A Spanish Tale

A friend of mine with a fun name to say, told me a great story last night, and as without me the internet and my memory would otherwise be deprived of said story I will spread the good word here and now.


So I (well he, but stories are better in the first person) was brushing my teeth getting ready for work while my mother was making me a tea in the kitchen. My one of four brothers, the only one who looks like me, was sharing the bathroom space also getting ready for work. Brushing away I am, and as I look down to do the traditional spit and wipe, what do I see before my eyes but something small and black wiggling its way up the drain pipe.

Low and behold it is a small black fish that has swam up the drain and now lays flopping in the base of my bathroom sink. In utter disgust I didnt know what else to do, but yell for mommy, which naturally spurns my brothers attention which warrants a "Holy Shit a fish; where did that come from?" My mother comes in the room, takes one look into the sink, nearly faints and says "Thats it were moving". She goes back to the kitchen comes back with the kettle which was intended for my tea and tells me to kill it.

Now I'm usually quite the lover of all creatures, where I would normally not hurt an helpless vertebrate, but cmon, the thing swam up my drain pipe was all black and grosse and looked like it had legs coming out of the side of its face; and were it not for its dependency on water would of most likely attacked me given a swim friendly environment. So of course, out of partial fear, confusion, and my mommy telling me so, I take the boiling kettle and pour the water over the fish; which proceeds to wiggle a little more than die.

Just then my yougest brother walks in the room, looks into the sink and screams; OSCAR, oh no, YOU KILLED OSCAR; YOU MURDERER: right in my face.

Turns out the day before my brother had been cleaning his black siamese fighting fish in the sink, lost control, and poor ole Oscar fell down the drain but got caught on whatever it is catches a fish in the drain. Thanks to the water from my brushing of teeth, Oscar was able to harness the strength and will power to swim up the drain and lay helpless ready for rescue in the basin. However, he looked so beaten up, that the legs coming out of his head were just those whiskery things that siamese fighting fish have, and his blackness was heightened from the sludge of the sink.

Poor Oscar is dead now and so to mourn his death, my mom took us all out for Fish and Chips tonight; it was yummy.


Thank you for that Francisco; this story and your name are indeed fun to say.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, June 30, 2005 |

Male Ducks, Boy Cows, and a wet Queen Elizabeth.

I only just realized that one of the nicest things of having gone to university in London for four years is that at a school of 30,000 some odd students roughly twenty nine thousand seven hundred and eighty two of 'em are from the Toronto area. I went out last night with a beautifully darlin' Carrie, and we had an really amazing time, sweating our asses off in what was a superb tuesday night party palace on Queen west. We hit up the Drake first and ran into numerous friends from London who I had not seen in a while. A great novelty of the program we all took at Western (MIT) was that your friends branched across a six year minimum scale, as everyone was very tight knit which resulted in a 26 to 18 age bracket of social get-a-longs. After the drake we made our way to the black bull for a last drink and a awkward interaction with a street meat vender who dispensed wet change, so nasty, and proceeded to take miss Carrie home. Fantastic tuesday, who wants to do it again some time?

One of the greatest novelties of having bought a new car is that my desire to rid myself of 'burban life for that of the city can take somewhat of a fast track as I save up for my new loft on queen west in the fall sometime: Oh to be typically toronto artsey, how I thirst for you. But for now, yes (Paige this is for you) indeed, when I say Toronto I do mean the entire GTA, but in defence of my elitist friends I can understand why one might only consider the core of Toronto (of which Paige you reside without; but I wont type that too loudly;)) the true city, for if not for my gusto to mobilize, a new palendromed C I V I C, and an incredibly attractive offer to hang out with miss Carrie (gorgeous that girl is) I would not get into the city nearly as often on a tuesday as I might like.

Nevertheless, I have been booting the twenty minutes down the gorgeous drive if empty DVP, and having a ton of fun on the days which elitist Toronto ladies caress as free from the burbanite influx that occur on thursdays and fridays. Its fun to have a city outlet even if you have to go home to sleep in a cookie cut land like that of east east east so far east Toronto.

Okay, its Whitby, its outside the fuking GTA but like I can see the sign, so fakoff.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Wednesday, June 29, 2005 |

you lucky fuks

I found this secret at postsecret.blogspot.com and quietly think to myself, well until I post it here, that it was indeed written by one of my much beloved friends. There are many reasons as to why, one being that I have a lot of close girlfriends and more importantly have lent out my fair share of clothing; we can all thank fat eano for that ladies. But also and more importantly I know I smell fantastic, in fact it is most likely my most complimented element of self.

The trick is my four step process to smelling good, which yes, in due time will lead to some form of cancer, but for now leaves me with best smelling male at any public arena status; which I adore. I will reveal here and now never to be spoke of again the secret. If you are male, and fortunate enough to read this post before it becomes an archived never to be clicked on again entry, I tell you here and now to embrace the system; why? Because it will get you laid of course!

Step 1: My black friends in highschool taught me this and I can't believe I'm letting the cat out of the bag; but its babypowder. Thats right regular old Johnson's babypowder. It really does make sense though, women love babies, and babies smell good when they are phreshly doused with baby powder. So give yourself a sprinkling to get the ladies hearts a tinkling: sorry the rhyme was unnecessary I know.

Step 2: Anti-persperent: Notice how I did not say deodorant, for this is a very important distinction. I prefer this new power strip makeanodifference stuff that smells pretty good and works well in the summer.

