The Wonder of Teh Internets

Today's Martin Luther King day down in the states and as such they're showing all sorts of black and white videos of protests and rallies.  To clarify, the videos were in black and white as were the people.  While I was watching these b&w videos I started to thing about just how far we've come.  Not in a civil rights sense or how far we've come as a society or any crap like that, no, I was thinking about how far we've come with technology.

Back in the day I had a 14.4k modem that I would use to login to BBS's.  For those that don't know, BBS's were the precursor to websites.  You had to know their phone number, dial in with your modem, and pray to God that nobody called your house while you were downloading Tie Fighter or Doom 2.  The first time I went on teh internets was in 1995 when I convinced my parents to purchase a CD at the CNE that came with 3 months of internet access for $20.  Best decision of my life.  Now, 13 years later, I spend roughly 8 hours a day on teh internets, sometimes more.  When I try to think back to life before teh internets it's quite hard to do.

Remember when the Yellow Pages was the tome of knowledge that you routinely turned to for knowledge?  When you had to stop by CAA to buy maps that would tell you how to get to Florida, or when you would plunk $0.25 into a video game at the local donut shop/pizza parlour to get your game on?  (GAME ON!!... sorry).

Now, I've got a Mac and a PS3 that talk to each other when I'm not home.  It's mental.  I can turn on the PS3 and look at any of the photos or videos on the computer or listen to any songs that are on the hard drive of the computer.  If I choose to allow others to view the splendor of my vacation photos, I click on the photo album on the computer, select the web layout I want, and presto, it's on teh internets.  It's crazy.  I'm surfing the internet using the ol' PS3 sixaxis controller, and it's 100x faster than when I would surfer from my PC in the 90's!  Even without a keyboard!

iPhones and Blackberry's are getting to the point where you don't really need a laptop anymore, thus giving us unlimited access to nearly unlimited information.  It really is mental.

I'm not going anywhere with this, it's just a little f*%ked up when you think about it isn't it?  Technology is actually more awesome now than I ever thought it would be in my lifetime.  That said, I do have a pretty shitty imagination.  

What's next?  I really don't know.  Could you please tell me?  Seriously, maybe in the Comments section below this article you could let me know where you see this whole 'technology' thing going.  Are we going to revert back to the point where lo-tech becomes cool?  I hope so, because I've been playing cup and ball like a muthafucka and when it comes back I'm gonna get so endorsed it will be sick.  

TMTOYH

TMTOYH, or Too Much Time On Your Hands, is a global phenomenon that seems to manifest itself primarily in young school-age males and older living-at-home-when-it's-no-longer-socially-acceptable males.  Basically it affects the socially retarded.  And yes, that will be my last acronym/title for a while (sorry TCBY, my rave of your delicious treats will have to wait).

I hear what you're saying - "but Dave, what the F*%k are you even talking about, can we have some motherf*%king examples?".  First off, settle down, you don't have to swear, and two, I've got your examples right here biatch.

Behold, example number A - a trailer to a movie that doesn't exist.

I can only image the number of dateless nights it must have taken to put this trailer together.  Absolutely amazing (waste of time).  In all fairness though, it is definitely worth a watch.  This dude cgi'd Thundercats paint, hair cuts, and costumes onto actors in other films.  Pretty mind-blowing stuff.

Exhibit L:

Some nerd built a millennium falcon completely out of lego.  And yes, it is to scale.  Lego is cool and all, but c'mon, somebody has tmtoyh - big time.   Oh, and by "Lego is cool and all", I mean Lego is cool and all, when you're 8.

And finally, behind door number Dave, we have this pathetic waste of time:

The only thing more pathetic than wasting your time building something lame and mildly entertaining (vis a vis the examples above), is wasting your time building some less than mildly entertaining.  At least the other examples were original and showed some sort of initiative, this dude just picked up on a trend that was cool 4 years ago, popular 2 years ago, and completely lame now.  What a wanker.  Whatever you do, don't give this guy any candy.  Or Beer.

