The Cheeseblog

So. Either Modest Mouse has discovered melody and rhythm, or I have discovered the value in discordant music. I’ve been a hater of theirs since I heard the first shriek, years ago, with the “it’s all right all right on ice!!! it’s all right all right on ice!!”. Put the ice! In a drink! Drink it! Calm the fuck down!

Today I bought the new Modest Mouse album, it’s called “Good News for People who Like Bad News,” for Saint Aardvark, who put it on and then went out to buy a new screwdriver.
Urgh, I thought. Dumb Modest Mouse album and me up to the tips of my rubber gloves in dish soap. But then, there were lyrics and I could hear them and they were clever. And the boy who sings wasn’t shrieking and he wasn’t flat. Six songs later and I’m still impressed. There is still a giant wahhhhhhhhsssssshhhhhhhaaaaa !!! every now & again, but more, there is tune, harmony, melody, bass, and a concerted effort by the boy who sings to stay on tune.

The true test will be whether Saint Aardvark likes the album. Because if he doesn’t, that means Modest Mouse has become a palatable, different band and I have stayed (essentially) the same. (ie: good albums for people who like bad albums) If he does like it, of course, this means that I have become a person who can appreciate people who sing off tune and to the beat of a stuttering ice cream truck.

I’m actually okay with either of those options. Because I already know that I didn’t waste $13.99.

Also spotted – and actually fondled – in the London Drugs CD section, stocked by crackhead monkeys on parade; Barbie Pop Hits (or something quite like that title – I can’t find a reference to it on the ‘net.) It has a picture of Barbie on the cover and in tiny print below says, “songs performed by kids for kids.” And then the track list: “Hey Ya,” and I wish I could remember any of the other ones but my mind shut down and began to smoke with a noxious odour when I read “Hey Ya.” There were probably 20 tracks in total and they were all pop hits from last year. Oh yes, I remember seeing listed everyone’s favourite tune (by and) for kids, “(Hit me Baby) One more Time.”

I bought an “all over body crayon” today. I have written permission from Rimmel, (caution: deplorable use of Flash) who makes the crayon, to use it wherever I like; lips, eyes, arms, whatever. It’s such a relief to finally be able to speak honestly about what I do with eyeliner. There’s a reason most of you who know me have never seen me wearing eyeliner on my eyes. But you should see my secret, shameful handdrawn tattoos.

Speaking of tattoos, if I ever get one I want it to be from “Funhouse Tattoos” on Broadway.

Speaking of clowns, here is a description of a “handbag” I saw hanging from someone’s arm on the Skytrain Thursday morning:

About a foot wide and half a foot deep.
Handles.
A picture that looked like it had been printed on the bag from a photograph, you know the way you can take a
photo to the mall and they’ll screen print it or glue it or whatever onto a t shirt and presto! father’s day
gift? Yeah, like that.
The photo is a chihuahua’s head. Just the face and ears of a chihuahua.
The chihuahua is wearing a ruffly clown collar.
And a mini red bowler hat.

I dare you to find something more fucked up printed on a handbag.

What is also fucked up is how many chihuahuas I have seen in the past 6 hours. Something like five; all in different parts of the city. Was there a sale? Did Taco Bell go out of business?

Quick! To the border!

Here is something funny that Saint Aardvark found.

The catt pretends he is a hunter. Last night he caught his biggest, juiciest prey:

And he laughs with delight and anticipation for the delicious meals to come (the catt has a big freezer):

It’s La Petite Banane’s Birthday!

Dear Banane,

A warm welcome to outside-mom’s-body! I was delighted to learn of your extrEEEMEly speedy arrival this evening. I wish I had not been at a training session for my volunteer job, learning about ugly things, and could have instead been around to give you a big kiss. Maybe tomorrow.

I think Rob Brezny knew you were coming because he wrote the following words just in time for you to read them:

At this point in your journey, Gemini, your free will is a more important factor in determining your fate than the constraints of karma or the whims of the gods. I won’t waste your time, then, predicting what may or may not lie ahead. Instead, I’ll invite you to formulate self-fulfilling prophecies about the beautiful future you want to create. To help tease out your brainstorms, I offer you a few of the laws of life articulated by Hawaiian shaman Serge Kahili King: 1. The world is what you think it is. 2. There are no limits; everything is possible. 3. Energy flows where attention goes. 4. Now is the moment of power. 5. To love is to be happy. 6. All power comes from within.

Love,
Awntie Cheesefairy

Oh, potatoes are SO GOOD! For dinner I ate:

potatoes that had been boiled till tender, then fried in olive oil for 10 minutes, then had garlic and onion and salt (kosher salt) and pepper (fresh ground pepper) added then cooked for another 20 minutes.
Plus: an open-faced bacon, tomato, cheese sandwich with red onion for garnish, under the broiler for 10 minutes.

Is there anything else I need to do today? No, I don’t think so. I think I’m good. Oh, but look at this, it came in the mail:

She’s happy with their service. Looks kind of dirty to me.

Turns out I don’t have to sprinkle oil in my catt’s food to make him eat oil. He’ll eat it right off my finger.

This morning at 5:15, someone stalled his motorbike right outside our house and then spent five minutes wrenching the penultimate, gut-clenching kerrrrrummmmmmmrummmmmmmmrummmmmmmmrummmmmmm s out of it before taking it for a spin around the block a couple of times. If I ever find out who that person is, I will personally make sure he eats nothing but slightly stale shoes and watches nothing but Battlefield Earth (unless there is a Battlefield Earth II by then, because surely that will be worse) for all eternity.

In a cruel twist on the old knickers, my head has latched on to a line from Liz Phair’s only single from last year’s rotten-to-the-core album “Liz Phair”. The line where she sings, “Average everyday sane psycho SuperGoddess! Average everyday sane psycho….” The other day I heard a dj on Z95.3, which used to be the Total Station for Everyone but now is a somewhat sad bucket full of Three Hit Songs and A Commercial (A Britney, a Matchbox 20 and an Oldie, usually Prince), refer to Liz Phair as “the sexy Liz Phair – whooee have you seen the pictures on her website? Here’s her new hit single; Extraordinary!”

A less apt title I have never heard. Too bad Wesley Willis is dead. He would have written a very good song about Liz Phair.

Monkeysocks to that.

Dance the joy-dance; the Burnaby-Douglas NDP have selected a candidate to replace Svend Robinson. Bill Siksay was Svend’s assistant for 18 years AND he has a wolfhound. Even if I didn’t already believe in the NDP (because of their principles, their campaign colours and their overall Righteousness) I would vote for Bill in a stuttering heartbeat.

He has no photo of himself up on the web – granted I didn’t look very hard – which put him head, shoulders, knees and toes above his Conservative and Liberal competition. Who would you vote for, given those choices?

(on a side note, I didn’t expect to have such a violent reaction to Mr. Bill Cunningham but when I read his blog and looked at his 12-year old chubby cheeks I felt a rush of blood to my brain and an immediate desire to go knock down all his signs with a baseball bat. If he comes door-knocking at my house, I can’t promise I’ll be very interested in his table tennis advocacy or very polite about his [undoubtedly]short stature.)

Good gravy: look at the Conservative candidate for Barrie! He looks like Christian Bale in American Psycho for pete’s sake! His teeth match his tie!

Off to buy peanut butter now.