| These are a Few of my Favorite Things... |

I've decided to compile a list of my favorite things. A collections of the things that make, or help me tick.

This is only the first part. I intend on writing a list of things that were influencial to me, or changed my life as well.

Here it is. And note that I strained oh so hard to narrow this down:

Food and Drink

Dinner: BBQ Pork tenderloin with corn on the cob
Pizza: Sausage and Pineapple
Dessert: Cheesecake
Cheese: Bleu Benedictine (from Quebec), Grey Owl (Quebec)
Ice Cream: Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia
Single Food Item: Sausage
Vegatable: Asparagus
Fruit: Wild cherries
Ethnic Food: Chinese, Latin. But mostly Chinese.

Restaurant: High End - Araxi (B.C.); Weekday dinners - Sushi Shop (Carlton Street, Toronto); Chain - Pizza Pizza; Brunch - Lady Marmalade (Queen St. E. Toronto)

Non-alcoholic drink: Vitamin Water XXX, Tropicana Orange Juice with Lots of Pulp
Alcoholic drink: Vodka Cranberry, 2 limes
Wine: Pinot Grig or Reisling

Movies and Television

Comedy Movies: Wedding Crashers, Spaceballs, Some Like it Hot
Drama Movies: Apollo 13, Garden State, Schindler's List, Forrest Gump
Action Movies: Speed, Air Force One, Demolition Man
Horror Movies: The Exorcist, Saw, Sleepaway Camp
Science Fiction: The Star Wars saga, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Terminator 2
Other Favorites: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Synechdoche, NY, The Prestige
Least Favorite Movies of all Time: LongPigs, Paranormal Activity, Batman and Robin

Comedy TV: Scrubs, Married With Children, M*A*S*H*
Drama TV: Scrubs, Grey's Anatomy, House
Other TV: Battlestar Gallactica, Hell's Kitchen, Survivor, B Movie: The Series

Music

Singer (Female): Feist, Tegan and Sara,
Singer (male): David Usher, Lucas Silvera (Lead singer of the Cliks)
Band: The Weakerthans, The Shins, The Magnetic Fields, The Beatles, E.L.O., the Cliks
Song: The Only Living Boy in New York (Simon and Garfunkle), The Con (Tegan and Sara), I Feel it All (Feist), Forever Young (Bob Dylan), Something (The Beatles)
Album: Revolver by the Beatles, Nevermind by Nirvana, The Times They are a Changin by Bob Dylan, Black Album by Jay-Z, The Con by Tegan and Sara
Album Cover: Live Peace in Toronto 1969 (John Lennon and Yoko Ono), London Calling (The Clash), Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band (The Beatles)
Most Important Song to me: Time In A Bottle (Jim Croce, best sung by a Muppet)
Fun Songs that I consider guilty pleasures: Hey Julie by Fountains of Wayne, Diner by Martin Sexton

Literature

Magazine: GQ, Movie Maker
Fiction Book: You Shall Know Our Velcity (Dave Eggers), The Harry Potter series (J.K. Rowling)
Biography: Walt Disney (Neil Gamler)
Children's Story: The Lorax (Dr. Suess), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Roald Dahl)

Travel

Country: Germany, The United States
Single Travel Destination: Walt Disney World
Island: Majorca
Dream: Paris, Asia, and South Africa with a certain somebody. Swimming with Great Whites in South Africa
Most amazing things I've seen: The DOM cathedral (Koln, Germany) Stone Henge (England), Fireworks over the Magic Kingdom from the roof of the Contemperary Hotel (Orlando, FLA)

Leisure

Sunday activity: Was going to Woodbine Racetrack (Go Big Red Mike, Go!)
Board Game: Risk, Trivial Pursuit
Video Game: Final Fantasy VII (PS2), Guitar Hero (PS3)
Sport: Baseball (Toronto Blue Jays, Minnesota Twins), Soccer (German National Team, Liverpool, Bayern Munich)
Place to walk: The Distillery District (Toronto)
Way to Relax: Fishing, writing, painting

Honerable mentions that don't fit into any other category: Tuesday night television, Realizing the greatness of Kensington Market as well as the rest of the city


More to come, as always.

x's and o's
_Remy

| Oh, my Papa |

A simple statement for the day: My Father is my hero.

Now, I know that most boys are suppose to look up to their Fathers. Not every boy, however, considers his Father his hero.

Our family history is fairly well documented. A trend that started before I was born, and hopefully will continue long after I shuffle off this mortal coil. I've heard stories, and seen pictures.

