Showing posts with label Zombies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zombies. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

156 Lines About 26 Letters: Your Local 2013 in Review

This is a thing that I do, sometimes. Once a year, say, give or take. This is a thing that happens.

You and yours have a safe and happy New Year's tonight, and I hope that you will enjoy:

156 Lines About 26 Letters: Your Local 2013 in Review.

[---]

A is for Audit, the fire hall brief
that ended both a CAO and a Chief;
though its Arrival took a lengthy vacation,
it blew quite a hole in our Administration.
For how long they'd delayed in hopes we'd forgot it,
one really could not have asked more of the Audit.

B is for Blueprints, doctored when Bought;
in a vast web the home Buyers were caught
when the inspector claiming their plans certified
also went through his own company on the side.
When a conflict of interest inquiry was led,
the inspector in question retired instead.

C is for Centreport, swiftly improving--
just two more years 'til it maybe starts moving!
It straddles two RMs; the Province has banned
the City from simply annexing the land.
In striking a waste plan success was implied,
but they still can't run water on the Rosser side.

D for Delete, as a web owner might;
y'know that "Responsible Winnipeg" site?
A 'grassroots' lobby, council'd later decry it
when its ownership traced back to Katz and Russ Wyatt.
The site's now Deleted -- which is too bad, because
we'll never know what "Another Initiative" was.

E for Employees; the City has many,
but when asked for numbers we can't produce any.
Pressed for an official staffing amount,
Mike Ruta said it'd take two months to count.
Could be in the millions! Could be in the tens!
Awkward for the budgets on which this depen's.

F for Fringe Fest, where this year the plays
most Famously Featured some ass mayonnaise;
each year seems to bring more bizarre escalation
in the struggle for key word-of-mouth motivation.
When scoping out shows, 'tis usually best
to just smile and nod politely at the Fringe Fest.

G is for Gaming Centre; not a casino!
Oh, it may offer blackjack and roulette and Keno
but when First Nations wanted casinos, we'd stated
no more because Winnipeg's too saturated.
True North's 'Gaming Centre', though -- just the right fix!
It's not favouritism, it's just... linguistics.

H is for Harvey, the Smith everpresent,
delighting in making his peers' lives unpleasant
by impishly doling ward allowance treats,
by cheering Joe Chan and by renaming streets.
On t-shirts they print him, in pumpkins they carve he--
most lucky for folks trying to rhyme things with "Harvey".

I for Ignorance of do-gooder whites,
and Infidel Atheist awkward soundbytes;
an IG Field launch that clogged every road,
Inner-city centres left to implode
and that one burst of Swandel wisdom to live by:
"blah blah I me-me I, me-me I I."

J is for Jurors, twelve people in all
who were grabbed around lunchtime at Cityplace mall;
rare statutes allow for sheriffs to so trouble you,
should you be in line at that one A&W.
Only one was needed, so don't be unnerved;
this wasn't how Justice is usually served.

K is for Keyser, who chided the mayor
for bad politics and ethical beha'iour;
despite this, to depose him she found no basis,
largely 'cause Chan filed in all the wrong ways-es.
And with that decision she put down her foot,
rend'ring Joe Chan's case and budget Kaput.

L for the Liberal Leadership race,
marked by internal outrage and disgrace
that a fake Bob Axworthy Twitter should exist;
no one seemed to care, but it hurt, they insist.
When a parody Twitter is the most that folks know,
there's nowhere but up for your party to go.

M for Mayoral, a living Museum
of candidates crowding to make sure you see 'em.
Bowman, Fielding, Havixbeck, Orlikow,
Steeves, Wasylycia-Leis -- and still you know
even more names may yet emerge, in the event
the Mayor's polling stays around twenty percent.

N is for Ninety, our main airport Route,
a most fascinatingly ugly commute
but Nothing, the Commerce Chamber did resolve,
that seven million bucks of fence wouldn't solve!
Their Chamber Way, alas, was proposed in vain,
so we'll still have to see those two blocks of back lane.

