Monday, November 30, 2009

ask a horse.

how to survive an elementary school dance:

most of the songs will be fast ones. this is where you will learn to get jiggy for the first time.
unless you spend weekends at home in front of a mirror with your mom's lipstick and madonna.
not that i would know anything about that.

i might as well tell you now, that they will play at least 3 slow songs before they mercifully release you back to your mom and dad's house.
if you get asked to dance by a boy at least 1 time out of 3, those are good odds.

if you don't get asked, try grabbing the attention of a girlfriend nearby and engaging her in jovial conversation before anyone can ask her. make wild gestures and speak excitedly, so everyone knows that you are talking about something so important that you don't even notice the slow dance.

if that doesn't work and you end up (godforbid) the only girl NOT asked to dance by a boy, pretend you have a bladder infection and hide in the washroom. or better yet, fake a tummy ache and tell everyone later that you puked. again, not that i would have firsthand knowledge of this practice.

nothing is more embarassing than not being asked to dance. you don't even really care about boys that much. but at this point, saving face is more important than living to see grade nine and realizing that it is way cooler to skip dances and instead smoke half cigarettes while wearing copious amounts of black eyeliner.

we don't need no water.

banned books between 1990 and 1999.

judy blume is so fuckin cool.
she makes the list every time.

every time i think i should write a YA novel, i think of judy and realize what a bad idea that is.
you can't top judy so don't even try.

actually, louis sachar comes close.

lest we forget.

speaking of women who rock harder than men:

these 2 queens made mick look pawned.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

and i say "there will be change".

got a new job.

and after five months and sixteen days of lazy blogging this site is going to get a new look and some new contributors.

tommy croft is a vancouver-based photographer, and he's going to be donating some seriously sexy imagery (and occasionally selling his old clothes). hopefully all goes well and we can figure out this new scanner (technology today), AND how to code this god-forsaken blogger program.

later my lonely ponies.

women who rock: not an exhaustive list.

1. care failure -- die mannequin
2. brody dalle
3. shirley manson -- remember garbage?
4. courtney love -- love or hate her, the girl can rock harder than any dude.
5. melissa auf der maur -- fully recovered from swine flu, our montreal sweetheart with a sabbath soft spot.
6. peaches
7. karen o -- yeah yeah yeahs
8. kat bjelland -- babes in toyland
9. donita sparks -- L7
10. ani difranco
11. mia zapata -- the late, frontwoman for the gits
12. siouxsie sioux
13. chrissie hynde
14. yoshiko fujiyama -- 5,6,7,8s
15. theo kogan -- lunachick.    16. emily haines -- of metric, and soft skeletons 
17. juliette lewis -- of movies, and the licks!
18. wendy o. williams!
women are the best rock stars because of their periods.

seriously, though. women are the best rock stars because they are women.

even though rock was always a boys club, this list proves that women just do it better. probably because the only reason men ever rocked was because of women. if you look at it that way, rock always belonged to women. take any woman on that list. she will kick any guys ass. often in heels, to boot.

Monday, November 16, 2009


genre fiction is like junk food for the soul.

you can't only eat ice cream and chocolate bars
because if you do you WILL get fat and die of cancer.

i don't even really like sweets.

but i am a consumer of much junk for the soul.

i like to think of it as low-brow.

you can't JUST read v.c.andrews or watch sleepaway camp.

but don't tell me that you spend all your free time reading ulysses and virginia woolf either.
because that is a lie.

so do me a favour and stop pretending.

watch sleepaway camp, and read a cheesy
erotic romance novel.

preferably bdsm.