Dad keeps an enormous archive of photos which documents near bout every event, big and small, in my existence on this planet. Indeed, there are a large number of years where I do not appear in any of those photographs. A plight I put on myself by abandoning this side of the family for a good chunk of time. Truth be known, I often look at these photos and imagine myself in them. One of my biggest regrets is not having been there for Family events throughout.

The days that Dad should have been enjoying his youth to it's fullest, he was supporting his little brother and sister, working at a bank, and working hard in school. The latter eventually awarding him a Ph.D. from Oxford University. Suffice it that I will not get into the reason he ended up parenting his siblings. But he did, and did it well and still managed to come out with a bright future. A true mark of hard work. A true mans work.

He has saved me on numerous occasions. Situations that I got myself into, and he managed to get me out of. He put up with years of abuse about smoking in the car. And years of abuse from an ungrateful son (Me). And oh, if I could take that back.

As I look back, one of the hardest things I've come to learn is that I don't remember why my Father and I didn't speak. Or, more correctly, why I didn't speak to him. Not on birthdays, or holidays. I just refused. I was not always the most honest with my parents, being ashamed of what I was doing. Thinking perhaps that it, in some way, didn't add up to some expectations. Pity that, as I know now the only expectations where that I was successful, educated, and happy.

I do know that at some point I grew to resent him for leaving, the same as I resented my step-father for taking his place. Both points being aimless and dumb. I had two men who loved me, were willing to guide and help me and ultimately just wanted the best. Without my step-Dad I wouldn't have learned to ride a bike. One of the greatest gifts I ever received on Christmas, a black and silver Huffy BMX. In fact, I tore open the wrapping on that box in a house right around the corner from the one I presently sit in. A house I pass by frequently. One that, unlike our lives, has not changed much in 20 years. The deck and built-in BBQ in the backyard, one that my Step-Father built is still there. Without my Step-Dad, I would not have learned to fish. A sport which I know find therapeutic and relaxing. And still, instead of thanking him for those things, (Tony, Thank you) I learned resent. A started to look with an angry eye at the man that played Snakes and Ladders with me for hours the first time we met. A game in which I cheated by going up both the Snakes and Ladders in a blatant disregard for the rules.

I digress...

Even with my Father 'gone', he was always there. Never missed the chance to drive from Hamilton or Toronto to Burlington to pick us up for weekend visits, and certainly never missed the chance to allow us to drink Chocolate Milk whenever we wanted. He sat with us while we created scrap books. Hell, the man pricked his own finger with a pin so I could view his blood under a microscope. We repaid him for those visits by sitting at the front window of that little grey house on Appleby Line and cried while watching him pull out of the driveway. Perhaps it was the fear that we may not see the man again, or a way of acknowledging we were now back in reality.

Years ago, he took us to the theatre to see 'Demolition Man' and we loved every minute of it. He also took us to see Jurassic Park, after first viewing it to ensure it wasn't scary. Most important of the film-watching experiences was 'Apollo 13' A film which I consider in my top 3 favorites, and certainly one the sparked my admiration of the space program and all things NASA. Going to Florida not long after that, he surprised us with a trip to the Kennedy Space Center thinking I would enjoy it after asking 'so many questions about space' after seeing the film. One of my favorite photos of all time is my brother and I sitting on the leg of the mock-up Lunar Lander. I first saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind and the Godfather with him, both films lead to my undying love of film. Certainly part of the reason I want to make films.

I disappointed him, I'm sure, with my outlook on school. Perhaps because I knew I was smart, and could coast through. Not the case. It's a shame, really, that I never sought out enriched classes, or more of a challenge. I was happier to squeak by and keep my focus on writing and movies. But, I can say he is content know with my return to higher education. So am I. I am too smart to not go back to school, and go as far as I can with it. Way to smart. Something else I got from Dad.

Coming back from Germany, My Dad and Step-Mom picked me up at the airport. It was in the midst of the non-talking years, but there they were. The truth is, I wouldn't have wanted anybody else to come and get me. And I have since treasured the moment of sitting on the front porch in their then-Mississauga home telling them about my journey.

I owe my lovely eyes, one of the only features about myself I like, to my Dad. As well as my noise, dark features... a lot, really. I am, as my Nanny has told me, my Father's son. I guess this stretches from looks to demeanor.