O is for Overrun; it's bad advice
to promise a "Guaranteed Maximum Price"
when the claim's accuracy is sorely diminished
by learning the blueprints weren't yet one-third finished.
Our new police HQ still nowhere near done,
thus far it's an $80-million Overrun.

P for the Provincial tax, PST,
a wound self-inflicted by the NDP --
support for the hike perhaps partly impeded
when they couldn't commit to a reason it's needed.
The Public thus far has declared this as folly,
the worst Polling seen by the Party since Pawley.

Q for how Quietly city heads left;
a vanishing Taz left the townsfolk bereft.
We've still no straight answers why Douglas was fired,
or Sheegl paid $240K once "retired";
Winnipeg's elevated to an art
its conspicuous Quiet when top brass depart.

R for Ray Rybachuk, quite the newsmaker;
a Royal-Albert-restaurant-tantrum-taker,
Teasers-chainsawer and associate of hoods,
one day found mysteriously dead in the woods.
His legacy surely will gain second look
should we ever write an Elmore-Leonard-esque book.

S is for Specialty Plates; that's our jam!
With five this year alone, we've been going ham;
one for Goldeyes, one for Fish Futures too,
one that only added "Bienvenue",
one for Curlers, and one for old car buffs.
And look for more next year! These still ain't enuffs.

T is for Target; it's finally here!
That drive to the States always seemed so severe—-
but what's this? Our interest immediately depleted;
CANADIAN prices! Ugh, we feel cheated!
No, sir, this new Target just ain't our scene.
(But it's nice that you folks made this Zellers so clean.)

U is for UFC, Ultimate Fighting;
a pay-per-view coming seemed very exciting
in a place with such loose violence and fashion credos
that sweatpants with TapouT shirts count as tuxedos.
Fans packed the rafters, a full sellout draw,
for what might be the worst card the sport ever saw.

V is the Roman numeral for five
years since Brian Sinclair was last seen alive;
found dead waiting at HSC in '08,
a '13 inquest is an oddly long wait.
And only now they note -- well, isn't that weird! --
their security footage of his death's disappeared.

W, Water, the talk of the town
when the taps began pouring a rainbow of brown --
all hues, tints and shades, a full range of corrosion
from 'lightest of beiges' to 'fecal explosion'.
But if we want people to move here, perhaps
we should be able to offer clear water from taps.

X is the crossing-off of things departed,
a full list won't fit but here's one that I'd started:
Kelekis, Gio's, the Tallest Poppy too,
the Parkade, Arkadash, Boo at the Zoo,
Dalnavert, Paddlewheel, Paddlewheel Queen--
this goes on for twelve lines, but you get what I mean.

Y is for Years, as 140 we turned;
for commemoration the cityfolk Yearned
but our brave leadership instead welcomed the day
by stonewalling quietly 'til it went away.
By 150, perhaps, we might honour our name
with a swelling of pride and not a vague sense of shame.

And Z is for Zombie Walk, this year now laid
to rest if our governments weren't getting paid
for the trouble of people downtown, such a mess --
there's no greater curse in this town than success --
so the route held nary a Zombie in sight,
downtown quite ironically dead on that night.

[---]

Happy New Year, everyone!

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Manitoba Links Weekly: Exploring the Past (ManLinkWeek 2)



By the time you read this I will be in Oak Lake, between Virden and Brandon and far enough away that the grocery store maintains a full selection of Roughriders merchandise. Starting a weekly feature the week before I wouldn't be here was kind of a dumb idea, in retrospect, but I think you'll find plenty to enjoy in these links regardless.

[Community of Oak Lake: Did You Know Oak Lake Centennial Feature]
"Our first Mayor was Robin Hood! Then he drowned, childless, at the age of 45." These and other cheerfully poignant, quietly unsettling small town facts await you!

