Mawwij is what bwings us togethaw, today.

Peter Cook - Mawwiage

One year down, many moons to go. It is as they say: the first year goes by incredibly fast.

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Catch the bouquet


No man is an island

Heading to Victoria for a couple of days. While I'm gone you can ponder whether you love your iPod enough to machine an aluminum case for it.

Bulletproof iPod?



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This might be a good reason to get a PSP - NYC2123 is a single panel graphic novel made to be read on the Sony gaming device. You can read the issues, currently just number 1, online, and I wonder how it looks on the PSP's screen. Someone who has a PSP download this and tell me.

And of course it has a blog.

Coming soon

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An ad for some awards ceremony or other that gathered five of the most recognizable trailer voice-over artists (artists? voicer-overers?).

5 Men



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When I was 13, I had really bad hair. I mean, really bad hair. And I had big square glasses, and wore my jeans pin-rolled at the ankles, and dressed in baggy sweatshirts. So basically not too different than I am today.

Thus garbed I certainly didn't have the confidence to start a band, which is precisely what 11 and 13 year-old sisters Chloe and Asya did after they met Death Cab for Cutie drummer Jason McGerr (who is now their drum teacher). The girls have already toured with indie stalwarts Rilo Kiley, Mates of State, and no longer indie DCFC. Oh, and they also opened for little known rock band Pearl Jam.

Far from being a novelty act, they sound like a grade 8 version of Death from Above, 1979, with a little White Stripes and Fiery Furnaces thrown into the mix. Basically, they are way better than they have any right to be. I hate them. But their music kicks ass.

Smoosh - Massive Cure

Watch the sweet claymation video for Le Pump.

And listen to their interview on NPR, where you realize they really are just pre-teen girls. Stupid fucking talented assholes.

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Not too long ago, David Gray ruled the world. Seemed you couldn't take a shit without the percussive Babylon keeping you company. He was Coldplay before Coldplay was Coldplay - turning up in every movie trailer, attached to every television ad, playing on heavy rotation in the GAP. And then he put out an album of depressing, repetitive shite because his dad died, no one bought it, and he disappeared.

But he's back! You can't keep a good marketting idea down, and Mr. Gray has returned with an album chock-a-block full of ready for movie credits magic.

Watch him perform on Morning Becomes Eclectic.

David Gray - Hospital Food


Boing Boing is offering a cool $750,000 USD to anyone who can prove that Jesus isn't the son of Flying Spaghetti Monster. (thanks Plasticbag)

Ah, les Canjuns trez byen

Pitchfork has posted a glowing, almost patriotic review of Twin Cinema. Read it to find the answer to this probing insight:

"Twin Cinema doesn't just rebut [this] notion, it renders it ludicrous."

The New Pornographers - The Bones of an Idol

The New Pornographers - Sing Me Spanish Techno


Sing like ya Brit ya know

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The New Pornographers' Twin Cinema drops August 23. More Mass Romantic than Electric Version, the album sounds very British invasion - grab the Vespa, pick up your bird, pull on the skinny tie and fire down a pint.

The New Pornographers - Falling Through Your Clothes

The New Pornographers - Broken Beads


Take my wallet

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Let's imagine the sky is blue

eels - Jelly Dancers (from the Dimension Mix Tribute Album)

As Ryan recently reported, Ryan Adams has apparently lost his mind. Or maybe more accurately, has stopped being able to pretend he's sane. Those in Vancouver were treated to quite the show:

"Adams went visibly and incontestably nuts at the two-thirds mark, first threatening to punch someone in the face, then railing about the Internet, then bargaining with the crowd for a smoke break. He got it, and when he bounded back on-stage the man was reenergized, to say the least. Starting with a cover of “Wonderwall”, the manic version of Ryan Adams complained that the Commodore was filled with snakes (like New Mexico) and was apparently swarmed by invisible aphids during “Sylvia Plath”. He bitch-slapped his sound guy. “Ryan Adams!” he said, baiting the hapless knob-twiddler. “He’s so fucked up! He’s the end of music! It’s not my fault if they forgot to build a house at the end of the street, Mister Man!” This was one of a number of baffling speeches that he would make for the rest of the performance, though his second skirmish with the sound department was a little less equivocal.

“Dave!” he screamed. “What the fuck? Are you taking the night off?!” In fairness, Dave seemed to be doing a fine job while Adams, struggling to stay upright, was more or less engaged in relearning to play guitar. Later, bassist Catherine Popper would tell him to go fuck himself when he melodramatically called a halt to “Let It Ride”. It wasn’t necessary—Adams had already fucked himself quite comprehensively by that point."

Read the rest of the Georgia Straight review.

Ryan Adams - Now That You're Gone (recorded at the Kool Haus in Toronto. Listen to the end when he tells his sound guy that he would pull him out of a burning building, if only to be more like Ponyboy.)

