by older guys who had tricked girls into thinking they were cool, why isn't it working for me?

fake shark really understands me

i have a hard time leaving my house. i don't know if this is because of crippling social anxiety problems, my busy life, fear of running into people i've offended on the internet, or some unholy combination of the three, but it is becoming a real problem. i'm late to everything - months ago i showed up at seylynn hall at 10 thinking i was really early but missed curtis santiago, this weekend i couldn't get out on friday or saturday until 1:40am.

usually this isn't that big a deal because i only go to bars and, i, like everybody else, only go out to have my picture taken by anyone with a camera, disguise my drug and alcohol dependencies as a purely social behaviour, and get laid, so i can do that all by appearing at the last minute, saying hi to the right people, and then swooping off with the drunkest girl i can find. but it makes going to shows nearly impossible because they usually finish before i can get my pants on.


the last time i can remember actually being on time for a show was patrick wolf last year and that was only because i hadn't planned on going, it was kind of an impulse decision. i'm not exactly sure how i managed to be dressed and downtown before the show started, i might have just stayed out the night before. anyways, this is kind of a problem for me because sometimes bands i actually like come to town and it always makes me sad when i miss them as a result of my inability to get out of my house in time. i cried when i missed afrika bambaataa the other week and i swear it will never happen again. missing afrika bambaataa, that is, i'll probably cry lots more before i go to bed tonight.


this is why i was so happy when i found out that fake shark real zombie would be playing their cd release party at midnight, a much more reasonable hour than 7 or 8. i somehow made it there by 11, and so did everyone else i know who has the same problem, which was basically a mini-miracle bigger than the mighty ducks beating iceland but smaller than jesus, so we all got to watch the fashion show and everything. i even got to hear the band tune up which was like beautiful tuneless music. i was a little dissapointed that nothing got broken, but i guess there wasn't really much to break so it isn't very fair to complain. anyways, the show was lots of fun and if anybody wanted to know what 1/2 alive sounds like in a small room not on friday the answer is pretty good.

some people were upset that the party was on easter sunday, they claimed to have families or jobs or something, which is total bullshit. the only thing people should be talking about is that i finally made it somewhere on time, and so did lots of other people.

go be fat somewhere else

i have devoted my life to fighting injustice in all its forms and i must admit that i have met with very limited success. some days i believe that this world is too corrupt to ever be redeemed by a single person, no matter how handsome he is, but deep down inside i know that i must do what i can. while i get great pleasure from this, do not think that i do it for personal reasons, sure i prank call telus operators from pay phones to get back at them for their horrible cell phone service, but i am also concerned about larger problems, infact, the problem i am most concerned about could be the single greatest injustice in the entire universe: ugly people who somehow manage to convince attractive people to have sex with them. this is so perverse that many would say it doesn't really need any explanation, but it persists to this day so i feel it is important to discuss why this is so wrong.


the real problem which must be overcome is people calling me shallow for saying this. it has often been the case that when i see a situation where an ugly dude has an attractive girlfriend i will mention it and whoever i am with will say, "he's probably a really nice guy. there is more to people than looks!" first of all, sometimes i'm not sure of that, and secondly, what proof do you have that the douche bag isn't some kind of reptile who only got her because he somehow tricked her using black magic or insulted her so much that her self esteem collapsed in on itself and she was willing to take whatever was offered? you don't. the assumption that people who are unnatractive have better personalities than people who are is ridiculous and unamerican, it might seem like the pretty girl who turned you down is a dumb bitch compared to her hambeast friend who really wants to comfort you, but this isn't science, it's just sad; so the argument that "they're together because she sees past his hideous face and big gut" is totally based on speculation, whereas my argument that he is ugly is pure fact.


and the whole notion of inner beauty is ridiculous: i could tell all sorts of lies about the sort of person i am and even behave in a certain way when i know people will find out about it, and how would anybody know i wasn't being honest? on the other hand, no one could possibly get away with telling people that they were really attractive if it wasn't true. an individual looking for certainty and honesty in his or her life really has no option but to simply choose someone based on looks and just hope for the best personality-wise because at least you're certain to be happy with half of the package.

futhermore, people change their minds all the time, people stop being communists or wiccans or mac users and decide to become something totally different and useful to society, so what will happen to a relationship based on mutual interests? compared to liking someone for how they look, which is far less likely to change, this sounds like a recipe for disaster. additionally, a personality is a pretty big thing, so how much of it will you really be able to say you like? if you're interested in someone for their sense of humour, kindness, and loyalty, that is only three things (which might not even exist in reality), whereas i can think of 5 or 6 things i really like about jude law's appearance. who's shallow now?


so, you are a fool for entering into a relationship with someone less attractive than you because the intangible qualities you claim to be attracted to could just be an elaborate lie, like in there's something about mary, and even if they are real at the time, people change their minds so often that it seems the pinnacle of shallowness to be attracted to someone for a view they might hold for a week and then change. nope, the only way to avoid being lied to or entering into a relationship for a reason which might dissapear days later is to go for good looks. they can't be faked and, barring a car accident or crocodile attack, they are much more long lived than personality traits or opinions. so be "shallow" and happy and for the love of god, please stop having sex with ugly people.

