Diagnosis: crazy

As most of you surely don't know, the majority of one of my office walls is currently covered by a whole bunch of band press photos that we cleared out of a filing cabinet a while ago. Mostly, it's a tepid collection of mid-level Canadian talent, and the record stops at 2001, presumably when everyone suddenly realized that computers could be used for more than just doing your taxes and filing recipes.

But amongst the Pursuits of Happiness, the Veals and the Emm Gryners was this guy, Robert Armstrong Nelson. I guess he's a street performer (fuck, I hope he's a street performer), and I remember getting a real kick out of this photo when I found it, but since then it's really started to haunt me. Seriously, Robert Armstrong Nelson, what's up? What's your deal? Something must have driven you to such an end—what visions, what epiphanies, what screaming internal voice caused you to give up your job as an accountant for Strathcona County's Public Works (presumably) and dedicate your life to embarrassing yourself for pocket change? And couldn't you have just been a clown instead?

I wonder what he's doing now. Anyhow, I should probably take him down off the wall one of these days. He's kind of makes me want to cry.

So yeah, that's it. Carry on.

Oh, bonus medical update: on the spinal front, no news except for the fact that MRIs are crazy, crazy machines; in regards to my eyes, I'm apparently developing glaucoma. Neat. But that's treatable, so, you know... rad.

BYE!

Just Another Day at the Office

OK, not quite; these are actually the promised pics of the great big fat Rue Morgue Halloween Graveyard a Go-Go party. Every year the mag throws a huge bash at the Church at Berkley downtown, which is a massive church turned multi-level party space. You’ll note I went as post-possessed Father Karas from the Exorcist, while Alana went as post-pea puke Regan. I was gonna go as a Catholic Priest and she was gonna go as an altar boy, but it’s kinda hard to find an altar boy costume… especially when you’re not sure what one looks like.

The first shot has (top left to right) Brett, again, my partner in words Jovanka Vuckovic, and Rue Morgue creator and president Rod Gudino. Second row (left to right) has our office manager Audra, who also organized the party (with a small army of volunteers), world renown horror tattoo artist (and Jovanka’s boyfriend) Bob, Tomb Dragomir, who does Rue Morgue radio (available for download at the RM site) and DJ’d the party, and former RM employee Cass, who makes a great Poison Ivy.

Then you’ll see Alana giving the high sign with the Gore-Met (bloody apron) – our columnist who knows more about the history of Cannibal Holocaust than most people do about their own family histories – and my good buddy Paul Corupe, who writes for the mag and runs canuxploitation.com.

Below that is myself getting crucifix-humped in the mouth by Ken, one of our message board moderators, who drove in from Rochester to party and stayed at our place. He loves the mag so much, he got our logo tattooed on his forearm, which you can see, along with other pics from the party on the messages boards, under the thread “Rue Morgue Events” and then “Graveyard A Go-Go 2005” or here. Those are his contacts I’m wearing, which made little white halos in my peripheral vision all night. It was also the first time I’ve ever worn contacts, and come midnight my orbs felt like dusty corduroy.

Anyhow, then there’s me biting a cross while wearing a fuzzy black halo and having a toy gun pointed at my head. Why? Because the power of vodka compelled me, that’s why. Lastly, the two lads proudly displaying the devil horns are Brett and Gary. Gary rented a cool pirate costume, and Brett went as “Bretty Page,” hence the dress. Most of the pics shown are taken in the V.I.P. section of the party they had for us, which meant free food and booze all night. Despite this, I couldn’t help but carving a hole in a bible and tucking a flask of liquor in it. With a sold-out crowd of 1100+ it could be a bit of a wait for drinks.

And if you still want to see more Halloween costumed shenanigans, go to the boards under “General Horror” and click on Graveyard a Go-Go thread, precisely here, if the link works. You’ll find some amusing pics, including shots of the magic show, zombie burlesque, costume contest and bunch of performers using grinders and metal plates strapped to themselves to shoot sparks all over the place. Also look for the most excellent pics of the Pee-Wee and Jombi costumes.

Lastly, tonight on the main street by our place, a raccon with a limp was cruising around the sidewalk checking out the curbside garbage and paying very little attention to traffic and passersby. There's also a restaurant downtown where a family of 'em grew up and every night after dark they go down to the patio and root through the garbage cans while the beer drinkers look on. They work together – one hold the lid while another one dives for leftovers. And, this summer while drinking beer in friend's backyard, they were coming right up to us, running around on the garage roof and playing on the neighbour's porch swing. Soon, I fully expect one on a Vespa to cut me off in traffic, flipping me his little raccoon bird in the process. Fucker.

I don't know why we're all so sad! Things are great!

Gotta take it all in stride, my cool, non-real mom used to tell me when things got me down.
Hell, brutha, that's hot advice, too. And sista.

So, I'm back on the "not-fired" list at work. That doesn't mean I'm full-time, or even "cool-time," since that wouldn't make any sense. But I do have my Saturday shift back at My Daily Newspaper, and a whole lotta ammunition for the court case of the century.

you see, I think my being knocked down to "not full-time" is a misguided, stupid idea. Apparently, and this is going to involve a direct quote some time later, my boss was "beaming" when "they used your story (at the writing workshop held here by the canadian newspaper assn) and compared it to "the Herald's boring version." My story was used as an example of a good lede, and despite its other problems, was touted as a fine piece of journalism AT A WRITING WORKSHOP. This "beaming boss, the unbeknownst "Cark Florming," is the very same insertion-master who threatened to fire me. So I may have to go talk to him again. And by talk, I mean, makeup a fake courtroom situation in my head and pretend to debate and wrangle legally with him, while, in the same fantasy, making out with my new, almost entirely flawless new ladyfriend. Can you believe that?

"your honour," I'll say, taking a break from making out, "I'd like to present the following evidence. It's a crown, made of pure talent, that I wear inside my skull to supercharge my greatness."
With that, I'd lean over, begin to make out again, and enjoy the cooing and happy sighs from the members of the jury, who are so happy to see joy and contentment in their empty, jury-plagued lives.
"Yes, friends, I was shot with the cool gun, and yes, I am fatally wounded with cool. I have a mere 55 years left to live before coolness overtakes my system, taking my life and sending me to Heaven 2, the new Heaven currently under construction to house me and my Jesus-like ffriends who have as many powers as Jesus, but much cooler hats and pants."

Then, lifting my robotic legs from the ground, and stomping on everyone who was mean to me in high school, I'd rocket off into the sunset, my horse-like phallus trailing into the night. But my pants would be on, so you woulnd't see it. Also, there's a good chance that as a robot, I would no longer have a phallus, vis-a-vis the case of Robocop, who was half-man, half-machine, and all dickless because Clarence Bodiker shot it off.

I think this is a really stupid post.