Deep down, especially now, I know she is right. I will make him proud, along with the whole family. I will make lots of people proud. I am that good at a some things, as arrogant as that may sound. When I have children of my own, I will damn sure pattern my fathering on exactly what my Dad did. Love his kids to bits, always be there for them, make sure they live good, moral and most importantly happy lives. Never missing a Christmas or birthday. Smiling when I see them unwrap the latest video-game craze (As long as I get a turn). Riding Space Mountain with them the first time. I am excited to be that Father. The same Father my dad was. Though I will never pretend that I lived through as many hardships as he did.

I am proud to be a Morrison. I'm proud to be the son of the best man that ever carried that name. I will be goddamned if I don't do my all to honor all the things that my Father taught me, if I don't do my best to repay all the love and rescues.

I am, without a doubt, my Fathers son. And I like that. The man is my hero.

x's and o's

-Remy-

| Thanks Eminem |

I can't tell you what it really is
I can only tell you what it feels like
And right now there's a steel knife
In my windpipe
I can't breathe
But I still fight
While I can fight
As long as the wrong feels right
It's like I'm in flight...

..You ever love somebody so much

You can barely breathe
When you're with them
You meet
And neither one of you
Even know what hit 'em
Got that warm fuzzy feeling....

..Baby please come back

It wasn't you
Baby it was me
Maybe our relationship
Isn't as crazy as it seems
Maybe that's what happens
When a tornado meets a volcano
All I know is
I love you too much
To walk away though
Come inside
Pick up your bags off the sidewalk
Don't you hear sincerity
In my voice when I talk
Told you this is my fault
Look me in the eyeball

- Love the way you Lie (eminem ft. Rihanna)

| Song of the Week |

I think it's time to announce the song of the week.

As this is week one for this award, the following are all first time nominees.

And they are...

1) The Bleeding Hearts Show by The New Pornographers (Album: Twin Cinema)

2) Wake Up by Arcade Fire (A: Funeral and Where The Wild Things Are OST)

3) Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes (A: Elephant)

4) Acoustic Guitar by The Magnetic Fields (A: 69 Love Songs)

and our winner...

I Feel it All by Fiest (A: The Reminder)

You know, one of these days I'm going to win an award for Handing Out Awards That Are Not Really Awards and are Also for Things That Nobody Really Cares About. Reminds me of the Best Facial Hair in a Supporting Role blog. (See past blogs)

x's and o's

Remy

| Bedtime Love Letter To Nobody |

" What do you want? Do you want things to go back to how they were?"

"Yes," I said. "Go back to how they were. Only better."

_____

Last night, I began searching for a finite cure to this emotional downpour.

___

Dear Self,

Time to get creative. You were always creative. Why don't you build something?

Love,

Self

___

So, in my backyard I began to build something, crazy as that something is. I made it from paper mache and carefully sculpted chicken wire. And you will be happy to know that I only poked myself through the finger with that wire once.

Would you like to know what I built?

Sit, sit. I'll tell you.

I built a time machine.

A wonderful contraption it was, too. The gas tank is made from discarded copies of Paranormal Activity (See, as horrid as that film was, it makes a surprisingly stable fuel canister. Also, discarded copies were in surplus, and therefore cheap. And you always want to stick to
a budget while building such a device.).

I reached way down inside me. And I filled that tank up with a thousand ways to say I Love You.

And then, a journey.

I arrived back with just enough time to kill my old self and stuff him down the toilet. Hence the reason they clog so very often (Sorry). I imagine I was on my last flush when you walked through the door.

A thousand straight hours in a office could not make you look like any less of an angel.

It was after I hugged you, I did something unusual. Something that made it important for me to make this voyage in the first place.

I talked to you. Not about the day, or how many times I burned myself at work. I started talking about me. My past, the things that shaped me, the things that hurt me.

I told you that I was never the best son. In fact, I doubt I would even make an honourable mentions list. There wouldn't be enough time to go back in time to right all the wrongs I did unto my family. I was absent, I choose that path. I could have been there, but I felt outcast. And why? I just don't have an answer. God help me, I wish I did.

I remembered how the first time I picked up a cigarette I was scared to touch it to my lips. This came after years of nagging my father to stop smoking, a feat he accomplished with honors. He would smoke in the car driving us back to Mother's. DeMaurier Special Mild 100s. Silver pack. Like smoking air. But damn do I remember the nagging. And here I sit. Can't quit. Belmont Mild. Nobody nags me. I wish they did.

I shared that most of the troubles of my life, I made. Nobody else. I made my life seem dismal. I wish I had not done that.