Yesterday I went with Selina to see The Aristocrats, a documentary by Penn Jillette (of Penn and Teller) about the filthiest joke ever. For me there were too many talking heads - could have used something to break the monotony (comedians are not always attractive people). But the parts that were funny were knee-slapping, hold your stomach because it hurts funny.

If you go to the movie site you can submit your own telling and possibly end up on the DVD.

The funniest moment for me was Sarah Silverman sharing that she was actually in a version of the act, and ending with an inappropriate revelation as only Sarah Silverman can. Of course I might be biased, since she also told my favourite joke of all time when she appeared on Conan O'Brien.

"I was telling a friend that I had to serve jury duty and I wanted to get out of it. So my friend said ‘When they hand out the questionnaire, write something horribly offensive like “I hate chinks” then there’s no way they will choose you.' But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because I didn't want them to think I'm racist, so I wrote -- I love chinks. And who doesn't?"

What makes this joke even better was the awe-inspiring reaction from certain members of the Asian community, who managed to miss the point of the joke by a good country mile. Particularly amazing was Greg Aoki, then president of the ominously titled Media Action Network for Asian Americans, who claimed "chink" is "the worst thing you can possibly call a person of Chinese descent." I always thought the worst thing you could call me is a baby-eating, dog-fucking son of a toothless whore. Or something like that.


Can't unwatch it

Remember when I said Rubber Johnny was the scariest thing I'd ever seen? Well, I was wrong.

Goddess Bunny

Turns out the video isn't some horrible exploitation film, but the attempt by someone to deal with his fairly fucked up circumstance...

that doesn't make it any less scary.



All in...and your little dog too!

Not me.

One of these days I'm going to learn that when someone says "all in" I don't have to say, "Let's ride." I imagine this will be a long, hard-learned lesson..

Revolution in the Head has a bit torrent of an Elliott Smith cover album he compiled. Those not yet savvy with bit torrent--cough Ryan cough--can sample this cover of one of my favourite Beatles' songs.

Elliott Smith - For No One

Right now I'm trying to quickly finish A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which was number 1 on the list of books people are surprised to learn I haven't read. A typical conversation goes thusly:

Them: Kinda like Marvin the robot.

Me: Who?

Them: You don't know...haven't you read [aforementioned book]?

Me: Nope.

Them: But you quote Python...you understand irony and sarcasm.

So now I'm going to finish it and put an end to such banter. As I have been assured I would many times, I am really enjoying it.

Anyone else notice that this guy

and this guy

have the same name? Coincidence...or just the probability drive?


Cover thine head, lo cover it entire

Liking this hat:

Could be the winter option I've been looking for.

The poker page I started now has a stats page.

Only watch hockey for the fights? Here's your page.


Are those Queens in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

At Che's prompting I started a poker blog to chronicle the goings-on at the (hopefully) weekly poker game I'll be hosting. Or someone else will host. But weekly definitely. (Except on weeks when Lani doesn't work late.)

Anyway, the blog is All in 4 life; unsurprisingly "allin.blogspot.com" was taken - but not really used I notice.


Lani calls them whale music, and Radiohead list them as one of their favourite bands. Of course I am talking about Sigur Ros (you do know Sigur Ros, right?) Their new album Takk... is set to drop Sept. 13, so of course it's leaked over a month early.

Said the Gramaphone has a diagram for their last three albums and places this in the Pop/Glad camp. Still around is the Hopelandish, the high-pitched vocals, and the weird sounds. I give it More Than Your Average Intake of Milk.

Sigur Ros - Gong


Feathers of Mighty Justice

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Of interest to both law students and fans of old Hanna-Barbera cartoons, Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law is a crazy, 12-minute romp through the legal world of cartoon characters. The show makes inspired use of classic clips, and gets the most from its voice-actors (including Steven Colbert as Harvey's one-eyed boss).

Watch a clip of Shaggy and Scooby being pulled over by a cop (and seeming like the hippie lettuce aficiandos they are). (Courtesy of milkandcookies)

More leaks than the Titanic

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To celebrate the new and recently leaked Death Cab for Cutie album, Plans, here are two of the best covers...OF ALL TIME.

Iron & Wine - Such Great Heights
The Shins - We Will Become Silhouettes

As Fluxblog points out, there is a definite Phil-Colliness to the new work. (He has Different Names for the Same Thing up for download.)

But you be the judge:

Death Cab for Cutie - Soul Meets Body


The black chips are $100

It started innocently enough at a party when Kick, one of our hosts and the night's professional chef, told us he had a comp stay at the Venetian in Las Vegas. Somehow (details are fuzzy through Melanie's delicious and intoxicating beverages) this turned into an invitation for us to join them. A small craps table materialized and for the next hour we were taught "The Method" which, while not guaranteeing huge wins, did promise to mitigate huge losses. After a brief conference on the car ride home we decided Why not?, and just like that we were off to Vegas.