Step 3: A mild up the arm down the chest spritz of Axe or competitive brand. I go for Kilo, and it smells the best but do as you will, just don't go overboard.

Step 4: Now that you are the Ozone's worst enemy, when going out your final dousing of man'smell'good is a cologne of choice. I have a cycle of 3 at the moment, a nautica, a hugo boss, and most frequently mainly for nights where Paige comes out 'cause her noticing pushes this habit further ;), is Dolce & Gabana, for the gino in all of us. One spray on each side of the neck, followed by an open-aired walkthrough and the game has begun.

I figured on the wake of pride weekend in Toronto I oughtta write something afeminite and so what better than a culturally beneficial post of how to better your stank asses.

peas!

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Tuesday, June 28, 2005 |

ain't nothing finer than the liner

According to BBC news the American Supreme Court has ruled that file sharing companies are to blame for what PC users do with their software. This news only adds to the difficulty that pilfering free sounds off the web will no doubt lead to in the near future.

I have never been one for downloading, and sure, some may blame the fact that my computational assets havnt exactly reached a par where downloading could be much fun for me: I have no IPod and no real cd burner on my business only digital typewriter of a laptop; but it was free so fakoff.

Regarldess, this new ruling by the powers that be could really dampen the world of free music outside the powerful bit torrent servers that seem to be the cat's-ass (yes, five months of waiting to use the term the cat's-ass and its happened) in musical piracy.

Now I am not going to argue against musical piracy, one because pirates are possibly one of the top five highest grossing halloween costumes of all time (a holiday which human kind needs); two, because frankly I don't give a shit how you get a hold of your music, just as long as you are in fact listening to music; and three, I am not exactly the best example for a law bidding protector of 'the man's' righteous code to be speaking against a means of scammin' the system.

However, this new ruling sure does make buying cd's easier, with less hassle, and a soul fulfilling experience to boot than that of downloading. "A soul fulfilling experience" you say, well I will explain.

Owning that which is authentic to the artist's production is one of the most unknown senses of reward available to mankind. It has nothing to do with consumption and capital gain, for me, there is something unique and special about having the art and liner notes that accompany the original album. It is the sense of owning true art, not copies; the painting instead of the print. Baudrillard would wet himself right now. My inner eye, which peers deep into the future, sees a world where the art contained within cd's may in fact be the next big musical antiquity for the popular music lover for a future of bits and bites that we are swallowing ourselves in.

There is some inherent wealth in the soul, when you have the liner notes and band photos or accompanied artists work when listening to an album. Some raw piece of artistic connection to your band that no java screen could ever give you off your pod or itunes.

I have budgeted fifty bucks of every paycheck to buying three new albums bi-weekly which I must admit is the most rewarding purchase I have allocated myself, over any 2005 civic, beer, beer, vodka, or beer!


werd : clef!

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, June 27, 2005 |

What if Juan Guzman had a band?

Would Kelly Gruber play drums?

I was searching images of the new Rogers Centre for the next post about how much fun the Jays game was last night and this image came up in the first ten googled (yes its a verb) images so I figured I'd investigate.

The Soft Machine was never a commercial enterprise and indeed still remains unknown even to many listeners that came of age during the late '60s, when the group was at their peak. In their own way, however, they were one of the more influential bands of their era, and certainly one of the most influential underground ones. One of the original British psychedelic groups, they were also instrumental in the birth of both progressive rock and jazz-rock.

Along with Pink Floyd and Tomorrow, The Soft Machine were one of the very first underground psychedelic bands in Britain, and quickly became well loved in the burgeoning London psychedelic underground.

With a title track called Out-Bloody-Rageous theres no doubt these late sixties predecessors of all that is trippy knew how to beat the Vietnam blues. Im not sure what relevance they have to the Toronto Blue Jays, other than I think the Soft Machine was Dave Steib's nickname, but they deserve a Rogers Centre pics search hit just as much as any other first generation triprock representative.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Friday, June 24, 2005 |

Nina and Billie can cruise with me anytime

You'd think on the morrow following the purchase of my new car I would write something about the multi hundred kilometre boot we took into the city to meet up with some friends; but NAHHH!

Let me tell ya, the 2005 palendrome nation is a great ride but more importantly it has a cd player, and though I dont write about it often on this journal I adore music, varied music, and especially music that you stumble upon which you handnt expected to all of a sudden be a top five in the collection.

The first stop I made after picking up my new black executive chariot was a stop to Sunrise records. Now unfortunately a chain store pushing indy image like Sunrise is the best source for music in the ole Whit-b-of eh; but I made do!

I picked up three albums which I have decided will become my budgeted hobby every new paycheck. I grabbed the Bloc Party's summer anthem album; the new EP from Magneta Lane called Constant Lover, which if you like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs is a must listen; and finally a little gem of a album called Verve Remixed/Unmixed 3.

Now this little nugget of musical bliss was discovered upon randomly in an HMV at the Toronto financial centre a while back when I was "doing" lunch with a buddy that works at BMO head "im a big ass building" office. Isnt it amazing when you are in a music store and the album they are playing over the crowd is actually good, and unheard of, at which point you ask about and take a brief listen promising to buy it later when you have some cash on you.

I bought it yesterday not really knowing what I stumbled upon. What is Verve Remixed 3 you ask; well it takes classic jazz artists from years past and has modern artists remix the old tunes for a somewhat flighty electronica jazz medley of utopic musical harmony; sorry!

