Psst - This account is getting spammed.

Why not check out my new shiny blog at http://mypairofpennies.blogspot.com/ ?

But ssshhhh! Don't tell anyone!

And verily in the time after the myspace time, after the days of the first new facebook, and the second new facebook, and onwards to the the fifteenth new facebook, the people of the land grew wrathful and lo, they became uncertain. In the time of the fifteenth new facebook, the people fell to the new idols of tumblr, and reddit, and the lord of facebook came down and wrote upon two tablets in the holiest of holy codes. Herein are the ten eight seven commandments of facebook.

1) Thou Shalt Not Riddle Thy Friend's Page with Useless Spam. And the lord spake and it was declared that cafeworld, zooworld, and farmville applications anger the lord almighty! Woe upon those who anger the lord of facebook with many useless petitions for aid or friends!

2) Thou Shalt Not Accept Friend Requests from Those Who You Do Not Know. And the Lord spake of the wrath at those who accept Friend Requests from the daemon known as spambots!

3) Thou Shall Honour the Picture that is of Thy Profile. Thou shalt not steal pictures from the angel XKCD, or Questionable Content. Woe upon those who steal.

4) Thou Shall Not Treat Facebook as a Free Daily Therapy Session. And the Lord spake of his annoyance at those who whine on facebook hourly.

5) Thou Shall Not Re-Post Statuses in Hopes of Additional Comments. And the Lord spake again and woe upon those who seek extra attention by re-posting thy previous status again and again!

6) Thou Shall Not Invite Thy Friends to Useless groups. And verily, it was said that those who send annoying invites will not receive redemption and there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth! And such.

7) Thou Shalt Not Send More Than Three Mass Messages a Week. And the lord doth spoke with great anger and malice of those who send mass messages.

Those of you who may know me, (and you all know me because who else reads this? Hi Katelyn!) know that rumors of a possible election make me angry, and usually turn  me into a rhetoric/spittle spewing monster. "Rageelectionraaarghblurghno!Liberals!"

This reaction, of course, makes little or no sense to many of my friends as my friends are (and here I am, calling you all out) in the group that have the highest voter apathy. Go us. No, it's something ridiculous, like eighteen percent. There's an earlier entry bitching out elections Canada for their failure regarding our on-campus voting. But that doesn't excuse the rest of you!

Now, my big thing is that at the end of the day, something like thirty percent of us show up to vote. If you look throughout history, the major revolutions of the past hundred years have so often come down to the right to have fair and democratic elections. Women in Afghanistan were beaten for stepping outside their homes without a proper male escort. University educated women gave birth to daughters who will possibly never be able to spell their names, and all because their country was run by people who don't believe in the concepts of basic human rights and freedoms.

My issue is, in downtown Calgary we have a massive set of statues commemorating the famous five. No one ever seems to know what they did, or who they are. I'm not even asking for names, I'm just asking for people to know that they are the famous five. These women fought for a cause along with hundreds and thousands of others. These women faced  being socially ostracized in a time where society was everything, they were beaten in the streets, and it seems that roughly seventy percent of us don't care.

If I ever had cause to believe that feminism is a dying beast, it's when I see that there are women in Canada who willingly choose not to vote. These women were willing to give their lives, they believed in the cause so deeply, but you can't take fifteen minutes out of your day and go vote? Don't make excuses, because I frankly don't care.

Yes, I understand that you don't like who you have to chose from, they maybe you should try being more invovled rather than fighting unhappiness with apathy.

Frankly, at the end of the day, you can make any excuse you want, but you're only making them to yourself.

Dear Readers,

I appreciate that you might not be reading this as you are no longer loyal to me and my frantic-then-apathetic update schedule. Please be assured, I am saddened by you not reading this. Also. To those of you who ARE reading this, welcome back! Hope your summer was lovely as mine was :)

This term continues to be busy, but I'm ok with that. I'm willing to be busy and make the non-committal promise of possibly updating once in a while. But in all honesty, I'm going to try.

With that being said, let's all crash headlong into a brick wall of rambling as we all have fun on the not-new, but totally updated blog! That is this particular blog. And not another blog that someone else writes.

So. What should I write about?

As all  proper Canadians do, I have recently gone through a massive love affair with the CBC radio. The only difference between me and the majority of Canadians in their love affair is that I am legally able to drive at night and can pee without assistance. This isn't to say that all people who listen to the CBC radio religiously are old, just that most of them are. 

