The world came to a banal and bitter end yesterday. I had always pictured something different, you know? Jesus with a face like lightning appears in the eastern sky, twelve million angels in glittering clouds of doom on either side. All vehicles spin into ditches or trashcans, the refrigerators in the 7-Eleven stop humming, every lock falls away from its door. If the world wasn't going to bite it like that, I figured Islam would nuke the globe in an ultimate reaction against pig-headedly oppressive Western ideas like free trade, rights of the individual and Doctors Without Borders. I'd probably be watching reruns of Friends in the latter scenario, so the end of the world might not look like such a bad idea, then. Except I wouldn't get to see the next episode of Gilmore Girls, would I? Dernit. Hang in there, Rory!
You know what I'm talking about, I can see it in your saddened eyes, too. Hello, there. You must be a Canadian, right? I know. I, too, am a stranger in a strange land. I look around and realize, "These are not my people". My people, you see, DO NOT VOTE FOR THE DA VINCI CODE AS BEST BOOK OF ALL TIME. Godsake, have you seen the list? I read Confessions Of A Shopaholic some time ago. I've read the whole series, and it's hilarious. Kudos to Kinsella for writing it. But Shopaholic is rated two spots ahead of the Bible, folks. THE BIBLE! Because, you know, the zany lifestyle of Rebecca Bloomwood has created entire cultures, spawned world religions, shaped the bleeding fabric of ever loving history itself, right? RIGHT? Steinbeck rated below Mists Of Avalon? The Notebook ahead of Tolstoy? People, I feel like I'm taking crazy pills here! Can Canadians no longer distinguish what they like from what is best? The only thing missing off the list, far as I can tell, is The Bridges Of Madison County. You know what? Kick both the Brontës off the list. We need to make room for Jonathan Livingston Seagull, too. Kids, is this why I watched my buddies die face-down in the muck in Vietnam? To watch you give the Medal of Honour to Dan Brown?
Empowered by my new knowledge of the mechanics of the popular mind, I'm going to make a bunch of confident assertions here. These are pearls, kids. Pearls.
Barbra Streisand will make a "comeback" record with Barry Gibb. Wait, that's already happening?
David Spade will win the 2010 Oscar for Actor In A Leading Role.
Muddy teal will be the new black
Cancer will be cured. Tomorrow. At 6PM EST.
Tim Horton's will go bankrupt. Tomorrow. At 6PM EST.
Every single person in the world will be required to use "Microsoft" for their middle name in less than four years. Resistance is futile. Trespassers will be shot.
The internet is good for you. So are Doritos.
Reading: You're kidding me, right? Reading? Yeah, and I goose-step on Veteran's Day, too. Have some respect, please.
Listening: Wintersleep is just another Clap Your Wolf Parade, Say Arcade Fire! Don't pay attention to any of them. They're good, I know, but that's boring. I want terrible. Destructive, even. Yeah, but that gets boring, too. What's a hipster to do, then? Hang on, hang on. What about these guys? They're crooking their pinkies at everyone, they say so in the lyrics. Let's take refuge from cynicism and bejadedness in mockery. Let's. You like the newer Of Montreal? You'll like these guys. This band is Hamlet, and good clear guitar, and lazy aggression, at least on "The Vice And Virtue Ministry" + The Happy Bullets
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