But thats not all, see the album was 14 bucks, and alone the 13 remixes by artists like Postal Service, Danger Mouse and RJD2 (to name a few) would of been worth it, but even better, is that this album comes complete with a second cd featuring the original tracks remixed on the first album. I am so in to jazz right now, and I didnt even realize what I had bought.

I would recommend it if you couldnt tell already. Click here for the Verve website and below is a track listing for both albums, though if you read the first half of the first album you kind of already know whats on the second.

Track Listing

Disc 1:
1. Little Girl Blue (Postal Service Remix) - Nina Simone
2. Speak Low (Bent Remix) - Billie Holiday
3. Sing, Sing, Sing (RSL Remix) - Anita O'Day
4. Fever (Adam Freeland Remix) - Sarah Vaughan
5. Come Dance With Me (Sugardaddy Remix) - Shirley Horn
6. Just One Of Those Things (Brazilian Girls Remix) - Blossom Dearie
7. Gentle Rain (RJD2 Remix) - Astrud Gilberto
8. Peter Gunn (Max Sedgley Remix) - Sarah Vaughan
9. Stay Loose {Lyrics Born Remix) – Jimmy Smith
10. Boy's Doin' It (Carl Craig Remix) - Hugh Masekela
11. Lilac Wine (The Album Leaf Remix) - Nina Simone
12. Yesterdays (Junior Boys Remix) - Billie Holiday
13. Baby, Did You Hear? (Danger Mouse Remix) - Dinah Washington

Disc 2:
1. Little Girl Blue - Nina Simone
2. Speak Low - Billie Holiday
3. Sing, Sing, Sing - Anita O'Day
4. Fever - Sarah Vaughan
5. Come Dance With Me - Shirley Horn
6. Just One Of Those Things - Blossom Dearie
7. Gentle Rain - Astrud Gilberto
8. Peter Gunn - Sarah Vaughan
9. Stay Loose – Jimmy Smith
10. Boy's Doin' It - Hugh Masekela
11. Lilac Wine - Nina Simone
12. Yesterdays - Billie Holiday
13. Baby, Did You Hear? - Dinah Washington

*anyone know where to buy trendy hats in the city?

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, June 23, 2005 |

my global eyes love local lives

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Wednesday, June 22, 2005 |

Tomas Ubik has crazy tales

Tomas Ubik, a close friend of mine, told me about his friday night, and he can't write so I choose to represent him in written form.

Friday night was off the charts, a regular stab at insanity, and a glorious push for the personal record for bender. It all began with a family joint among a tight knit circle of friends, one of whom is sober as a catepillar while his butterfly friends soar high as shit all around him suggests that we head to a grad party for some new police graduates. An sobering "riiiight" falls out of my mouth as he drops this little tale fact pulling into the driveway.

It ended up being alright, cause who knew that cops wernt as straight edge as their powder blue bullet proof tuxes paint them to be. More than four stories about snarky cops pilfering herbal plantations from local hydroponic artists only to be rolling some of the pursey up in this dudes bedrooom all to their sheild weilding selves. "Hey did you see my gun?" "riiiight".

From there we headed to the club, and rediscovered Tequilla. It always seems you forget about your relationship with Tequilla only to be reminded four shots in to the event. My friends had been dressed in ski gear all night, and had the sniffles to prove it. Naturally I took some of their winter clothing and joined the party. After the club, we found the pub and diverted our deep beats, to typical canadian culture feats like that of the tragically hip in a dingy cover induced scenario. Getting warm from the ski clothes, we had to change scenes, so we verged to a friends garage.

No really, a garage, where till the birds sang we drank, euchered, and continued to flaunt our off season gear to the neighbours fast asleep. At dawn it wasnt time for bed, and instead, made a stead to the closest $59 room we could find at the dingiest motel in the city. Patio entrance, no neighbours, and cash upfront made this vampire cave of a sanctuary the ideal hibernation locale for overly awake hollywood slalom enthusiasts.

Having not slept in 36 hours, the most logical move was to at this point bail from the motel and head for the futebol match which a friend had scored tickets for. Free beer on him at the game, and pretzel afterwards had me, even in my state, cheering the home lads on and on.

The game wore me out though, and after making it back somewhat alive, I passed out before the sun went down saturday night and did not see open eyes again til noon the next day.

Tomas Ubik, you have some crazy tales!

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Tuesday, June 21, 2005 |

mind yo' skunky ass breath

The valued opinion of the local beer store worker is often a welcomed yet unfamiliar occurence. After all, there are a lot of unknown beers on the wall of cheap, featured sparatacally throughout the glass wall of sauces at the best thing to ever come out of Canadian government, and a little advice from their trusty employees is incredibly moving when wantign to experiment with another case available for only $24.

This story happened last weekend, but as the tales from this weekend are far too incriminating for a true name blog, I will divert back seven days ago.

So a tall german friend and myself are trying to decide what tar like beer we will engage in on our convocation bender written about oh too frequently earlier this week. Through the styles of Lucky, Carling, Faxe, and Laker, we find ourselves fixed on the muscle bound trademark of Steelback Beer. A true Canadian beer, it says, why were Canadian. 5.5 % it says, why we like above average alcohol levels. A silver label with muscles on it, why were dreamy muscly (*cough*slightlie*cough*) individuals. Lets do the steelback.

