The Cheeseblog

How is it that panhandlers and squeegie kids get fined for trying to make a buck but the woman who leapt out at me from the shadows and said, “DO YOU READ THE GLOBE AND MAIL!” while waving the paper at me goes unpunished?

At 2 am when the Nyquil was having the opposite of its desired (and advertised and previously experienced) effect, I had all kinds of great ideas to write about. But now it’s daytime and I don’t remember any of them. So you get a pathetic rant about sidewalks.

It doesn’t really bother me that three free daily news”pamphlets” have made their debut in the past two weeks in Vancouver. At least, I am trying not to let it bother me that I used to ejoy a 15 minute walk to work when I didn’t have to talk to anybody but now I have to say “no thank you” nonstop to the people pointing papers at me at every street corner and trolling the streets with their ball-caps and fleece vests, thrusting, pushing, offering. I can suck it up. Having returned recently from Mexico, I am still in the habit of politely refusing anything offered to me unless it is alcohol or food. Plus, I live in a city, therefore ambulances wake me at night, people ask me for change a lot and now, people offer me trashy newspapers every day, every 20 feet, even if I give them the evil eye and the squirrel scowl.

No, no but what really gets my goat is all of the above PLUS now the people who were already challenged by sidewalk etiquette are attempting to read their free papers, talk on their cell phones, drink their coffees and walk down the street all at the same time. Something’s gotta give and it isn’t the coffee.

As a co-worker pointed out: I do not own the sidewalk. However, you people – and you know who you are – with the sudden stopping to re-read that paragraph, the charging right at me then looking up at the last minute, seeing me, faking left – then right! – then left! – and worst of all, the sheepy meandering from one side of the sidewalk to the other are going to get such a kick in the head. And I mean some kicking. With some boots.

My new favourite blog.

Until today I had no idea how much genuine evil made up The Surreal Life. It was funny to me in a conceptual way, like, “losers on tv! ha!” but I had no intention of ever seeing the concept through to its end: the actual show.

But today when I was eating my lunch, the only things on TV were: curling, live broadcast of the Vatican and the plastic surgery show, so I watched The Surreal Life 3. That’s the one with the New Kid on the Block Jordan Knight, Flavor Flav, Brigitte Nielsen, some random hottie, Dave from Full House and a lunatic called Charo. Let me just say: I don’t remember the last time I actually hit myself in the head to lessen the pain while watching television.

In a quest to find out who the random hottie was and why Brigitte Nielsen counted for anything anymore and Woah! what’s a Charo? I learned the following fun facts, facts you probably have known about for months because you are all smart people who pay attention to all aspects of pop culture not just the aspects that actively affect you but that I will share with you nonetheless because I am flabbergoozled by them:

1. Flavor Flav and Brigitte Nielsen had their own spin-off show because they fell in love on the Surreal Life 3. The episode that I watched today was the one where they cuddle in a jacuzzi. SHUDDER SHUDDER SHUDDER. Brigitte Nielsen is 7 feet tall, as wide as my grimace and has knockers that could seriously injure those with compromised immunity. Flavor Flav still wears giant clocks around his neck, does not appear to have any of his real teeth and is the size of a vente Frappuccino. (Actually I think my co-worker tried to warn me about this months ago and I just put my fingers in my ears and hummed louder.) Apparently Brigitte married an Italian man in March of this year. It is my hope that Flav has gone back to school to learn how to dress and tell time from a wristwatch.

2. Ryan is the hottie’s name and she is the girl from American Idol who likes to Rock Them Out. She calls people “dog” a lot. She used to be inspired by torch singers like Ella Fitzgerald but then she discovered rock-n-roll and now she wants to be a big major rock star because a) where is the Pat Benatar of our generation and b) “why cant girls rock the stage too?” Valid questions, both.

3. Charo has been famous for 50 years and plays a mean flamenco guitar. She has a show in Las Vegas.

4. Jordan Knight is flabbier than when he was 15.

5. Reality TV is eating itself. Putting someone from American Idol on another reality show is one thing, but for The Surreal Life 4, they have harvested Adrianne Curry, America’s First Next Top Model. I guess the whole ANTM thing didn’t get her the fame she wanted. But HOY what’s next? Surreal Life 5, which stars America’s First Supermodel, Janice Dickinson, also known for her recent attempts to boost her own sagging career by viciously attacking the hopefuls on America’s Next Top Model as a judge.

There are some people? And they need to burn. That’s all I’m saying.

This story is really fun to read out loud. It’s about a man, his squirrel and the government that would try to separate them. Don’t worry: the good guys win.

In the Vancouver Sun today, one cover story started, “If Pope John Paul II dies, who will take over his duties?”

Wow! Is there a chance he might survive the septic shock, kidney and heart failure, Parkinson’s disease and old age he has been struggling with? Neato! Here I thought it was a done deal – you live, you get really really sick, you die, but apparently not.

I would like to suggest a reality show contest to choose the next pope. If there is any place in this world for outrageous tests of courage, intelligence and the ability to live a life of calm and peace while under constant public scrutiny, I think that place is in the Vatican to choose the next leader of the Catholic Church. Who cares if some random hottie can eat a doughnut full of rotten meat? I want to know what the potential pope would do when faced with such a dilemna. So a bunch of university-addled, publicity-hounding twits can create a meatball pizza and sell it in New York for money. Can the pope?

That said, I do hope Pope John Paul II’s body is released from its terrible endurance test and soon.