___

"I traced the cord back to the wall. No wonder. It was never plugged in at all."

-Blink 182
___

I spoke of the first time I cut myself. Not at work. But took a razor blade from a disposal razor and sliced into my arm. I knew a girl, I said. Her name was Laura. And Laura would cut herself. Deeply. She used to wear sweatbands and hoodies a lot. I looked at those wounds, and somehow decided that was a good way to express pain. Or at least redirect it. And it became addictive. A release. I never showed them off, in fact, I was very embarrassed about them. The few times fresh cuts were found out landed me in the hospital. My Nanny called the police on me once. She was cities away. That was the first and only time I've been in the back of a police car. At the hospital, I lied. I lied to the social worker who asked me if I was okay. I said I had no interest in ending my life. They let me go. Truth is, if Nanny had not called the police, I would not be here today. I had every intention of taking my own life that night. That one night is the only time I would have ever acted upon that notion. Another truth? I don't remember what was even wrong. I blocked it out, and lost it. It's only been the last year that I have stopped wearing hoodies and sweatbands everywhere. Laura was nice, when she was happy. But sometimes, I wish I never knew her.

___

"I don't know what I knew before. But know I know I want to win the war"

-Feist
___

Then I said I was tired. And we fell asleep on the couch watching Hell's Kitchen. But happy for once. Both of us, that a question you asked finally got answered. And that you knew there were more answers for whatever you wanted to know.

When I woke up...

___

"What would you do... if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me ears, and I'll sing you a song. I'll try not to sing out of key."

-The Beatles
___

For all the things we have accomplished in this life time, and how those things have benefited mankind, we are missing something.

In 1969, Neil Armstrong took a one and a half foot step sideways and forever changed the way humans looked at this world. As he stood on the moon, billions watched. United. It gave them hope.

Advances in modern medicine that can cure the sick, or at least give them enough time to reach out to a loving hand and say goodbye.

We figured out that pigs taste really, really great. And made happy a legion of burly weekend BBQers.

Most importantly, we evolved into creatures that can love and be love. Which is the cause of and solution to most of life's problems.

We can drive across countries, and fly across nations.

And I hear them say: "Well, kid. We've come this far."

Yeah, we sure did. Just not far enough to back up and fix ourselves. Make our mistakes right. You'd think with every mistake that is made everyday by every person, somebody would have sought to make someway to fix them. Especially when those repair jobs mean the differene between happy and sad.

I wouldn't go back to relive that moon landing. I wouldn't go back to see the Jays win the world series, witness the building of The Great Wall of China or stand in a field of Dinosaurs (mainly, because that would be dangerous as hell, but I think you understand the point).

But in a heart beat, with a word, I would travel this world, the universe, time to lay down next to you and kiss you goodnight. For all the days of my life.

___

"If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do. Is to save everyday to eternity passes away, just to spend it with you.... I've looked around enough to know that you're the one I want to go through time with. "

- Jim Croce (but best sung by a Muppet. No joke, look it up)
___

With my all

Jeremy
___




x's and o's

Remy

| The Strength - The Pepper Potts Anomaly |

I was, over the next little bit, going to examine strength. What it is, at least to me. Where it comes from, etc.

I decided to start with an interesting anomaly.

To sum up my thoughts on said subject before writing the actual blogs about them, I roughly, and without much hard evidence came to the conclusion that no one person is strong alone.

Then, I wrote this:

I look at Iron Man. Seemingly indestructible. Brilliant, rich and always gets the girl.

But who is Iron Man really? Tony Stark, right? A perpetual juvenile, always tinkering aimlessly. Hiding behind a heavily armored suit to hide or mask his on inadequacies.

Cue Pepper Potts. The strong, level headed female presence. Always there to take out the trash, lend guidance and most importantly support for her man.

Without Ms. Potts, Tony Stark is stuck in the basement. Albeit a very nice basement with all the latest toys. Toys that have the rest of us boys salivating over the pages of GQ's annual Christmas Gadgets article. What I wouldn't give for a keyboard that reflects numbers and letters onto a glass panel. The things I'd type.

But who is there for Pepper. She is fully dedicated to Tony. Even though Tony never wished this for her. Of course he is extremely grateful and appreciative, he'll just never tell.

And that, my friends, is the Pepper Potts anomaly.

Yes, yes. I know. Pepper has been in trouble and relayed on others to get her out of deep-water. But said water was always made deep by Tony in the first place. Does it really count if the savior caused the problem to begin with?