[Kert Gartner: 1960s Winnipeg Life on 8mm Film]
Oh, wow, this. Local photographer and animator Kert Gartner spent an entire weekend digitally transferring piles and piles of his grandparents' old 8mm reels, and basically it's all amazing, so be prepared to drop some serious viewing time into this and his accompanying YouTube account. The 1969 Winnipeg Santa Claus Parade? Twenty-four minutes of The Pas in 1970? Forty-year-old Red River Ex footage? Bring it on.

[Markosun's Blog: Russian language map of Canada]
This is tremendous by itself -- a little bigger and it would have made terrific desktop wallpaper -- but it's infinitely more fascinating if you're the type to daydream about science fiction or alternate histories. And I would totally buy from a line of "Виннипег" shirts, I won't lie to you and pretend that I wouldn't. (What's the Russian for "One Great City"?)

[winnipegzombies YouTube: Undead Fire Performers (2011 Winnipeg Zombie Walk)]
undead are weak against fire, this is bullshit
The "BRAINS! BRAINS!" chant about three minutes in, taken together with the drum music and the wide circle of people and the sporadic bursts of fire, must have been a real hoot if any passersby were unaware that the Zombie Walk was that night.

[Uptown Magazine: Intra-Winnipeggian Tourism]
Yo, it's my feature, I get self-promotional perks. You ever notice how little we know or hear about the less-discussed neighbourhoods of our fair city? New development is only covered when it happens downtown or in the southern reaches of town, and older neighbourhoods are only mentioned when someone gets shot in them, so entire giant segments of the city are complete mysteries to a lot of people. Everything east of Main or St. Anne's is just the Mint and some French people, and anything north of Portage is just hey guess what you're dead. Alas.

[Twitter: Fake MLCC (likkermart)]
"Get 15 Air Miles when you buy a bottle of Some Wine You Never Heard Of. Limited time only."
"Even though we put up signs about being undrunk, we still want you to get shittttttaaaay!"
"We are pleased to announce we have some new beers. We're just not sure what, or where it is."
If you Twitter-follow one parody account of a Crown Corporation this month, make it the plastic-bottled ersatz publicity machine of our provincial hooch monopoly.

[scottbathgate.com: WELCOME TO SCOTT-BATHGATE LTD. HOME OF NUTTY CLUB & FOOD CLUB PRODUCTS]
I know I brought this up on Winnipeg Cat last year, but holy shit, get a load of that. Somehow, out of all the links this week, this one just feels like it's the oldest, and at the same time feels like somebody laced the Nutty Club raspberry drops with peyote and then fed them to an Angelfire site.

That's it for this week's installment; I'll be back in town tomorrow afternoon for Winnipeg Internet Pundits, and I'll have more ManLinkWeek for you same time next week!

Saturday, March 01, 2008

The Revenge of This is How People Find Me

I'm going over the various Spirited Energy-related news reports from the past week with a mixture of open disdain and awed outrage; within the next few hours I should have a handy recap up for you folks.

In the meantime! A routine check of the ol' hit counter has once again left me with bouts of helpless giggling. Through some sort of trickery or tomfoolery, unsuspecting internet folk were led here for:

-- goose behavior
-- football game that's on now
-- james howard, san diego chargers
-- core strength liuhe quan
-- it's a lovely day for a murder
-- winnipeg police mascot cuffs the dog
-- ugly buildings winnipeg
-- gary larson the dam bursts
-- parappa fan fiction
-- unicity cab winnipeg
-- make zombie noise
-- burton cummings mean spirited
-- kern-hill sucks
-- moses mayes sucks
-- citytv sucks winnipeg
-- i hate the new jersey devils
-- stephane dion grover muppet
-- slurpee come on baby come and give me a kiss

Dude, are you... uh... are you coming on to my Slurpee? I know I said you could have some, but come on. No tongue. That's gross.

Monday, January 21, 2008

The Return of This is How People Find Me

You've seen me do this before, albeit not for a few months.

So let me sate your curiosity! Or at least my own!

