The Cheeseblog

It rains a lot in Vancouver, for various reasons. The rain sometimes reflects our proximity to the ocean, sometimes reminds us that we are a rain forest and should stop killing squirrls, sometimes really is the tears of previous socialist governments as they watch Gordo destroy everything they worked so hard to implement. (425 days!)

Consquently, radio and television folks must constantly cast about for new ways to say “it’s going to rain until June.” You’ll see a weather forecast for a week where Monday is showers, Tuesday is rain, Wednesday is drizzle, Thursday is clouds and precipitation, Friday is rain, heavy at times.

Today: Heavy mist.

Nice. Makes me think of Bladerunner.

Also

At noon almost every day, I watch the news. At half past noon there is a weather report. It’s the usual weather report, with the moving clouds and the highs and lows and the frontal systems and whatnot. At the end of the forecast, the weather guy (his name is Mark, I think) goes away and on the screen is a phone number. Mark says, “Talk to a registered meteorologist! Only $2.99 a minute! Sponsored by Environment Canada.”

What would you possibly ask for $2.99 a minute that you couldn’t get from a) the news b) the ‘net c) looking outside or d) if you’re really desperate, the Weather Channel, which, true to its name, broadcasts ONLY WEATHER all the time?

Maybe if you didn’t have b, c, or d, and all you had was Global TV, you’d want to know more. But how much must it suck for poor Mark the Weather Guy to put all that work into his weather report – with the live tower cam and the view of Richmond they show every day (like we care) and the interviewing children at petting zoos because it’s spring break – and then have to advise people that his report might not be accurate and they should really call a “professional” meteorologist. How demoralizing!

Now if it was a psychic/weather line, they might be onto something. Or psychic/weather/phone sex. All of that might be worth $2.99 a minute.
Call now, hot meteorologists are waiting for YOU!

Having trouble getting excited about The Making of America’s Next Top Business Shark? Has the buzz worn off, your favourite Apprentice got Fired, you don’t know if you can go on? Relax: there’s a remix . “You’re Ffffffired.”

Wave your hands in the air like you just don’t care. I know you don’t. It’s okay.

It reminds me a little of a song performed by William Shatner in a terrible movie called Free Enterprise. The song, “No Tears for Caesar” blends the “Friends, Romans, Countrymen” speech from Julius Caesar with singing Shatner, some fake-rapping Shatner and some actual rapping by some other guys. Oh, and a chorus: The evil that you do will come back to you, Don’t Cry Caesar. There’s an audio clip here, (listed under “Catalog”) which I didn’t listen to because 3 years later the song is still crystal clear in my head, thanks very much.

Hey, beware the Ides of March!

At the end of the movie, even though it’s a not a DVD, you get special features; an endless series of interviews, outtakes, “making of” nonsense and the crowning glory: a full-length video for “No Tears for Caesar”. Hoot!

According to the IMDb, Free Enterprise 2: My Big Geek Wedding is currently in production. Because if you make one crappy movie that 4 people saw, it makes sense to make a sequel. Although, considering Eric McCormack’s current fame, I wonder if he would stoop so low again.

Yeah, yeah, SciFis; keep it in your pants. I know it’s a cult film. I love Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. So I guess I suck too.

The End.

On the Early Edition, Rick Cluff is interviewing a leprechaun.

This little man has the worst Irish accent I have ever heard, including my own. It sounds like my Italian father imitating a leprechaun (not that he would ever do such a thing.)

I’m pretty sure my father is in Cuba right now. But then leprechauns do have magic powers, don’t they?

At least I know how to spell leprechaun now. I thought it was lePERchaun. I was wrong.

The other night as I was watching the incredibly disappointing “recap” episode of The Making of America’s Next Top Model, I saw a commercial for some brand of “female troubles product” whose sole reason for advertising itself was to let us know that it now comes packaged in a “less noisy wrapper.” I think it was Kotex, but a quick look at the red dot (is that anything like the T-Dot?) site revealed no such claim.