The conversation at the teller went as follows:

yours truly: One case of steelback please.
cute ashley worker: what kind?
Y.T: well the musclely one of course!
C.A.W: you sure.
Y.T: why of course, but wait why do you ask?
C.A.W: have you ever tried it before?
Y.T: no cute ashley, we havn't, but were canadian, enjoy strong beer, and have lots of muscles

C.A.W: well normally I dont say anything, but I would pick something different. See we've had that beer for ever, and just last week a couple cases passed their expirary and I had to pour them out and I swear it smelt like skunk vomit poured over hot ass chowder.

Y.T: Hahahaha
German Aaron: really, so we shouldn't get it?
C.A.W: I wouldnt.
Y.T: Fine, case of Lucky then. Hey wanna come drink some with us?
C.A.W: no, but your the sexiest man I have ever seen and I will come over later for a sexy party.
Y.T: holla at yo' boy!

So needless to say, if ever faced with the opportunity to buy Steelback, I would encourage you to choose a new brand, for if ever to take the words from a cute Ashley, I personally think avoiding that which tastes like "skunk puke over hot ass chowder" is one of the finest recommendations I have ever heard.


*please note* that two of the lines in the above conversation were untrue but I'll never tel lyou which two.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, June 20, 2005 |

Josie is a minx - damn frisky kittens

Josie was a teacher. She worked with disabled children at a local school. From monday to friday she lived a veiled life, as kind and upfront as one could imagine, being true to her students, helping them, loving them, being a general popular face around the elementary academic circuit. But this was all a sham.

You see, at heart, Josie was a firecat, one of those girls who desired to let loose at all parts of the day, and was confused inside with the demands that being a product of teaching as a profession led her to believe through conversations around the watercooler. What is it to be a woman, she would ask herself? Responsibility, relationship security, boredom? Is it wrong to want to let go, be spontaneous, promiscuious, use her sex appeal to get ahead?

She has inner turmoil through modern conflictions with feminism. Equality through nurture, and social provider, this is what heritage told her. Sex appeal, flaunt it to get it, no holds barred, domination of all social circles; this is what boiled inside her. You see Josie was sexy, probably one of the sexiest around, turning heads anywhere and everywhere and because of such a compassionate and family focused upbringing never noticed her physical charm like other foxes during highschool, but only discovered it well into her twenties once the pubs financial benefits started to shine through.

Josie had a boyfriend, whom she loved, and who resembled the many "love's" she's had before. But Josie was bored, she wanted to be free, and in all truth deserved to be so. Talented, beautiful, sexy, and fun, no ninetofive, nor steady relationship, calmed the need inside her to let go. On her 24th birthday, she realized her charm. She left her boy of a year and three months and went to meet a friend whom she had always loved and who had always been the social voice of difference to her comformity. Josie has never been happier, realizing what she is told to do, should not be the end all of what someone should do, and that the feeling of loving someone and being with the right person is often blinded by safe words like friendship.

The baby boomers are dying, and modern "real life" is no longer the establish a self, and maintain it until retirement essense that is was born out of post WWII. Life is too short, and comforming to what "should" was wasting her life away. The "real world" is the scared world, a land of comformist and modern subjects. We are simply too populated for monarchy, and oligarchy now has its peasants. Never be a peasant to the modern kingdom of capitalism. Its killing itself, and there is a world of opportunity and experience that wants to take its place.

Who wants to be alive at sixty with a savings plan on a planet that is how it is at the age of twenty at the peak of its growth and opportunity.

* this was uttering bullshit, but I think I'm in love with my Josie.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, June 20, 2005 |

My papi had a boat.

Tony was a sailor. He grew up in the city, and at the age of sixteen his grandfather died of heart complications leaving his sister two and half million dollars and Tony with a schooner. He had never been outside the city before, where within he was raised in the cultural core always learning about the different cultures that lived within his neighbourhood. Tony was shy, and never had the courage to go up to a stranger and ask why they would kneel to pray at dusk, or what the chubby idol meant in the corner of the bodega. He was raised catholic because his parents like the school's uniforms and he never really grasped the vastness of the world.

He wanted to sail the oceans of the world, and on his 21st birthday his sister lent him 1000 bucks to ship his schooner to the coast. Tony didn't want to forget his home, so he brought with him a city rat he had captured in his youth which he had named Sergeant Agustus Lamentia, and a gun his father had given to him when he became a man.

Once the schooner reached the coast Agustus and the new Captain set sail for the east, for Tony wanted to see Africa then Asia, and of course Australia. He saw many things on his journey that he had never been able to imagine outside of the books he read and pictures his grandfather had drawn out of charcoal sketches from his own schooner journeys. He experienced waves, and stars, and the vastness that only solitude on the ocean could reveal.

On October 17th, Sergeant Agustus Lamentia died of heart complications, and Tony could not take it. Despite the wonders of the new world, his grip on what was his only connection to home while sailing in the middle of the sea was lost. And so, on his 25th birthday he took his fathers gun, looked deeply into his soul and then the barrel, took a deep breath to experience the ocean air one last time and then whacked himself on the head with his heriditary airlume, for he had not packed a single bullet. Tony passed out and while unconscious was robbed by pirates.

When he woke up Tony found himself floating on a lifeboat, with neither his father's gun, nor his grandfather's schooner, somewhere off the islands of Hawaii with no memory of what had happened at sea.