Despite my original misgivings about listening to the CBC a lot, it came to me one day that I had spent three days listening to nothing but internet radio, and then my iPod in my car. If it wasn't for my habit of reading the BBC news, CBC news, and the Australian online, I would have no idea what was going on. And frankly, as far as Calgary went, I had no clue. Allegedly there was some world skills, and a mall, and some bridge or something. I was lost. Lost, in my own city, and that to me, was unacceptable. What to do? Brave the lol disc jockey? Listen to adverts interspaced with the occasional song?

No. It was time to tune in to the CBC. Yes, the Canadian Broadcasting Company... corporation?

Whatever. The problem came about a week and a half in when I realized in sheer pants wetting terror (but I didn't, because I still can keep my pee in my bladder - last pee comment, I swear) that I was actually enjoying the CBC- I liked their witty little tales! I enjoyed chuckling along with the radio hosts (radio hosts - how classy is that!) as they regaled us with tales of their children's tantrums. I like vinyl cafe! (But who the hell doesn't?) But worst of all, I seriously considered calling in to the show when they asked to hear from us. I emailed them instead, so as to be much more cool.

And in the end, what happened? I moved to my university city again, and set the presets in my car (which had never been there) and once again, number one preset was the CBC. Yes, number two is still my iPod station, but who cares?

What I'm trying to say is, I didn't die from listening to the CBC. I genuinely enjoyed it, I was informed on my city, introduced to new music, some of which I really enjoyed,  but also - god forbid- I learned a little more about the world around me.

Yes people, I'm a CBC radio fan. And I'm not ashamed!

It is the hope of  almost every parent in Canada that their child will grow up to be loving and sensitive, and appreciate the finer things in life, like classical music. This hope is generally dashed around the point that the parent realizes that in realizing this goal, their children have become punching bags for everyone in the school, including the debate kids, or that their child is so into R and B or (god forbid) rap that they honestly believe that 'ho is a legitimate word. While parents dreams die a slow and painful death, I can offer this: maybe, when the child is out of high school, and done with the politics that comes with it, they'll get so frustrated and annoyed with the godawful music played on the radio that they will stumble blindly across the CBC in hopes that their ears will stop bleeding long enough to stick a Q-tip in them and they will find that the CBC plays classical, yes, but it also plays new and exciting music that demands to be listened to, experts that are worth caring about, and DJs, sorry no, Radio Hosts that don't annoy the hell out of us. Parents, your child might find this, and you might find that present number one in their car is their iPod thing, but present number two is CBC radio 2. Just keep holding in there!

http://www.cbc.ca/listen/

Danielle Steel currently has 580 Million books in print.

Allow me to re-iterate that. FIVE HUNDRED EIGHTY MILLION books in print.

Upon considering this statistic, one cannot help but come to the conclusion that Danielle Steel is in fact a robot created to write romance novels.

And everyone reads Danielle Steel, if the backs of her novels are to be considered. Mathematically, this does not make sense as there is fewer books in print then there are people on the planet.  Naturally, this means that those people who are not reading Danielle Steel are sleeper agents who are in fact robots who have in fact already had the entire past, present, and future books of Danielle Steel implanted in their brains.

What does this mean, people?

That's right! Danielle Steel is trying to rule the world with love! LOVE, people! For the love of all that is good and holy on this world, we cannot, by the Hammer of Thor let this happen!

If Danielle Steel accomplishes her mission of happiness and love, all of a sudden our biggest fears will no longer be North Korea and Iran's nuclear agenda, or global warming, or even the little green martians that are set to attack any day now. No. It will be a far greater problem. If Danielle Steel wins her war of joy, peace, and serenity, we'll all be looking for love, and the worst part is, they'll be in all the RIGHT places.

Let me put it this way. If Danielle Steel wins, there will be no more lonely thirty-something women. This means that the sales of low fat popcorn, flannel pj's, wine spritzers, and Ben and Jerry's will collapse. Domestic house cats, currently the only cats in the world that are not on the endangered or threatened list (now you know) will become extinct. Bars will empty and movie theatres will fill to capacity with twice the amount of people every Friday night! In fact, dinner without reservations on weekends will become such a laughable concept that restaurants will have three maitree de on staff in case someone asks to be seated without reservations and they DIE laughing.

Gentlemen, consider this. As appealing as lack of cats may sound, consider that once Danielle takes over, you'll be expected to be wonderful and charming and committed... ALL THE TIME. No more breif flirtations, no more never calling her back, no more late night hookups. Nope. You're on the line. All the time.