I've already mentioned these--

-- yahoo interruption of service
-- gary doer speechwriter
-- xs cargo mp3s
-- kate pierson eyeware
-- why slurpees are so good

--but I hadn't mentioned these others, which are just as entertaining to me. No, folks, I'm probably not what you're thinking of when you're after:

-- fyxx explosion
-- kyle wellwood party
-- ross mcgowan centreventure cellphone
-- murder gary larson
-- zombie polo park
-- the greatest thing whatever happened in wwe.com
-- eyebrow piercing pembina hwy
-- 7-eleven strange things mp3 blog
-- lyrics slurpee -ben -lee -kottonmouth -amey -donnas
-- investors group annoying
-- manitoba provincial stuff
-- on election day, i stay home. voting is meaningless george carlin
-- kern hill furniture hours
-- lost husky story winnipeg free press
-- manitoba spirited energy what font?

...that's a good question, actually. Damn, now I wanna know that!

And I already know Google doesn't have the answer, since the search led someone here -- so I may have to raid various word processors and font sites, if the idea sticks with me. Man, the fun I could have with that typeset!

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Raarh Search Search Search

Slurpees and Murder is thrilled to announce its inclusion among the ranks of Manitoba Blogs!

I've been meaning for a while now to do a post about other Winnipeg blogs (post preview: they exist and you should totally read them); I'll probably still end up doing that at some point, if only because a bunch of the ones I read aren't yet listed at the above location. That'll be the same time I get around to revising the links section on the sidebar, because those are the same three links I threw on there the day I started writing here and one of them is technically obsolete.

(Upon examing the Manitoba Blogs site and the blogroll therein, you too may have noticed that the blog titled 'Spirited Energy' is completely blank. I don't know whether the comedy in that is intentional or serendipitous, but man.)

And while I'm busy being thrilled about default accolades that involved no particular effort on my part -- Slurpees and Murder is thrilled to announce its status as the number one search result on Google for the word 'Raarh'!

Yee-ahh! That's right, baby! However briefly it lasts, I am the definitive internet authority on zombie noise!

So pay attention, because I've got the floor for this one:



Raarh
interj.
1. Used to express anger or hunger. Primarily employed after zombification, as it is one of the few sounds a zombie can properly form.
2. Used to express any base emotion or instinct after zombification.

n.
The onomatopoeic characteristic howl of a zombie.

inter.v. raarhing, raarhed, raarhs
To make the characteristic howl of a zombie.



Well, I've made my mark on the English language! Slurpees and Murder: fun and informative!

I was going to post this song on titular merit whether I was writing about Winnipeg or about zombies, so since I'm on both subjects it serves doubly well:

Thunderbirds Are Now! - Eat This City [buy]

This is the music that current-generation Sonic the Hedgehog would hear in his head if he were running at top speed through a metropolis lit ablaze and infested with zombie robots or robot zombies. I am sure of this.

Be sure to tune in for our next exciting installment! I'm not sure what the timetable is on the next update, because Manitoba Hydro is upgrading transformers near our area tomorrow and we won't have power for most of the day. But do drop by eventually anyway! Because I'll have a riveting piece for your reading pleasure, about -- wait for it -- a package of markers I bought!

Yes! Really!

Thursday, February 22, 2007

For the Record: Les Zombis et Les Loups-Garous

OKAY GUYS CHANGE OF PLANS.

I know I concluded my last post by tipping my hand, a little; I said I intended my next entry to be about either Spirited Energy or Rod Bruinooge.

And those were my intentions! Even the best intentions, however, are subject to shifting when something suitably significant surfaces as a subject.

(I am given to brief bouts of alliteration. Humour me.)

Remember, my plan was to see which of the two choices would be the first to trigger my hilariously impotent and indignant rage. (I suspect this is likely how Tom Brodbeck does his writing, too -- except for the part where I've admitted to actually experiencing happiness about anything ever.) But neither one had emerged as a clear frontrunner, yet, and then they were both sidelined yesterday during a trip to Into the Music.