You can reach him at 318-555-1782; he lives with a Korean family by the last name of Twong, and works in their garden.


* his sister is Belinda Stronich, and the Twong family is conservative.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Friday, June 17, 2005 |

some light on l i v i n

wanna see a irritated eano....

Everyone has fucking living habits okay! Everyone! Sure I may have always had a messy room, but fuck, i got tons of clothes and a small closet. Sure I may be an arrogant prick that always wins a discussion, but I'm fucking right all the time so you gotta deal. Sure I may piss you off with the occasional thing I do or say, but so do you, I dont harp on it, I just smirk at you tell you why your wrong and move the fuck on, because I know I'm not going to change the way you are.

Though I hate it when someone swallows their tongue and doesnt say it, bring it up and laugh about it, don't get fucking pissed because someone doesnt do something you like. Why are you pissed because of something natural in someone else, look in the damn mirror, we all have faults, and I hate even calling them that because they are simple characteristics. My ass is better looking then yours are you gonna get pissed at me for that, fuck no, its my ass, and it does a lot more sitting on your shit, then I impede with my tongue talking, or my personal creative space allocation.

So in other words, just breathe, and realize the world nor anyone in it is perfect, and though you may want to preserve some temple of unique individuality, would you rather a no touching room, or a no talking friend! Fuck no touching rooms, fuck'em right in their clean and tidy ass, go out for dinner, and realize that our living habits are not a reflection of who we are, they are nothing more than something unique to someone that you can choose to value or completely ignore.

*now go and pick those clothes up off your floor, and stop using your teeth on your fork when you eat.

peas

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, June 16, 2005 |

convocation revelation preface

I just spent a fantastic five day bender up in the educational mother land to which I hold dear. My convocation vacation was an incredible time which produced many single thoughts deserving of posti-love. And as long posts are the plague of the virtual planet, I will break up the weekend into convocation issue volumes i. through however many I get to before my lunch break is over. Below you will notice numerous posts documenting my convocation vacation and all the experiences this induced self-enlightened weekend offered to me.


*im still drunk.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Wednesday, June 15, 2005 |

convocation revelation ish.i

unlike ish's ii and iii, ish i. is a list of weekend notes that fall outside of seriousness (to a degree) and fall more in the realm of fantastic and silly

weekend notes:

• First and foremost jane is still the sexiest name ever.
• Fuck the patio's at Barney's and Jack's, the afterhours party at the Collosus collesium is the hotest party in London.
• Your eyes will look horrible after four days of drinking and no allergy meds. My face is a sissy, and my lungs are heroes.
• I think the chancellor was an alcoholic cause he smiled when I breathed an alcoholic thankyou to him.
• I will one day own a mace, and it will be big and brass.
• Do not trust pretty girls with no watches on
• If all the people who told me they read on the weekend don't start commenting, I am going to start publishing their work *cough*ash*cough*.
  

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Wednesday, June 15, 2005 |

convocation revelation ish.ii

The Ceremony

Weary eyed forced entry into a world of buzzing parents and gowns that fall just short enough to make those trying to pull off shorts underneath seem unprepared and dirty (Herzoglove), I awake a half hour into the process of convocation Monday. Its the 280something convocation of the University of Western Ontario, and the first time in four years that the administration buries your sequential identity for the value of your given name and a future percentage of your annual revenue as a new member of the oh'so valued alumna.

Paraded through the scorching halls you don't lose the self-conscious image of your druid looking self until the festival of established dignitaries parades in looking like a scene scripted by Rowling. A colour palette which compares only to the Olympics and caps that make the security at the Vatican look tough, parade behind a giant mace to the sound of a full brass orchestra on stage.

It is at this point that you realize the seriousness of your being present at this event. Only 200,000 have passed through UWO and only 1% of the global population receives a university degree. While you can argue the value of wealth in the whole process, my thirty thousand dollar hole has me saying the only thing that warrants a university degree is opportunity and effort, which I humbly admit I have been afforded often and pursued respectively.

As is documented, I presumed the ceremony to be full of hoots and hollas, outrageous screams for the peers who I never thought would make it, or just would feel embarrassed being singled out. But from the reading of the first name, the urge to cheer out the name stopped in the humble atmosphere and extensive ceremonial procedure that singled out individuals for the rarity that this moment provided. Only 200,000 have knelt where my peers and I knelt that day, and for that reason the risk of cheering over someone else's name in place of my friends admiration just did not seem appropriate.

Needless to say, I was swept up in the moment and felt pride for that which I have grown to know as myself. Though not solely, I think that just like a mass, a convocation is a moment of personal reflection on the individual you've become, the opinions you've developed, until the moment comes where your name is called, you cross the stage and begin the true adulthood of your life.

I will not say goodbye to the party, and I will not succumb to the detested term "real world" but a certain part of me has moved on, and it will be the next few years that will decide what that part is.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, June 13, 2005 |

convocation revelation ish.iii

Do you ever have those nights where due to whatever uplifting dehabilitating drug you put into your system you just fly on high and talk nonstop to everyone, regardless of personal relationship rank, about your future hopes and dreams, driven completely out of sloppyness? Because saturday was one of those.