Hey, that blog looks kinda like... awww crap, what a crappy time for my backspace key to stop working...

PLEASE DISREGARD THAT LAST EXAMPLE.  Blogging is cool and people still do it, so there...  whew, good recovery Dave.  You deserve a beer.  And some candy.

TMI

What's TMI?  It's an acronym, standing for too much information.  It's been far too long since my last post, as I haven't really had much to say as of late, so I decided to pour myself a beer, a tall glass of scotch, and a tumbler of port and talk about whatever was on my mind as the room started to spin.  And here's something that's been bothering me for some time - hearing TMI from those around me.

Over the past year this has happened to me on a few occasions and it's really getting me to question modern taboos.  To put this in context for you, let me lay out some of the things that have been shared with me over the past year:

1.  The consistency of a co-workers bowel movements.  I don't care if you've got a clever euphemism for it (hard-boiled eggs vs. uncooked eggs with bits of shell in them) - I don't freaking care.

2.  Your preferred porn niche.  As far as I'm concerned, if you're related to  me or if you ever want me to look you in the eye again, the only porn you enjoy is watching that guy with the beard on the discovery channel.   Thanks to the overly loose lips of those around me, I now know that my friends and relatives enjoy a wide variety of pornographic styles - from barely legal teens, to asians, to girls with large breasts, to those videos where you find out that the chick was a dude all along - nobody should be cursed with that information.  I don't tell you that I like to squeeze into a pair of Superman underpants, tie a towel around my neck, and run around the house screaming "Come and get me Lex Luther, Superslut is ready!!" out of respect for our friendship, and I would expect the same courtesy from you.

3.  How much money you make.  I don't care, and no, just because you told me yours doesn't mean I'm going to tell you mine.  

4.  Who you would leave your wife for.  The only exception to this is if the answer is a celebrity that you will never in your life meet and that you would have zero chance of getting with.  That's fine, we all do a bit of that, but I don't want to hear about the hot chick at your work that you know is a superfreak because of the way that she looks at you or what it is that you want to do on her glasses.  That is something I don't need to hear.

5.  How many times you've wanked it today.  Either you're trying to impress me or make me jealous, either way I'm not interested (3 times?  What is this, amateur hour?).

So what's wrong with us?  Of course by us I mean society and not me and you, I'm fine - you're the one with problems.  Go back just 80 years, which is really no time at all in terms of societal evolution, and you'll find that people didn't talk about this stuff back then.  What happened?!? 

I'll tell you what happened - we became weak little wimpy pansies that felt the need to share every little thought in our demented little minds.  I blame psychiatrists, psychologists, talk show hosts, your parents, and everybody else that encouraged you to share your thoughts.On top of that, I blame everybody that told you that it was okay to cry, that it's healthy to 'get things off your chest', and everybody that thinks that they need to be everybody's friend.  As a society we're becoming pathetically weak little blabbermouths that can't keep our feelings to ourselves and I'm sick of it.  I hate to sound sexist, but we need to buck up and stop acting like little girls.   

And I'm not just talking about the dudes out there, I'm talking about the women too.  When did it become acceptable to talk about the symptoms you are experiencing due to 'the change' at an executive team meeting?  Or how many pads you've had to replace while I'm trying to spread raspberry jam on my morning slice of toast?  Two words, guh-ross.

So please.  Pretty, pretty, please.  Don't feel the need to share anything with me.  And not to be too controlling, but please don't share anything with other people when I'm within earshot.  It doesn't matter that you're not talking to me, you're talking, I'm hearing it, and I don't want to, so respect that.

Okay, that's all for now, glad I got this off my chest.  Shit.  Disregard that last part would ya?

Oh ya, and I promise to post more frequently over the next few weeks... sorry about that.

Edit - Thanks to Chris N. for providing this incredibly relevant bit from Geekologie.com - a toilet seat that will let you figure out the weight of your dumps.  Click the image for the article.