Ms. Potts is the true definition of strength. A pillar on which even the most respected and indestructible of Super Heroes leans. A woman who always has the foresight to pack the Suitcase Suit, knowing that Tony will end up in trouble or being chased by a large Russian with whips for arms.

The point here, is that there is no shame in needing a pillar to lean on. There is no issue with drawing your own strength from somebody else. Needed them for you, even if they don't lean back on you the same way for theirs. A woman like that gives you the power you did not realize was there. Gives you the hope to move on, get up, fight crime.

The problem is: When Pepper leaves, so does the strength. Then we are all doomed to stay in the basement, tinkering away forever.


This will make more sense with the next few posts.

x's and o's
-Remy

| Cut and Sew |

Getting ones ears, which were pierced and spaced, cut open with a scalpel and sewn back together to fix the holes that one intentional put into them is not fun.

But Six at Exotics, Thank you.

He did an amazing job, and everybody should go and see him to get something pierced.

In other news, only 8 days until my Canadian departure. I am not looking forward to it.

| You Goin' My Way?

I respect cab drivers. I do. It must be a horrid job to have. To chauffeur the drunk and tired all over this huge city has it's burdens. I'm sure they have some fun, and interesting stories to tell.
Assuming you could understand what they were actually saying.

I know that I am not the only one that has bad luck with cab drivers. I have also heard my share of stories from friends. Martin, for example, after work one night was asked in a thick Middle Eastern accent 'You like to party?'

That's not a question you want to be asked by an immigrant stranger, who's cab you have just got into, alone, at 4 a.m.


Last nights / this morning's ride home was so bad, that it inspired this post. We will call the driver Omar, for lack of another racially stereotypical name. Also, that was his name as indicated by the large, laminated licence that I think is handed out automatically to anybody entering this country from that area of the world.

Customs Agent: "Welcome to Canada, where are you from?"
Omar: "Pakistan."
Customs Agent: "Here's your cab licence."

It's the same reason why Asian people are instantly given the deed to an Asian restaurant, or convenience store.

I'm sorry, but sometimes, stereotypes are true.

Back to the cab:


Now, many of you, I'm sure, are familiar with the 'Cab Etiquette' bylaws. The laminated sign posted on the back of the passenger seat of all Taxis in the city. The ones that indicated how the Taxi and it's driver should operate. This, as many of you know, is very rarely the case.


We can go over exactly how Omar broke most of those rules. (I am paraphrasing the rules, slightly).



"A knowledgeable driver, who speaks English and knows city geography."

I would gather, since he asked me where Broadview and Danforth was 13 times, his geography is slightly off. Made more evident when finally he said he knew where it was, and then turned the car around and proceeded East from Danforth and Dawes. The complete wrong direction.

Needless to say that speaking English was not one of Omars skills and talents. But then, neither is listening, driving, or personal hygene.


"A safe driver, who obeys traffic laws"


Excellent rule. Very important if you choice, as a passenger, to arrive at your intended destination alive.

Omar was much more concerned with answering his cell phone, and talking very loudly into it then actually paying attention to lights, other cars, and the two people he almost hit at the corner of Pape and Danforth. Even after the near miss, he was oblivious. Happily chatting away while the two people moved to the sidewalk and tried to re-start their hearts.

Omar also seemed to have a problem staying in one lane. Or, at least the RIGHT lane. He was in a hurry, this much I gathered. So much so that Omar would continuioisly vear into on-coming traffic in an effort to get around the cars in front of him. Cars that were, for all intensive purposes, driving safely. Omar, however, needed to maintain his speed of approximatly 234 MPH down the Danforth. It's the best speed to drive when you are talking on your phone.



"Driver uses Cell phone only in an Emergency

I can say this: In the cabbie world, Omar is a really popular guy. He may be the Brad Pitt of Taxi drivers. Despite his body odour that rivals the smell of the indoor Rhino exhibit at the zoo, and his lack of any intelligence whatsoever.



"A quiet ride, if you request it"

Besides the aformentioned cell phone use, Omar was rocking out to some music.

In fact, he had found the best station possible. It was playing Mohammed G - Kenny G's not quite as talented Middle Eastern equivelent. And it was LOUD.

I asked him to turn it off, and he was nice enough to reply: "What?"

After I sharaded my way through an explaining of what I wanted him to do before I threw myself from the cab, he obliged, and I was treated to the shreiks of another ethnic music. It made for lovely ambient noise, perfectly underlying Omar's phone converstaion.