I consider myself somewhat of an entrepreneurial minded individual, and after a month out of school I could not of asked for much more of my newly graduated self. However, my ambitions stretch far beyond that which the positions I currently hold allow and many private projects are in the early planning. Of which, every SINGLE person I talked to heard about on saturday. Now you may think I sound incredibly pompous and annoying at this point, but understand that on the weekend of your university graduation the "what are you up to now" talks and the "what are your future plan" chats, are at the forefront of all conversation as peers tour their parents and the patio is made up group of twenty-something confused out of their gourds as to what the next step is and how important it is to network yourself..

What I realized however, is that I am setting myself up to be one of two social polar opposites. On the one hand, all these ventures I encourage future partnership in with friends whose talents I think would work very well with mine could lead to incredible success an amazing network of those from the faculty in which I am now an alumni, leading to a dominant presence of MIT educated selves involved in the creation of culture industries in this country; all good things.

On the other end, I could completely and totally flop, non of the supposed brilliant concepts I have cooked up could flourish, I could remain in some stagnant stank ass job for 30 years and use my degree to become the average joe with a wife and a kid, a boss, and a succesful position in a button factory (now turn the knob with your tongue).

Now the the former is most likely, cause after all, I'm awesome, no lie. However, the possibility remains that my Atypical Industries, become a typical bomb (not in the urban cool sense, but in the my ship is sunk sense). And so to prevent that, I write this here and now on a publicly accessbile space:

The success of the ventures to which I have laid out, are dependent primarily on me, but equally on the effort of those to which I propose some form of future business interaction. The mission statement I believe all peers with similar intellectual and societal values should be to maintain contact, and never be afraid to throw an idea on the table and contact someone who even in the most miniscule of social history, you could work well with and utilize for further gain.

The evolution of the capitalist dream is no longer for singular success, it is for communal co-operation in the creation of new holes in a well developed system. The capitalist structure is to well developed for individuality, but the combined efforts of fresh innovative thinkers will always drive the wave for new capital success.

*Hows that for drunken revelation

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Sunday, June 12, 2005 |

I aim to please, you aim too, please!

This is going to be news for the ladies, unless you've lived with guys or hung out with many while drunk. Men piss on seats! It's true, it doesnt happen often but realize that our mission when entering a washroom without urinals is to take the option of lifting a seat of which other men may or may have sat on bare assed, unzip, unclip, and let fly a routine action of urinary target practice. Now, most of us try and hit the porcelain framed hole, in fact I like to think I am pretty good at the art of "pissarchery" but really, even Robin Hood missed the bullseye from time to time.

Now this story is awkward and possibly a reason that many guys choose to find private arenas for excretion when they gotta empty the tank, but here goes.

Yesterday around 1600h, I go into the washroom right around from my office to relieve the ninth bottle of water I consumed that day. I go into the stall and whammo there it is, the evidence of a co-workers marked territory on the porcelain nest. Not wanting to interact with said marked territory, I simply take very accurate aim and do my thing. Everything is good right, flush with the foot, walk away clean, no mess, no interaction with the sparatic's of another.

Until I walk out of the stall and whose exchanging paths with me, but non other than one of the chief oncologists of the entire regional health care corporation to which I am currently under contract for research purposes. And I think to myself, as he begins his stall entry, "Oh no, the other man's piss, he's gonna think...I....ahh shit". So acting on my quick witted talents, I make a mean about face, pass the surgeon to the inside and b-line for the stall, unravel some tissue and start blowing my nose.

Problem averted right? Oh but wait! So after I falsely blow my nose (well kinda falsely, I have allergies right now so its kind of always necessary) and head back out towards the door, but the surgeon hasnt left, he's been at the sink. You see hospital types clean EVERYTHING before doing ANYTHING. So as I grudgingly exit the bathroom, he passes me by , and as opposed to using the other stall, he proceeds into the same soiled stall of someone's soakings that I just left. I go back sit at my desk with a inquisitive eye on the bathroom exit.

To no surprise, one of the four guys whose job is to remove tumours for the entire half a province, exits the can, throws me a snarky eye cut, smiles knowingly, and states:

"don't worry, we pay people to clean it".

I sit there in a half chuckle, half tongue tied state of unrest, as he passes me by and follows with :

"half the time I don't even try to hit the bowl".

The unrest turns to a laugh out loud, head to chest chuckle, with a final "have a good one" from me to the surgeon. Gentleman please, aim tight from here on in, you never know what awkward place your gonna put someone else in because of your airant hose work.

*sidenote of the day: Nicole showed me the proper girl sqaut technique yesterday for mid forest peeing....damn thats rough ladies.!!!
*sidenote II: this is the most socially grosse thing I ever wrote...these things are usually reserved for the barrstarr

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Friday, June 10, 2005 |

Fukin Critics

The plague of the cultural planet is critics, no long wind needed, their roles in our culture is meaningless, stagnant, and if anything a hindrance on the growth of harmony in the realms to which they comment.

Recently on the blogosphere in our little nugget of bloggy fun, a few anonymous (go figure) gents have taken to the point of logging on to do nothing more than critique the free writing of my peers and myself.Their purpose is do nothing more than "stir the pot", add irelevant opinion, and point out faults in writing that is intended to flow from mind to keyboard in a non evaluative environment for the personal satisfaction of the writer and anyone else who chooses to search out these hidden gems of self expression.

The critic is a self produced industry for a demographic of humanity who have educated themselves in a particular verse but choose not to put their own ideas forward but simply provide solace for all those who have no expressive talent themselves. And I realize the irony in me writing this post, as I myself now am critiquing with a complete admitance that critiquing popular and personal culture is inherent in everyday conversation.