A note to would be scammers

So I'm walking towards the check-out line at the old LCBO (pronounced Lick-Bo for those who reside outside of Ontario) when a woman walks from the entrance directly to the cashier that I am approaching with two starbucks bags full of liquor bottles. She narrowly beats me to the front of the line and starts placing the liquor bottles from her bag on the counter.

She's a fairly normal looking woman; frazzled blonde hair, puffy winter coat with a slight rip in the sleave, maybe early-mid forties-ish. Once all of the bottles have been lined neatly on the countertop she exclaims "I had a party last week and when I purchased this alcohol they told me that any unopened bottles could be returned."

"Sure, not a problem" the nice LCBO lady replies before glancing down at the bottles. Her standard issue customer service smile faded into the expression of somebody that has just caught a wiff of the silent but deadly aroma of shenanigans. "Oh, I'll just have to grab my manager to assist me with the return." She casually walks away from her post at the front of the store in search of some back-up.

At this point, I see that the next check-out aisle is available with nobody in queue, but rather than expedite the purchasing process, I choose instead to take in this impromptu bit of social theatre. How often is it that you encounter truly interesting moments in the check-out line? This situation had the potential for awkwardness and I wasn't about to miss it.

Over comes the manager, a tall thin man with a well manicured beard and a hurried gait that clearly says 'I don't have time for this bull-crap'. "You want to return these?" he inquires.

"I had a party and was told that I could return any unopened bottles".

This is where it got fun. The manager went through the motions of picking up each bottle and reviewing its condition to ensure that it was in resaleable condition.

Bottle 1

"Seals broken on this one" he says as he pushes it aside.

Our returner is quick to chime in, "Only the plastic part, the bottle was never opened".

"Doesn't matter, the seal is there to ensure that the bottle isn't tampered with, I can't sell a bottle without the seal". The justification is to the point and makes all the sense in the world to me.

Bottle 2

"How old is this?" the store manager asks to himself as he holds up a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream to the light. "There's mold in here, and look, the liquid has hardened in the bottle, there's no way we can resell this".

"Oh, I must not have noticed that when I bought it" our blonde friend mutters.

I see Bottle 3 and laugh, a laugh somewhere between a quiet exhale of the nose and chuckle. I can see that there is a duty free sticker on the top of the bottle of Appleton Estates Rum and I contemplate pointed this out to the store manager. I don't, and instead wait for this play to further unfold naturally; I'm not disappointed.

"This bottle is clearly from duty free" - yes! The store manager knows the score.

Our blonde returner quietly tries to convince herself that she's not a scam artist "oh, somebody must have drank my rum and replaced it with that bottle". But nobody's buying it. The manager doesn't respond and reaches for the next bottle.

Bottle 4

"I've never seen a bottle like this, how old is this?" The manager shows the bottle to the check-out clerk, who appears to be enjoying the show as much as I am. "No, there's no way we can accept this".  The woman is found out yet again.

Bottles 5 & 6 are covered in a layer of dust and clearly not new.  Bottle 5 is a bottle of Chivas Regal that looks like it came from the seventies and with a quick scan the manager is able to determine that it has never been sold at an LCBO.  Bottle 6, the final bottle, is a bottle of Grand Marnier that looks like it could have been recovered from the Titanic.  The manager scans the bottle to verify that it was purchased at an LCBO.  It was.  He then picks up the bottle to assess it's resaleability, and in doing so, sees that the wax seal on the breast of the bottle has half-fallen off.  With a quick half-smile he says "sorry, none of these bottles can be returned", and as quickly as he came over, he's gone.  Our blonde friend gathers up her rejected bottles without saying a word and scurries out of the store with her tail between her legs.

The moral of the story?  Sometimes people get away with some pretty outrageous crap by pulling stunts like this, but sometimes they get busted, and when they do, it's hilarious.

Happy Easter!!

wait, that's not right...

Happy New Year!!!