As I mentioned last post, I got a record player last Christmas; I had a surprisingly large pile or records even before then, in a series of plot contrivances that I can always tell you about later. And (as I also mentioned last post) now that I can combine my record player and my computer to form a neat new toy, well, a neat new toy needs neat new accessories.

Celebratory record shopping! Off I went after work to Into the Music, where I happily puttered around before buying a few cheap items. And, as you may or may not already know, a purchase of $5 or more at Into the Music grants you the opportunity to take a free item of your choice from the box of unwanted stuff sitting in front of the counter. (Assuming there's anything in there that you would want, of course -- hence my referring to it as a box of unwanted stuff.)

Fortune smiled upon me that fine day, for in that box I found something that has made me a very happy man. (If Tom Brodbeck ever writes 'I am a very happy man' in the Winnipeg Sun, I will buy all of my readers a delicious Slurpee.) Indeed, as my free item, in that box I found:



Be honest. This is what you would have taken, too, if you were there at the time.

This 1979 album, Raffi's third LP, features a variety of similarly minded small-time Canadian artists and was produced by a young Daniel Lanois (!). And it predates his breakout Baby Beluga album by a year, meaning this is the Raffi stuff that nobody knows about. Hell, I sure didn't. And it's too bad that I didn't, too!

See, in recent years, Raffi has transmogrified himself into a successful global-political activist and philosopher. He's released a worldbeat album; he's worked alongside at least half a dozen non-governmental organizations; he's called out Rogers Wireless for their shameless marketing towards children; he's written the theme song for David Suzuki's current tour, with David Suzuki as a background singer; he's performed for Nelson Mandela; he's established a new philosophy based on improving living conditions for children worldwide; he's even compiled and edited a book about said philosophy that includes contributions by Barbara Kingsolver, Lloyd Axworthy, and the Dalai Lama. He refers to himself as a global troubador, and -- unless Bono or someone seriously steps their game up -- he might be the only man on the planet who can justifiably get away with calling himself that.

(To quote Tom Lehrer: "It's people like that who make you realize how little you've accomplished.")

But this is way before all of that. When tasked with thinking of early Raffi, people think of Baby Beluga; when tasked with thinking of pre-Baby Beluga Raffi, they picture a seemingly infinite expanse of pure white where nothing ever existed.

So it's Raffi, you might say. It's Raffi before people liked Raffi. Big deal. What, you might ask of me, is your excitement here?

Well, now! This is also a song in French, and my love for songs in languages I don't necessarily understand has been previously documented.

Hearing that, you might well still ask, so what? Of course he recorded some stuff in French; he was, after all, operating in the Canadian music scene. English or French, it's still Raffi, in this case Raffi in his indieearly years.

And that is true. But.



This is not just Raffi. And this is not just Raffi singing in French.

This is Raffi, singing in French, about zombies.

Raffi - Les Zombis et Les Loups-Garous [buy (on CD) | official site]

Zombies! God damn! This is awesome!

I am not lying to you when I swear that this song, from the moment I popped it on my stereo, has remained at the forefront of my brain right through to the time I am spending right now typing these words. It certainly made the hours fly by at work, I can tell you that. (A particularly cute office girl now thinks that I'm a lunatic -- but I am a lunatic, so I suppose it all evens out.)

The liner notes credit the writer of the song as being 'Bill Russell', possibly the same Bill Russell who was one of the foremost authorities on early New Orleans jazz. I can easily imagine this song having originally been a Louisiana tune, what with the mythology all its own that the area cultivated for centuries. Zombies? Werewolves? French lyrics? From New Orleans? Yeah, I can buy that.

These are the times when, briefly, I regret not becoming an academic; there are some subjects, like these, that I feel like I could happily study and chase for my entire life without ever getting bored or losing my passion for them. This feeling passes quickly, of course, because I then remember that no institution would ever voluntarily support me on these sorts of ideas; the kinds of topics I find interesting enough to publish about would be considered kooky even by modern university standards. C'est la vie.