Danielle Steel is trying to corrupt our way of life. Through her novels, and new perfume line (Believe in Happy Endings, she says) she is trying to convince us that there is a chance we can ALL be... happy.

And that, dear readers, is something we simply cannot have.

Think of the cats dear readers, think of the cats.

Last night I went to an Indie show. I won't tell you which bands were playing, because I don't want to Indie mafia to piece it together and figure out who I am and then arrive at your door and force you in the most socially awkward way to tell you where my secret lair is located. They may be socially awkward, but they have ways of making you talk.

Regardless of the peril I have placed myself in going to said show, I have come away with first hand research of this strange and unique group of individuals. Or indie-viduals, if you will.

So here, dear readers, is a first hand account of my first indie show. The terrors contained in this article are all true (or as true as my truths are), but I feel it is my duty to share it with the world.

The day began with my friend lamenting her inability to find someone to go to the show with her. I of course did not understand that this was what she was lamenting, as the jumble of words she sent me via text message more closely resembled a grade one child's attempt at re-creating the works of Shakespeare. In Martian. So all of a sudden, I found myself being told that some magical doors would open at half eight and if it would be all right if I drove. Of course, my natural English major's intuition kicked in and I proceeded to pretend I knew what was going on.

It was upon arriving at the downtown legion that I realized that there was going to be a concert. Yes, those confusing words that my friend excitedly were not the ramblings of another insane English major attempting to find meaning in an experimental poem, they were the lineup! My intense satisfaction of figuring out this riddle that rivalled Hadrian's knot was short lived as I suddenly noticed something odd.

The room was rank with the scent of social awkwardness. Not just the usual Canadian variety of social awkwardness, this was more like grade-ten-new high-school awkward. The only problem was that these people were all eighteen plus! They were my age, and some of them were older. I had suddenly become the brassiest person in the room. Everyone in the room were like slightly sedated ducks, who when people walked around them, they quietly moved away so as not to actually come in physical contact. These people made up the only audience where I could get to the middle of the floor without touching anyone. AFTER the band had started to play. What is with that?

Despite my confusion, my friend was there to act as a guide.
"You just have to lean on the wall and look at everyone with distain" 
"But why? I'm not mad at anyone. Why are they mad at me?"
"They're not mad at you."
"Then why are we giving distainful looks?"
"Because that's the way we do it."
"... but.... but..."
"Just try"
"Right"
"NO NO! Don't actually make eye contact!"
"But... Why?"
"Because that's how we do it"

And so on.

When the "music" (I'll explain the quotations later) actually started, people began to rock out and I felt completly at home. Wait. No. People stood and slightly bobbed their head in time to the "music". Suddenly, though, two girls right in front of me began to writhe in some strange form of an upright seizure. I rushed forwards in an attempt to provide first aid, when my friend suddenly grabbed my arm and explained that this was the indie kid's version of dancing. I was confused and strangely mesmerized by their off-beat twitching.

Needless to say I did not dance like that.

Now, about the "music" - the first band that played was obviously some sort of a litmus test for non-indie kids. The band consisted of three guys who assulted instruments until they cried in pain - and the true indie kids did not flee. I cowered in the corner, but as no one makes eye contact, no one noticed me.

The point was, being the brassiest person in the room, I suddenly found this "no eye contact" thing rather off-putting. Me and my friend thusly decided to turn indie concert culture on it's head. We made a game of it. A point for every extended eye contact, ten for members of the band, two points if you get the same person on different floors. 

The concert became much more fun after this point.

My friend actually managed to make a tall, hat wearing man flee his position on the floor. This wasn't a huge loss as his spot was quickly filled in by several other tall-hat-wearing men. I got several awkward stares when I forced us both to dance. And I mean do mean dance, not twitch rapidly. We of course, did not keep score, because that would just ruin the purpose of the game (to sow the seeds of social discontent), but at the end of the night we called it a tie. She managed to get a mini conversation and an introduction and someone blew me a kiss.

Yeah, we showed those indie kids a good time.

Reflecting upon my time with the Indie-viduals, I realized that they are the only group of people where this sort of game would make any sense. This is the only group of people where my ability to hold eye contact immediatly identifies me as some sort of frightening extrovert. These are the only group of people who are more socially awkward than Canadians as a whole. This is the only group of people in the world where having a polite conversation in line up at the bar is very rude.

Yes, we may have terrified some of them, but I got a handful of ten points, and really at then end of the day, that's all that matters. I mean, that and making the indie-viduals quiver in fear. That's pretty rad as well.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an announcement to make.