The Hallowed Institution of Marriage and Why it Sucks

Okay, before you lovely bitches and ho's eslap me in my face or rickroll me into the wonderful realm of goatse, take a deep breath and relax; this title is just a segue into the odd world of anti-marriage husbands.

Ask any new bride what it's like to be married and they will either tell you how wonderful it is, or tell you that it's pretty much the same and they haven't noticed a change. Ask any new husband what it's like to be married and they will immediately turn pale, shake their head slowly from side to side, and tell you that it was the worst mistake of their life. It's universal - when I proposed to my then girlfriend I was proud to tell my friends that I was getting married. The single guys were baffled and the married guys always had the same reaction - "married? why would you want to be married?". Whether married a year, a few years, or 40+ years, every male that had pledged himself to the love of his life for all eternity had the same view, that marriage ruined their lives.

But why, why do they feel this way?  I'll tell you why - because it's cool to be a dick, especially to your wife.  That, coupled with the fact that it's not cool to love your significant other, has made for a lot of dudes covering up the fact that they're happy to be wed acting like they were tricked into dropping a few G's on a wedding ring, finding the right time and place to propose, and planning a way-too-expensive party for a bunch of people that they barely know.  The fact is, marriage rocks, and it's about time the dude's out there starting owning up to this fact.

So guys, the next time you bump into a friend, co-worker, or acquaintance that tells you that they've recently tied the knot, congratulate them, and not with that awkward sarcastic tone either - you knew what you were doing and you know that you're better off because you did.

And just to prove that marriage doesn't suck, I've come up with a short list of seven of the awesomest aspects of marriage:

1.  Not having to play the dating game anymore.  If you're anything like me, your ability to pick up chicks is equalled only to your ability to crochet, and we both know you can't crochet. 

2.  Living in a home that doesn't look like a cross between your grandmother's basement and your bedroom from when you were high school.

3.  Regular meals, and not frozen instant meals, but the kind that involve using the stove and at least 4 different ingredients.

4.  Not having to worry about getting dumped when you get piss drunk at a party and embarrass your significant other - she can't dump you now, you're locked into a contract!

5.  Dual incomes mean that you can finally afford to stop renting and buy a house/condo/trailer/cardboard box under the freeway/mud hut.

6.  The constant effort she puts into criticizing your clothing finally pays off and you develop some form of fashion sense.

7.  It's no longer lame to take photos like this:

Okay, next post, no lists, I promise...

Ideas for the blog

Thanks to everybody that has been so supportive as I get the ol' blog rolling. A few of you have sent me ideas for upcoming entries, and so far they've all been good. Please keep sending them in, and if I get desperate enough, I might just go ahead and steal them.

Wait, now that I think about it, should I be insulted that people are suggesting ideas already? I haven't even really got into a groove yet and it seems like everybody has an idea for how I can make the blog better. Meh, better's better, you can't argue with results.

So here we go, stolen blog idea #1 - Why Dave's are the best people in the world.

Rather than a whole diatribe on this, I figured I should follow the example of a famous David and go at it top 10 list style.

Top 10 Reason's Why Dave's are the Best People in the World

#10 - The name David is universal. In my life I have been told that David is a good Jewish, Irish, English, Scottish, Greek, Christian, and Portuguese name. Dave is 100% portable to all ethnicities and religions - Everybody loves Dave!

#9 - Google "Famous Dave" or "Famous David" and you will find hundreds of restaurants and food manufacturers using the David name to hock their food. Type in "Famous Brett" and the first entry is for a site called nutters.org. Dave 1, Brett 0.

#8 - Dave's are funny. David Letterman, Dave Foley, Dave Chappelle, David Spade, Dave Thomas (the Wendy's guy AND the SCTV guy) - the list goes on. Not forever, but for a few more names I'm sure.

#7 - There has never been a terrorist attack masterminded OR executed by a Dave. We're way too laid back for that shit.

#6 - Dave's make great leaders. I only need to point to David Karesh to prove that point. 

#5 - We have our own religion.