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Ahhhh...Las Vegas. Apparently when the Spanish named the area it was for some bushes a conquistador had stumbled across (this according to Ryan). Nary a bush nor tree was in evidence when we dropped out of the clouds and were presented with the spectacle of a giant glowing city in the middle of a dessert. The Luxor pyramid, its single beam of light shooting straight out the top like a demented beacon for aliens, dominated the view.

1. Before we reached Vegas we were told that we would need to see the Mac King show (click on Mac for a video of his show). "You'll love it," they told us, and offered up Melanie's picture with Mac as proof. After a little bribing of the doorman by Kick we were seated near the front and the show began. Mac King practices the kind of magic that was popular before we invaded the jungles looking for tigers with recessive gene patterns. He comes across as a slightly bumbling man in an oversized jacket, but this hides a deft magic touch and generous comic appeal. I don't want to give too much away, but one of his highlights involves a tent, a shadow puppet, and...well...you'll see.

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2. Gambling starts literally the moment you step off the plane and enter the airport. Even though I was expecting it it was a strange sight to see people pushing bills into these slot machines - couldn't they wait until they hit the strip? (Further inquiry would reveal that the slots were also the first smoking area).

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3. This might sound strange, but Vegas was almost...sterile. A lot of the seediness I had been expecting could only be found in Old Downtown, and even then a lot of it seems to have been washed out. To be honest it was a little disappointing. All hints of sexuality have been removed from the casinos on the strip; even the hookers stay indoors, their advertising tended to by an army of Mexican labourers handing out leaflets, cards, and the offer of "safe and clean" sex. Yikes.

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4. On the first night we stayed at the Imperial Palace, which has a hit-or-miss roster of celebrity impersonators. The Christina Aguilera was more miss. (The IP was also where we saw a woman walking around, both her breasts having escaped from her bikini top. Her boyfriend had somehow not noticed. Ahem.) For the next three nights we stayed at the Venetian, thanks to our friends Kick and Melanie. It is easily the most sumptuous hotel in which I have ever slept.

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On the last morning we managed to score one of the gazebos around the pool; that's Selina lying on the mattress.

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On the third floor of the Venetian is a replica of Venice, complete with a canal - the ride along it looked like slow torture and cost $12.50 per adult.

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5. Now that the Aladdin is renovating into...ugh...a Planet Hollywood, there are fewer and fewer hotels with dedicated themes that influence their entire design. The two best ones are New York, New York and Paris, Las Vegas. The facade of the Excalibur is still pretty cool.

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6. One of the many benefits of travelling to Vegas with Kick and Melanie is that they get you into shows for free. Les Folies Bergere, normally $60 per person, was such a show.


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This picture was taken shortly after we had won $180...and then lost $310. It was our first table in Las Vegas, right after we had gotten off the NY NY roller coaster (a must ride in my book.) We made the mistake of starting out at our highest limit right away, and soon learned why Vegas can run 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

However, after we shook that off we went down to 5 dollar and even 2 dollar tables, and slowly made the money back using Kick's system. (THIS PART REMOVED - CLUB MEMBERS ONLY)


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If you have children under the age of 21, and you bring them to Vegas - you are a bad parent. I don't care why you brought them, or that you take them on all the rides and let them stay at Circus Circus. You are a bad parent. After a while I stopped being surprised when I'd run into a couple pushing a freakin' stroller in the casino or out on the strip at 3 in the morning. It just happened too frequently.

Two of the guys we went down with played in a Black Jack tourney at Fitzgerald's in old Downtown. One of the guys was drinking and backing up when a voice yelled "Hey." He turned around and a woman was there with a stroller. "You almost ran into my baby." Now here is a guy gambling at two in the morning, beer in hand, being told to watch out for babies on a casino floor. While technically not as bad as simply abandoning the kid, it might be close. Awfully close.

Vegas + children under 21 = BAD PARENT

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7. That there is the sun rising the morning of our departure, after 6 hours of craps and five or so Tom Collins. I used to say that Las Vegas was the last place on earth I wanted to visit; now I'm counting airmiles and seeing when I can return. It certainly helps to have the right friends and guides, and in Kick and Melanie we had old pros. They showed us all the cool sights, nabbed us all the free stuff, and basically made the trip what it was. Without them it wouldn't have been half as fun, a quarter as interesting, or an eighth as kick ass. Kudos.

Viva Las Vegas indeed.

Anyone wanna go?


Bogies...12 o'clock...behind water cooler

As I work on a post about the Vegas trip (finally tally: up about $100), I thought you might enjoy some edumification.

How to kill with office supplies.

I think I've finally figured out how to use mac accounts to post mp3s. I can't wait to get sued by the RIAA.

Andrew Bird - A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left