I am madly, truly, deeply in love.

With Bacon.

In fact, I was originally cast in this commercial: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ug_iluxQ1IQ&NR=1 until they realized that it was in fact for dogs and they took me to get my stomach pumped. I didn't go willingly, but they eventually sedated me enough to get it done. (On a random note, I still think the TV coming on and stating that Bacon is popular is the funniest thing since ever)

Let's be honest here, if there was an award for awesome food, it would always go down to bacon. (Cheese would come in a close second, but close only counts in horseshoes, you know).

Bacon is the ultimate food simply because it's awesome. It has no pretentions about what it is, it's simply a hunk of meat that is, in the long run, trying to kill us all. And I'm ok with that.

Bacon cannot be replaced with anything but bacon - soy and turkey are just sad imitations of a really good thing.

And there is no reason why bacon should be replaced with cheap imitations, it simply should be accepted and loved for what it is - fatty hunks of animal flesh that we consume.

Mmmm

You know what? Why am I even writing this? I could be eating bacon, and to be honest, that's what you should be doing too.

That is a happy face, ladies and gentlemen.

After four years of legally being able to drive, I have finally bunked down and put a "NEW DRIVER" sign on the back of my car. Yes, I suppose this may seem like a bit of a regression, but in a sense, I am a new driver.

And it's all because of that terrifying third pedal that is part of my new car.

No, I'm not a wimp (read: that is as much of a lie as the cake is), but somewhere in between here and now someone must have decided to create standard only to scare people like me.

And it's working.

Let's all be honest here, there is a reason why people started driving automatics. It's because otherwise we're forced to pay attention to such dull things as pedestrians, other drivers, and god forbid what's on the road ahead of us. Automatics were designed so we as drivers can simultaneously text, change the radio station, and talk to our passengers loudly with wild hand motions. We as a culture are no longer used to having to pay attention while driving.

And you know what? The main reason standard is so scary to learn is because all of a sudden, we have to pay attention to the road. And the road is really freaking scary.

Before I digress so far from my original point that I can no longer hear the far cries of the shores of logic, I should state my point. Which, upon writing that sentence I realize I have yet to actually state, which wouldn't be a bad thing if I didn't just allude to it. Although I was never really fully briefed on the idea to allusions. I mean, we all know that this article SHOULD have a point, and the idea of having a point is assumed so can we allude to something that we assume to be there? Why am I am English major? Maybe I should sit in a corner and not think about these things because someone might actually READ this blog and kick me out. Then I would have to go be a Kines major or something and fake being athletic. And we all know how badly that would end. But I bet if Lindsay Lohan did a movie with the same plot SOME twelve year old girl would go watch it. But like I was saying, the point of it all is. Wait. What? NO! BAD CHRISTINA BAD!

The point I'm trying to make here is that learning standard is scary. Scary enough that I put a "NEW DRIVER" sign on the back of my car, despite the fact that in the medieval era the amount of time I have been driving would constitute half the life span of an average person. My point, dear readers, is that what I'm trying to learn here scares me.

And it's not because we're all bad drivers. Just a lot of us are.

No, I'm scared because it's new and learning new things is scary. And that's all right, but what I am asking is for you, my fellow drivers, to be nice on the roads. It's not just about not honking when I stall at the intersection. Yes, I know, you really want to get through the four way, but NO ONE ELSE IS THERE. It's not just about not flipping me the bird when I have the audacity to go fifty through a construction zone. (Here's a hint: you're supposed to go fifty in a construction zone). It's not even about not cutting me off. I know you're all very busy people who have very busy lives. But I'm taking the time to wound my ego and put up a "NEW DRIVER" sign on the back of my car, could you take a couple seconds and just back off?

Let me be plain. It is not nice to scare the new drivers. They're letting you know that they panic, so you don't have to sit there wondering why this person is going the speed limit and stopping at all the four way stops. People like me who put "NEW DRIVER" signs on their car don't want to parade the fact that "oooh! Look at me! I got my licensce! " We know you're not impressed, because YOU all have them too. We know you're not impressed with our ability to answer several multiple choice questions correctly. The point here is that you know why I'm going the speed limit, stop being a jerk about it.

So here I am, a sort of new driver here asking you all to please please please just be nice on the roads.

(Disclaimer: in all honesty, I'm getting the standard thing, I haven't stalled in a while, and I've never stalled in downtown or during rush hour. My issue is with people who are jerks to people on the road. Huh. I guess THAT was my point.)