But to speak a critique and to take time to put one in words are completely different things. By all means tell your friends how much you hate something, and if you dont have friends (as no doubt most web surfing critics experience) , take the time to lie in your lonely bed and scream your social pains to the world.

Critics are the type who vote against something, not for something, perpetuate hateful communities, and hinder the growth of cultural industries which are products of inner circle education systems, with no better example than the art or writing worlds. What point is there to holding someone back. If your comment is constructive, lay it on me, tell me how to better something, but don't sit there with your anonymous name, no personal proof of your point, with only empty words of dislike. Its pointless and you come across as a self-loathed moron with nothing better to do with your time than tell yourself you are better than those who are actually out there doing something.

And when I say out there doing something, I don't mean writing blogs, for blogs are free time consuming outlets to keep the mind going between business deals, exhibitions, entrepreneurial endeavors, and friday night booze fests.

to the critics of the world i say be careful, with a spite led life like you live you may end up a 65year old self hating public mockery who looks like this.

*mind your thumbs.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, June 09, 2005 |

VOTE GAIA

Sure when talking politics and the way in which people vote you can bring in socio-economic factors, foreign policy factors, ego maniacle corporate factors, or straight up fear tactics, but I'll tell you right now you're just needlessly covering up the truth with academic jargon fed to you by pundits and analysts while ignoring the truth behind the production of all views right or left wing; mother nature. Yeah thats right, I said it, mother nature is the product of all views right wing, ok well not all, but I have recently discovered the most obvious reasoning for the perpetuation of a senseless right mind that foolishly hangs on to pushing for control of two of the most powerful nations on the planet.

I hope you are sitting, and if you live in any of the regions that are affected by the newly discovered political policy maker, I am truly sorry that you must find out here and now why it is you choose to support sheltered twits like Mister Harper and that Bush thing.The reason for the republican government and a powerful canadian conservative party is.......mother nature.

At this point you're political mind has shifted away from reading this sensibly but I urge you bear with me, for while my reasoning cannot explain the creation of some cemented right wing states, if you throw the canadian red-blue geography into the mix you start to see how this reasoning really is the secret to all things political life.

Before I explain, it is best to reason why mother nature holds so much obvious power over our human minds, and where better to find reason than from, well Hollywood of course:

• Day after Tommorow: shows the powerlessness of human kind once mother nature decides its had enough of our shit.
• Crash (the new one, not Cronenberg): For two hours paints out how fucked human lives are but at the end has snow falling in California to prove that nothing ain't as fucked as modern weather. or maybe its saying that humans fuck everything up, each other, the weather, but whatever; mute point here today.
• The Santa Clause 2: theres this council of fairy tale creatures and mother nature is above Santa and the Tooth Fairy, which obviously proves my point.

Voila, mother nature clearly more influencial than man; so here's the point.

We all know that North America's right wing has taken the shape of this giant "L" which begins over in the east in the Dixie states, stretches across to Texas and then jets upwards along the ROCKIES right past the border and north through Alberta. Now this new found evidence does not explain the Dixie states, but really can anyone explain the reasoning behind the decisions people make from states that live life talking and acting like Rosco P. Coltrane from the Dukes of Hazard; I think not. I do believe that in these states alone (georgia, the carolina's, mississippi, kentucky, and well i could go on, but just link here) have foiled mother nature's control out of ideocy and now base their votes out of human produced buzz words like "terrorism" (ooh) and "moral values" (ahh), but outside of these backwater yippykiyo communities it is still sweet ole mother nature that reigns supreme and dictates whether you take perspective from the right or the left; and here's the answer as to why.

MOUNTAINS

There it is ladies and gentlemen, the reason that the left wing has not taken over the right is because of mountains, I said it, it's true, and it just became cloudy over my office because I've let the cat out of the bag; sorry Gaia. The answer is simple, the sensible people of the rocky mountain sided states and provinces have one simple problem inhibiting them from shifting to the ndp, liberal, or democratic parties; large mountains like the Rockies prevent them from looking too far to the left. Every day these poor, environmentally molded minds wake up, look out their windows to the left, and what to they see; whammo rocks! A large unmountable wall preventing them from looking to any great distance unless they pull a 180 and stare in the vast distance to the right. And naturally, since the human race is one of discovery, progress, and evolution, you are obviously going to mentally shift your beliefs to that which allows you the most room for exploration.

It makes perfect sense, what colour does the west coast vote (*note: all located over the rocky mountain impeding left): BLUE (*note for Canadians I mean orange or red, but its a more effective point with big colourful letters). What do educated states and provinces on the east coast who can take the liberty to look over land or see vote? BLUE

So there you have it, if we are to ever change the confused minds of the jaded right, we must blow up the Rockies, that or build really high cities that can look over the dreaded policy cliffs of the west. I am sorry if you now feel powerless but them's the breaks when you realize how small and controllable you really are.

*peas and carrots make eyesight better

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Wednesday, June 08, 2005 |

So how was your weekend?

After yet another debaucherous weekend, I wanted nothing more to to wake up on a stumbly sunday morning and tell the world of the hilarity that insued on the two nights previous. It's funny, after writing on this page pretty consistently for a couple months now, when I am out I start to think to myself of how random occurences would make a good posts; wouldn't this be funny on my blog, geez I wish I had a camera so I could put this on my blog? I've become obsessed with documenting the experiences I share with one circle to wake up the next morning and find a way to share with a open communal bigger circle. I feel like digi-twats who document their entire lives via camera phones and digi cams which have me torn between appreciation for moments captured and this weird pity for peers stuck in a perpetual groundhog day of digital rememberance.