i came here to hate and chew bubble gum, and i'm all out of bubble gum

i have been accused of everything from aggravated sexual assault to being unfunny and boring, but one thing i have never been called is a hater. infact, i devote a depressingly large amount of my copius spare time to denouncing haters of all shapes and sizes (although i prefer it when they are fat because that makes it easier to discredit them). i have seen many haters and been hated on myself more than enough times to know that the worst kind of hater is the kind who goes out specifically to have a bad time.

i have been guilty of this in the past: i was tricked into going to alexisonfire and i stood there scowling with my arms crossed the entire time, breaking my frown every few minutes to ask if the redhead was alex and that was why they said he was on fire (none of them have red hair). i believe that history will forgive me because alexisonfire is terrible and i was in a bad mood, but on friday i went and saw dandi wind and my night was made slightly less pleasant than it could have been by these assholes behind me who kept saying stupid shit to each other in their outside voices about how much they didn't like the show because they thought it was weird and they did not enjoy the way particular people in the audience were dressed or dancing or some bullshit like that.


seriously, who the fuck gets dressed up like an urban outfitters mannequin (plus a bandana around the neck for good luck) and pays $12 to go to a show which will obviously be full of people dressed in varying degrees of ridiculousness and having a good, noisy time and then complains about the whole thing? i went there to have fun and be screamed at by a crazy 105lb woodland nymph dressed like a zombie, not to hear how "totally weirded out" by the thundering squall the fat guy behind me is or how his idiot girlfriend thinks it is lame that people are (at the request of the band) dancing on a speaker. why did you come out to be mean? it's almost as bad as a grown man insulting a teenager on the internet; the only purpose people like this have is to make me wait 20 extra minutes in line at the walk-in clinic when i'm in desperate need of getting the tingle in my dingle checked on.

i mean, i guess it's cool that they paid their money and everything so they're basically entitled to behave however they want, but can't haters who stand around in clumps busily gossiping to each other, pausing only to look up at the crowd for a few seconds (without making eye contact with anybody) to gather new information about how relatively uncool everything is, particularly the people who are dancing, look exactly like social misfits at a highschool dance who have talked each other up about how they're soooo going to get laid tonight but then lack the confidence to talk to anyone but themselves and end up just brainstorming excuses for why they're unable to have a good time and going home alone, extremely unlaid?

if your social anxiety prevents you from having fun and not being a little bitch, maybe you should just stay home instead of breathing down my neck and driving me nuts with your stupid high pitched nervous laugh. unless you're there to blog about it you should at least pretend to enjoy yourself.

i apologise for the terrible picture, larry took it

also, dandi wind was awesome and girl who was wearing the blue and white dress, i thought you looked nice so forgive them, they know not what they do.

i'm so over this town

there aren't very many young girls in this city who haven't at some time said, "i'm so sick of vancouver i really want a change so i'm going to move," or something else equally ridiculous and attention whoring, and i always have to ask myself why this person is so unhappy with the city. it is unfortunate that these remarks usually follow a statement like, "i've been going out since i was 14 and i'm 15 and a half now and i'm so done with going out, i just want to stay in forever," because it causes many people to dismiss the concerns of these girls offhand with no real attempt to understand them. i, however, believe that it is important to understand all sides of the argument and even if i didn't, i've been in the hospital and haven't updated for a while and can't think of any other ideas except barack obama so i'd probably do it anyways. so i ask: what's the deal with vancouver? is it really that different than anywhere else? i'll try to make a list of everything that is wrong with the city.


terminator 2 is quite possibly the greatest film of all time for far too many reasons than the poverty of language allows me to express in this blog, but one thing which should not go unmentioned, because it is relevant to vancouver's problems, is the setting: the los angeles of the late 80's and early 90's. while not quite the hive of scum and villainy that new york was at the same time, los angeles had the benefit of having large areas which were nearly abandoned and allowed a young john connor to piggy back on his mulleted friend's motorbike and go to the arcade instead of school. and isn't that the ultimate city? a place where you can just say fuck school, i'm going to the arcade and i'll get there by speeding down this abandoned drainage canal and no parent will say shit to me because they won't even know and my mom is in the insane asylum so they can't call her? sort of like having your very own private city.


vancouver is absolutely nothing like this, there aren't really any neighbourhoods without high rise condo towers with a starbucks in the bottom where you could get away with something like that. infact, there are fewer and fewer places where a guy can take a leak in a dark corner without some yuppy prick tapping him on the shoulder and being all, "excuse me, young man, but you are urinating on my petunias." seriously, it is a sign of a sickness in our community when a man can't even take a piss on a public street without some latté swilling jerk web designer giving him a hard time about it.


actually, that's probably the only thing i don't like about vancouver: that it isn't like los angeles from the late 80's and it is full of rich jerks who come home just as i'm peeing on the porch of their yaletown condo. otherwise it's pretty nice: we've got the ocean, mountains, the public transit is alright, and lots of bands come here on tour. i don't know what the fuck is wrong with those stupid spoiled bitches. case closed.