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/7988035.stm

Ah, I see yet another great threat to humanity is being released. First we're not allowing people to be detained indefinitely in Guantanamo without trial and now we're letting shoe-throwing journalists with no prior crime record out in less time than originally promised?!

WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO?!

But honestly, not to get up on my high and mighty horse here, but they JAILED the guy? Whatever you want to say about how amazing/crappy/stupid Bush was (and please go to a political forum, if you want to say something) it is going a bit far to jail someone who tossed a shoe at him.

Now let it be known, it's not a very nice thing to do, and generally not acceptable. But at that point in time, he was pretty much done in office anyways, and pies were getting to be a bit too cliched. I mean, what with Ralph Klein getting pied everytime he sets foot outdoors. Granted that new guy who is pretty awkward, you know whateverhisnameis has managed to avoiding pie-ing as far as I know.

There is something about being able to throw things at the people who we elect. There is a REASON we vote these people in. It's so we can throw stuff at them. And then spend the night in jail for doing so. I'm not saying we should be allowed to throw anythng at political figures, but all I'm saying is that if I ever do go into politics, and let's all hope for the sake of us all that I don't, I'm not going to be the one pressing charges whenever someone throws whipped cream or footwear at me.

No, I think the clearest method of checking ones approval rating is walking around town. If you manage to avoid a pie to the face, good on you. 

And you know, I would just find it funny if someone pie-d Stephen Harper.

Am I a terrible person? Yes.

But don't say that you weren't thinking it either.

"Unattended children have the potential to be a HUGE distraction in the theatre. When a child is bored or restless, they will do as they please. We thank those of you who are responsible parents. Educate your children on appropriate theatre behavior."
-http://www.moviemill.com/

THANK YOU, Movie Mill! Not only do you provide a clean movie theatre with cheap movies, many of which I actually WANT to see, you have the balls to say what all of us normal people are thinking.

Were you offended by that? If you were, it's probably a sign that your children are little monsters (understand here, I'm being nice. "Monsters" was not the original word in that sentence.) I know I've ranted about this before, but I'm right, so I reserve the right to bitch about it until someone fixes the problem.

I understand you may be busy, I understand that it is hard to raise a child, but just because it's hard doesn't mean you have the right to subject the rest of us to the shrieks and wails of your child.

Let me be clear. This isn't directed to those of you who have kids who have temper tantrums, who are tired and freak out or whatever. No. This is directed at the parents who honestly believe that everyone else on the planet worships the sugar-encrusted little jerks who have never been taught that there is an inside and outside voice. This is directed at the parents who believe that the eardrum splitting banshee calls from their offspring are honestly endearing to everyone in a fifty kilometer radius. This is directed at the parents who believe their child is so precious and amazing that they can ignore everyone else's comfort and enjoyment simply for the sake of allowing little whatevertheirnameis to vocalize fully how much they really want whatever it is they are whining about.

Let me say this to you, if you are that type of parent. On behalf of the rest of the world, let me say, we are not amused. 

Children are lovely and wonderful gifts that can bring light and love to many people and many lives. By allowing your child to run rampant through the theatre, shrieking madly, the rest of us are not thinking about how wonderful and lovely your child is. No, we are thinking other thoughts, such as the best way to drop kick you off a coulee, or if we could launch popcorn out our straw fast enough to knock some bloody sense into you.

And it's not just the theatre. Busses, trains, airports, restaraunts, places of worship, swimming pools, rollerrinks, grocery stores, and coffee shops are all  places that we do not want you to let your child run rampant. We don't want to hear them. We don't care if you think we do. Because frankly, we don't.

Also, on the planes, trains, and automobiles thread, don't let your kid play with my hair, especially if I've pulled it away. I don't want to be picking out sticky shit for weeks afterward. YOU may find that an enjoyable passtime, but I sure as heck don't. Yeah, babies grab, and I can understand that. But a six year old should have the capacity to understand the concept of "Don't touch that random person's hair, especially after she's given mummy the death glare." If I got lollipop spittle in your kid's hair, you wouldn't just smile serenley with that "aren't they adorable" look. No, you would call the cops for molestation, so why do I have to sit there and take it?!

If I cared about your child, I would engage your child. If not, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that we don't want to deal with your offspring. If this concept offends you, maybe I should start wailing in YOUR ear when you're trying to watch a movie. I'm sure you wouldn't be smiling then.

Let me sum up: Control your offspring! No one wants to hear them!

Seriously people. Let me enjoy my stupid lattee in peace!