So I wake up sunday morning and begin my blog scrolling through my list of very entertaining links and come across the unfortunate news that a good friend of mine who I truly respect and wish was still closer with, has recently lost his uncle which through reading his post appears to have been most unwelcome and a disastrous surprise. Naturally I have not wanted to post the mediocre tales of drunkeness when the dates compared to that of a friend's post would reveal the seriousness of one's experience and the pointlessness of mine own.

Now my personal perspective on death has resulted in much distain and unease from people close to me (especially my mother), as never have I once in the loss of three grandparents, the close aunt of a stepfather, and a lovely little cat have I shed tears or spent many days mourning. It is my true belief that while I understand the need to mourn, to me death is something that needs to happen, is expected to happen, and will result in an understood reason for both the dead and the living if not immediately than in some time after in life or in another realm to which life leads next. If anything, in death, I am more distraught over the emotions of those who care for the deceased than the individual who has died.

The last week has been a moment of blogular silence for the emotions of my friend, which unfortunately is a relationship I keep through the internet more so than in person (which I plan on changing now that I am back in the general area code of this chap) and a self-realization that as relationships geographically spread my weekend indulgences are not as personal press worthy as I may otherwise think while witnessing barefoot street races at 5am in a residential court sauced out of my gourd as compared to the happenings of others who I care about.

R&R nignog, I wish you and your family well, and as cliche as I can be; it must have been for a reason. Much love.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Tuesday, June 07, 2005 |

Grand Theft Marketability

*sidenotes of the day - Take the Humanitarian quiz here to see how much you know about the pains of the planet.
* First person to answer the name of the movie whose character I reference at the end of this post gets an internet present.

I'm reading through Reuters news this morning and I come across a story of a new video game sponsored by the U.N which is intended to promote awareness of poverty and hunger to the youth of today. In a righteous attempt to connect with the gun thirsty youth gaming market "The U.N. World Food Programme (WFP) hopes the game in which players direct aid workers trying to help the poor, will teach children about the problems of feeding the hungry, especially those trapped in war zones" (source). I mean what better way to combat the America's Army shoot em up, knock em down, and then stomp on em genre than a competitive game with similar environment but an ultimate goal based in humanitarian aid.

For a brief second I was all like "hot damn" what a find, Im gonna show all my little Geekstars and get them psyched on flying a helicopter through battle zones with a goal to drop off food to a suffering fictitious nation and thus better the world for all. *tear*sigh*breath*imgood.

But just as I was about to praise the U.N creative minds for thinking up such a wonderous product, I looked at the name of the game: FOOD-FORCE. *choke* I mean what the shit. The good guys finally develop a product that could in concept, compete with the Grand Theft Auto, America's Army, game market and you end up naming your game something that sounds like a spin off series of Captain Planet. I mean seriously, who was behind the marketing of this game; Fred Penner and Tinky Winky? Needless to say I was dissapointed, especially since the game is being offered for free, and was based in a very cool concept, good graphics, and what appears to be similar gameplay to that of other games with objectives that only differ in destruction as opposed to Food-Force's aid motives.



Regardless of the name, it is still a cool concept, and I urge you guys to go check it out, and maybe write a digital note to the folks responsible for this game encouraging a name change. I think I'm gonna suggest Hunger Hunters (Im like so the next Allegra Geller).

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, June 02, 2005 |

maybe I should shoot my translator!

*sidenote of the day: I never expected to hear the words "Deep Throat" in the same sentence so much on conservative news stations like Fox and CBS.

So I finally watched the pupetted feature "Team America: World Police" yesterday and I give it one of those loose side to side shaky hand meh's. Now usually an anti-american satire about a team of policing puppets that save the world from weapons of mass destruction by blowing up and destroying everything around the suspect would of got me all tingly wingily, but for some reason of late American war slander is just no longer funny to me.

Don't be afraid, I did not jump ship, I just feel as though joking about the faults of American foreign policy is no longer a topic with room for humour and needs to stop being criticized in popular media and start being acted on by influencial policy. For instance, I try and read news highlights every now and then towards the current state in countries like Iraq or Afghanistan and these are the stories I read:

click on to link to stories or captioned pics from:

newsleader.com
newsleader.com again
The Los Angeles Times
Reuters

and thats just a few.

To me, movies like Team America just arnt worth the laughs anymore because we are past the point of being cynical and aware of a problem that should have solutions. Now obviously this is an irrelevant rant in the "what am I gonna do about it" world of personal powerless political policy makeup and this is not intended as a rally cry for anti war chants or shifty left wing rhetoric. I'm simply stating that I'm sick of the entertainment industry using satire to prove the faults of the current American administration's war policies.

Ill give Parker and Stone the benefit that puppet's fucking is funny, and that I know this film was intended as nothing more than a jab at a system that otherwise permits Matt Stone and Trey Parker to do nothing to change the way America works overseas, but personally I can't watch foreign policy critique anymore unless its a photo like that of the four year old linked above.

Otherwise I am cheapening an issue on which I may have no power over, but need not be laughing at in the meantime.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Wednesday, June 01, 2005 |