#4 - Our religion is also known as Shepherd's Rod - not in a gay way but in a manly way.  And not manly in a gay way either.

#3 & #2 - Dave's are extremely efficient and can oftentimes complete two tasks in a single action.

#1 - This guy. *points to self* Not convinced? Alright, how about this guy? (That's right, we played the Lyre before Saul)

There you have it, 10ish reasons why Dave's are the best people in the world.

Thanks to Dave T. for providing the divine inspiration for this post.

Nipple Slips, Panty Flashes, and other ways to stretch 15 minutes into 15 minutes and 8 seconds

So I sat down yesterday to write about what was on my mind and I found myself with a fairly decent post. Then I got busy, didn't end up finishing the post, and decided to wait until today to post it. Well today came and went and I found myself not wanting to post yesterday's piece in favour of today's. Here's the deal:

I'm at work today eating my lunch at my desk and flipping through my 3 favourite blogs Geekologie, I watch stuff..., and The Superficial, when I misclick a jump to Bush getting hit by a shoe and end up on a blog called Egotastic, whose first article is Lindsay Lohan wearing a see-through top. I'm not saying I was disappointed by what I found, but it made me ask - what was she thinking?

Ask anybody who accidentally typed "Nip Slip" into their favourite search engine while trying to find that funny video of an old asian man falling up an escalator and they'll tell you - celebrity nipples are far more likely to fall out of a top than your garden variety nipple. But why? The first thing you think of is "it's a publicity stunt". But is it?

Stars have publicists. People who dedicate their lives to working social networks, strategically placing their clients at charity events, and doing everything they can to achieve their clients long-term goals of snagging an academy awarding winning role. So where do recent publicity grabbing fan-favourites the nipple slip and it's southern cousin the panty flash, fit into this? And how do these publicists sell these young starlets on taking this route to fame and fortune?

Agent - Hey Lilo, thanks for stopping by.

Lindsay Lohan - You wanted to see me?

Agent - I've been thinking about your career. You know that dream role we've been talking about?

Lilo - The one about the super-hot young starlet that is betrayed by her so-called friends, runs away, and while in self-imposed exile finds the cure to cancer?

Agent - ya, that one. Well, word is that Steven Spielberg's people are working on this exact script, but they're looking at Nicole Ritchie to play the young starlet.

Lilo - ohmigosh! what can I do?

Agent - two words. Nipple. Slip. Tomorrow morning when you're heading to the gym, make sure you wear a shirt the barely covers your ta-ta's. Find an excuse to bend over, pop out one of your fun bags, and you'll be all over the tabloids. Tuesday morning, Stevie Spielberg picks up the newspaper and who's on the cover?

Lilo - me?

Agent - that's right angel cakes, you. He'll take one look at you with your titty hanging out and he'll have no choice but to give you more serious roles.

Lilo - but what if that doesn't work?

Agent - good call, maybe don't wear any panties and do some squat thrusts on your way to the mailbox.

Lilo - Hello Oscar!!

Both rejoice in a mid-air high five

As much I enjoyed that hypothetical conversation (in my mind, I was Lilo and the agent was played by Hugh Jackman), I find it really hard to believe that any publicist really thinks that their client is going to advance their career through wanton nipple/cooch exposure. So why do they do it? Because celebrities are dumb.

Well, that's not entirely it. It's because celebs are dumb and also because Vegas offers odds on the next nipple slip . Publicists aren't rich because they give good advice, they're rich because every time they see their clients career dipping a little bit, they re-mortgage the house, throw as much as they can on their celeb in the Vegas nip-slip pool, and work their magic. If they can convince the desperate young starlet to go swimming in a bathing suit that's two sizes too large or go commando in a skirt that's two sizes to small, they're rich. Plain and simple.

So next time you're surfing through teh internets and happen across a nipple slip, just know that somewhere an angel has earned his wings. And by that I mean some sleazy publicists has scored enough cash to keep his meth habit alive for another few weeks.