And to think -- even with the seemingly inescapable prominence of Raffi amongst children's musicians, this song never once grazed my childhood. I had never heard this song before yesterday, I had never even heard of this song before yesterday, and if you had tried to tell me about it before yesterday I would have sworn you were making the whole thing up just to be mean to me. How did I finally find it? Entirely by luck and by chance, buying a completely unrelated album at Into the Music and just picking the right day to look in the box of unwanted stuff. My luck is not nearly that good, normally; such is the power of Raffi.

Raffi is love. And one day Raffi is going to save us all. Just you watch.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Raarh Chomp Chomp Raarh

It's no secret at all, and I don't mind telling you straight up: a Monday-to-Friday, eight-to-four work schedule is kicking my ass.

This is the one arrangement I've never had before in my entire life, and the adjustment process has been slow and eerily similar to zombification. I wear nice shirts to work now, business casual to the letter in demeanor as well as dress, and I make better money than I've ever made before. But as a tradeoff most of my time is spent groggy or unconscious, and I'm beginning to think I can actually smell the delicious brains of people around me -- sumptuous and tender, zesty and tangy, some people say that the human brain is 90% unused anyway, I swear if I could just have a nibble of -- no! No, I must be strong. Inner strength! It helps to think of it as like being on a diet.

If it seems as though I've got zombies on the brain (...wow, uh... pun unintended), I must insist on blaming XS Cargo.

That's right, you heard me. XS Cargo. Damn you, XS Cargo!

Some background, first. I've mentioned previously my love for the Xbox 360 game Dead Rising, and that love has not diminished much at all in the interval since then. The game, you see, drops your character into a mall that -- as per the grand George Romero tradition -- has been completely overrun with zombies.

George A. Romero's 1978 film Dawn of the Dead, which is arguably the greatest anything having to do with zombies that anybody has ever made, carried with it subtle underlying messages about American materialism. The protagonists barricade themselves in an empty shopping mall as their shelter from the zombies and soon take the opportunity to indulge themselves with whatever they want, ultimately realizing after a few months that their sanctuary is little better than shiny toys masking a living hell they are unable to escape. And the zombies, despite the loss of their human consciousness, swarm by the hundreds to the mall because it stands as the only thing they can now remember being important to them -- glassy-eyed wandering and unnecessary consumption remaining the order of the day, but in a different capacity. The mindless hordes are prevented from entering the mall that forms the remaining substance of their lives, and the people still alive enough to hold higher priorities are held desperate and helpless to escape the confines of their consumer prison.

And yet, despite their intentions to find a way out, the protagonists later feel an intense determination to keep the mall for themselves when another group of humans tries to enter it -- even though, by this point, there are no meaningful reasons whatsoever to have anything there. The main priority of everybody involved should be the continuing slaughter of human civilization and the horrible state of the world going on outside their current borders, rather than their seemingly insatiable drive to expand their holdings and keep their shiny toys for themselves. Alas not, and everybody involved suffers dearly for it.

(Did you read all of that up there? Seriously? Wow. I love you too!)

So! All that being said, what -- if anything -- does this have to do with the Polo Park area liquidation store XS Cargo?

Well! The Dead Rising logo features the silhouette of a zombie in front of bold and capitalized text:



Given this knowledge, and given my by now very obvious affection for zombie lore, you can understand my reaction when I saw this past weekend's XS Cargo flier:



Can you blame me, really, for being the slightest bit taken aback? Honestly! Now that I look more closely at it, that's even using the same font!

And the worst part? God help me, those silhouettes are all business casual!

I drag myself up and out each weekday, dressed nicely but severely limited in my cognitive ability, boarding a bus in the night far before any sign of the sun can be seen. I shamble and stumble through the day, exerting little intellectual activity as I paw and scrape through the rote repetition of the same tasks I performed the workday before. And yes, working downtown has meant I've been spending more money than I did before; with the comparatively vast increase in salary from my previous job, the occasional casual purchase now has less thought involved.