Kotex does have lots of other very funny products for sale, including the Kotex Security Regular Absorbency Tampons for days when the national security advisory is at orange level or below, and the Kotex Security Super Plus Absorbency Tampons (US Only..duh) for when the security advisory is more like MR PRESIDENT! THERE ARE TERRORISTS IN MY PANTS!

There wasn’t a lot of room for too much more indignation, what with the cheaping out of the ANTM episode, the rerun of Scrubs that was on (even though it was the very funny 2 episodes with Michael J. Fox) and the really windy day. I would have let it go but for the next commercial, for tampons (that’s beinggirl.ca where the title bar says “for girls and their issues”) with this 12 year old telling me if only I didn’t have to hamper my personal clothing style once a month I could get more lovin’ from the boys. There were several pre-teen girls in tight clothes, gallivanting on the beach and then one of them had to walk alone, wearing overalls, because she had her period. But with a tampon and a thong-liner (in black, to match her knickers) she could be just as tightly-clothed and beloved as her friends! Because being a girl rocks! Unless anyone finds out you’re being a girl! Shhhhhh!

No, that’s not new. I mean, I’m a mite surprised at how young the emancipated tampon users are in this commercial; they seem more like cereal commercial age. There’s not enough time in the world to sort through all the crappy tampon advertising. But then I started getting all wound up about the “less noisy wrapper.”

I just can’t understand why the great minds of our generation are holed up in labs engineering disposable dish cloths, low carb pancake mix and less noisy pad wrappers. To help us what – perpetuate the myth that women don’t bleed? So that women can hide FROM OTHER WOMEN (unless you’re in one of those co-ed public bathrooms…) the fact that they are bleeding and unwrapping a pad from a wrapper to stick into their undergarments? C’mon Kotex, you took a big step with the whole red dot thing. Until then, we all thought we were abnormal because the blood we bled wasn’t blue like in the commercials. Is it all just a game to you? Kimberly? Clark?

For fuck’s sake. Take your faux-empowerment and shove it up your hoo-hoo.

If you are a bleeding age female, do yourself a favour and check out the Keeper . It rules. Plus, the people who sell it will not try to convince you that you’re smelly, ugly, gross or otherwise un-fly. I think that’s polite.

Here does conclude my ranting.

My pants, my lovely pants. They are long enough for me and they are comfortable. They have pockets and beltloops. They are black with very faint white pinstripes. They fell on black days. They’ve felt the rain down in Africa. Their love don’t cost a thing.

Today, some things happened. First, I discovered that when you dress in pinstriped pants and a shirt with a collar and a sweater vest and carry a leather briefcase, the world is your oyster. People smile at you instead of looking away, drivers let you cross the street when it’s your turn because your heels are heeled in oxfords, not sneakers.

The man who sells you a tiny bottle of water for $1 shows no hint of scorn for your foolishness for paying so much for water. He knows you can afford it and he respects you for not caring. He calls you ma’am and bids you a good day.

The lingerie ladies at Sears say “good morning!” to you instead of frowning when you fondle the 70% off underwear. (one thing not purchased: a tanktop that said “tasty and delicious” with a glittery pineapple) They do not try to help you find your size. They trust that you are capable and competent in selecting your own undergarments. After all, your pants got the touch.

I felt like saying I’ll see you in court! every time I left a building. Or hand me my nose ring.

But – and I don’t mind this – even my superthreat pants can not prevent the people on public transit from talking to me. A man trying to make enough money for a coffee, with a jaw that did things no human jaw should do, told me many stories about his life, including the back story about the jaw. He got punched in the face by a guy who mistook him for another guy. He also told me I looked nice. He also said, “got no dough? go to the ‘ho!” a phrase I haven’t heard in quite a few years – probably since the last time I was at the ‘ho in question, being, of course, the Fabulous Ivanhoe Pub. Where beer is $1.50 a pint, the old men are fast with their pinching and the hipsters used to line up to enter until it became too mainstream and they moved on to the Old American.

Anyway, I am proud to announce that after almost a year without one, I have a job.

Despite this earthshattering news, here are some of the other things I did not buy today:

This Shoe
Or these ones, (for la petite banane, naturellment.)
Or Holy Crap! these ones.

Just wait till that first paycheque, though. Mama, I’m comin’ home.