Graphic borrowed from Wil Wheaton Dot Net
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Fake blogs of famous writers
Lying Motherfucker is a cute collection of weblogs that supposedly belong to famous writers. Some examples…
I began to lay the table, hastily at first then more slowly as I placed each long, firm piece of cutlery with deliberation. We were eating batter-pudding and jam.
“Take your pudding in your hand,” said Mother in a short breath.
I held myself back, so as not to blunder brutally through each quivering mouthful. Some distance away could be heard the rhythmic braying of a merry-go-round, and the tooting of a horn as it was pulled and released by a skilful hand.
Asleep, yes asleep,
Into our bed I creep.
Though I’ve still got shoes on
And my foot is asleep.
Where’s my wallet? My hat?
Did I let out the cat?
Who cares about that?
Wifey’s raring to go and wants hot Seuss action
I can tell when she snores and calls me a twat.
“No,” she yawns. “Not tonight. Not today.”
I’ll do it myself, then. I’m better anyway.
Other news – realized I have multiple copies of The Best of the Carpenters. Concerned what this will do to “street cred.”
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Slap and Tickle and me
Tonight at Toronto’s Cameron House (408 Queen Street West, one block west of Spadina), the comedy troupe Slap and Tickle will be beta-testing new sketch comedy. I’m featured in one skit called, appropriately enough, Squeezebox, as well as providing a musical interlude and perhaps a little joke-telling. There’ll also be some stand-up comic acts: Fraser Young, Alan Park and Laurie Elliot. The doors open at 8:30 and I beleive it’s a pay-what-you-can event.
And yes, the flyer bills me as “Smokin’ Joe deVilla”. Urgh.
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Happy birthday, Aidan!
A birthday greeting for my nephew and godson, Aidan William deVilla-Choi, who turns one today.
In honour of the big event, some recent photos of the cute little guy, who loves tugging on his uncle’s goatee.
Happy birthday, little fella. He’s a bright little kid who danced up and down when he saw his uncle Joey (who’s also his godfather) playing accordion on TV. Kid’s got taste.
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IRC. Ricky Martin. Girls.
A snippet from an IRC conversation on FreeNode’s #infoanarchy channel:
<Mutiny> obviously when you’re not rickey martin you’re going to have to take a girl with some faults.
<AccordionGuy> And if you’re Ricky Martin, you go for girls whose major fault is that they’re boys.
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Reclaim the Streets: the photos
Better late than never: the photos that should’ve gone with last week’s piece on “Reclaim the Streets”. If you haven’t done so already, you should read it first.
The beginning
Tuning up. The band starts loading instruments that can’t be played while walking onto the trailer. The guy with the accordion is Bob Wiseman.
Hitting the road. The trailer led the way. We left the park and went south on Denison Street towards Queen.
People-powered. People took turns pushing the trailer. In order to keep it level, we used a child’s tricycle where you’d normally hook it to a hitch.
Turning the corner. Denison ends at a T-intersection with Queen Street West. Here’s where we left the quiet side street and hit one of downtown Toronto’s major throughfares.
Queen and Spadina
We’re closing in on our first stop…
Reclaiming one of the busiest corners. Queen and Spadina is a nexus — it’s where the club district, warehouse-converted-into-office district, hipster boutique zone and Chinatown intersect.
We gave the corner a ten-minute concert.
It went over well. People came out of the stores to join the party; some even came out of their cars (which weren’t going anywhere, anyway).
Dancing ensued!
And we were joined by a pipe-and-drum band. At that point, we continued going eastward.
Chalk
Just a little public responsibility. You know, the kind that prevents tragedies of the commons.
Clever.
I before E except after C, dude. This was outside one of the entrances to the Eaton Centre, a large shopping mall in the heart off downtown Toronto.
Yonge and Dundas
Looking at the northeast corner. Here’s where the Buddhist and I were handed Bibles.
Word to the Word. Here I am with my brand-new Bible. Shortly afterwards, I played Amazing Grace for the Bible-thumpers.
Looking at the southeast corner. From here, we turned south, where the street had already been closed for construction.
The pipe and drum band did a final number …
…while the DJs were getting set up.
It’s hardly the ideal conditions for DJing, but the DJs were troopers. The thing is the yellow frame is the gasoline generator that provided electricty for the DJ rig..
Some people went all-out with their dancing outfits…
…others improvised, using things at home…
…while others went back to basics.
If 6 was 9: White collared conservative flashing down the street / pointing their plastic finger at me / they’re hoping soon my kind will drop and die / but I’m gonna wave my freak flag high, high, wow.
Just call me Hakuna Matata. Me and the cops for whom I played Born to be Wild.
Just like Shaft, I play on the street, yo! (And yes, that’s a Goatee Style sticker on the accordion.)
I’m told that a weblog is not really a weblog until you post pictures of your cat on it. For me, that’s a bit of a problem: I’m allergic to cats, and I think of them as “the other white meat” anyway. Instead, I’ll regale you with some accordion photos, taken by my housemate Paul when we recently visited friends house-sitting on Toronto’s Centre Island.
There’s something about these shots that says “J. Crew Catalog” or “American Eagle Outfitters advertisement”. Maybe modelling is my true calling…
I call this look “Yankovic“…
…this one’s called “Zydeco“…
…and this new look, I’ve called “Piazzolla“.