What do I make of this? Was this design choice as blatantly on purpose as it appears to be? Is the universe employing some bizarre meta-literary twist, foreshadowing my horrible zombified demise to me through a newspaper flier?




No. No, no, that's nonsense. Clearly this is all entirely coincidental. My imagination is just running away with me now! Ha ha! I should just ease up, think about other things, and try to distract myself by viewing the terrific bargains available in the



Okay. That's it. I give up entirely.

Odds - Eat My Brain [buy]
James A. Johnston - Advance of the Zombies (Viscera) [unreleased -- info]
The Aquabats! - Fashion Zombies! [buy]

BRAINS

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Raarh Chomp Chomp Chomp

I miss the good old days when I had time to write about things. (Granted, I can't seem to remember when said good old days actually were -- but I'm sure I had some!)

My work week consists of working the graveyard shift four days in a row, having one day off, working an afternoon shift, and then having one day off before repeating the process. The days off are on Tuesday and Thursday. So, as you can imagine, I never get to do anything -- and this extended far across the spectrum of Grey Cup activities that most other Winnipeg folk got to enjoy over last week. Rest assured that I sat and was bitter about this. Most notably, the 54-40 and Tom Cochrane concerts were scheduled on the same night at the same time -- and then I had to work that night, preventing me from seeing either if I'd even thought I could choose between them. That's low, fate! That's just dirty!

Hell, I was so tired that I stayed in bed on Sunday and slept through the actual Grey Cup game in its entirety; then again, from the sound of things, the game was kind of a yawner anyway. The only thing I did get to go out and see was the combination Grey Cup-Santa Claus parade on Saturday; I was at the tail end of it, which meant that the parade had neither the Grey Cup nor Santa Claus. Whoops.

Trusty antique digital camera in hand, I took quite a few pictures of the parade; I figured I'd get the chance at some point to write about the parade, and so I've been waiting since Saturday for any choice bit of time I could get my hands on. I'd also been meaning to write about the upcoming Tokyo Police Club show on November 26th (which, as I understand, may also feature Australian band The Grates -- who I adore, by the way), about Western Canadian alienation and disfranchisement vis a vis the current Federal Conservative government and the Canadian Wheat Board, about at least half a dozen different bands, and about how much I hate the Jumble printed in each Winnipeg Free Press. (Not to give too much of the future piece away, but here is a small teaser: I hate the Jumble a lot.)

Then my roommate bought an Xbox 360. And every waking moment of my free time has since been poured into a rental copy of Dead Rising, a marvellous video game extravaganza of zombies and improvised violence and faithful genre exercises.

So, for both those of you keeping track at home -- my best intentions and best laid plans are FOILED AGAIN. Foiled by digital zombies, of all things. (Note to self: start punk band immediately, name band 'Digital Zombies'. This plan cannot fail.)

Yes, I assure you (and myself), at some point I will get the opportunity to write up what I want; times like these make me yearn for a laptop, especially given the increasingly decrepit state of my five-year-old (!) eMachines (!!) desktop relic. In the meantime, allow me to pass along one of my favourite selections from the Dead Rising soundtrack:

Lifeseeker - Gone Guru [soundtrack does not exist for purchase -- go buy the game]

Ah, yeah, that's the stuff.

I'll grant that, yes, the guitar riff owes absolutely everything to Rush, and that yes, this song is about six years too late to take its rightful place as somebody's ECW entrance theme. Despite myself, I've been cheerily disregarding these very salient points; somehow the song completely grew on me while I was fighting through vast crowds of zombies in a picturesque mall park while escaped prison inmates tried to run my little guy over with an armed military vehicle. Sometimes songs just work, y'know? As far as I am concerned this is one of those times.



Oh, man, are my parade comments ever going to seem dated by the time I get around to writing them. Such are the pitfalls I face!