"A clean taxi interior"

Omar liked to smoke, that was apperent from the cigarette buts that filled the ashtry, and the floor of the front seat. I'm a smoker, so I can't judge.

But whoever was in the back, really liked chips. And had eaten at least 13 bags, all of which were scattered across the floor.

____________________________________

And why did I not just get out? Some things are so aggrivating, and beyond beliefe that you just need to stick with them.

Now, I'm going to get some chicken balls and a soda.

talk soon

x's and o's

-Remy

| Brava, Remy. Brava! |

Guess who put his brand new passport that he needs to move to Florida through the washing machine today?

Guess.

Yah, me. HIGH FIVE!

I'm praying that it drys and has minimal damage, so I don't have to pay the $100 plus rush service to make sure I have it in time.

If anybody knows how to properly dry a Government document, please tell me.

| Tick, Tick, Tock... |

2 hours.

2 hours, I've been sitting in front of this blank text box, where I now write, making it less blank.

I occasionally checked Twitter to see what Kevin Smith was doing. But he is probably in bed, like a normal person. I filled the rest of my daily dose of Silent Bob by going through some old message boards on ViewAskew.com.

And then, back to the empty box. And my empty head.

Maybe it's just late, but I have nothing to say tonight.

I felt the urge to write something witty, and had an idea, but couldn't seem to get it out properly. I'm hoping it's because I'm tired, not because I'm out of ideas. Which I'm not. Urr..

Instead you get another pointless blog about nothing. Literally nothing. Something steamed from my insistence to not leave the box empty.

I will tell you this. I am happy. Not regular happy. But actually happy.

Talk soon
x's and o's
-Remy

| Fear Factor |

I have been prone to nightmares lately. This is a strange occurrence for me, as I've never had them before. I'm not in-tune with the spiritual world of dreams, so I don't pretend to know what they mean. Of course, I could look up the symbolic meaning of the images I see as I sleep. I do not however because: A) I'm really lazy, B) I assume these assessments were written by a 42 year old woman who still lives in her Mother's basement, wears to much cheap faux gold jewelry and sweaters her Grandmother knitted her for Christmas 20 years ago, and C) I don't care all that much.

The nightmares are rather simple. No more complex than you average slasher flick. Standard plot, usual cast of characters. In this particular one, I was forced to watch an alternate version of me kill my friends in alphabetical order (Sorry, Aaron and Amanda. Will, you have lots of time, start running now.). I am not making the alphabetical order part up.

All this got me thinking about what it is I'm afraid of. And it turns out, lots. Here are a few of the things I thought about:

1) Falling down stairs in public
2) Falling up stairs in public
3) People who walk to close to me late at night
4) Not being successful enough
5) Moving far away
6) Never getting married, or having a family
7) Marrying the wrong person
8) Wolverines
9) The movie 28 days later coming true
10) Death

Death is a big one, folks. I know a lot of people are afraid to die. Although I am one of them, it also seems rather foolish to me. Why be afraid of something you can do nothing to alter? It's the only certainty in life. And this got me thinking about another list. Things I would like to do before I die, for whatever reason. This is the kind of list that will keep on growing. But here's a few to start it off:

1) Win the WWE championship in a Steel Cage Match.
2) See my television show on air
3) Stick my hand into a fire-ant mound
4) Dissassemble a car, piece by piece. Then, give all the pieces to a kid and tell him if he can put it together again, he can have it.
5) Sleep with at least one famous person (preferable Scarlet Johanson)
6) Dress, and live like a pirate for a week
7) Pink belly a Nun
8) Get photographed by Annie Leibowitz
9) Eat an entire jar of mayonnaise

Talk soon

x's and o's

-Remy

| Pictures of the Heart |

As promised, here are the pics from Heart. Once again, some didn't turn out as I was forced to act like James Bond and sneak the pics.

| Conversations With an 8-ball, Volume One |

I thought it would be a mighty good idea to have a little Q and A time with the mightiest of all psychics, a Magic 8-ball that I found laying around.



Here are the results.

Q - Will I be successful in Florida?
A - Concentrate and ask again.

Q - Um. Okay. Will I be successful in Florida?
A - Cannot predict now.

Q - Why did you not say that the first time?
A - My reply is no.

Q - I'm already annoyed by you?
A - My sources say no.

Q - Argumentative little bastard. Am I going to be begging Kristine for my Old Nick job two weeks after leaving?
A - Concentrate, and ask again.

Q - Oh, no. I'm not doing that again. Try this, will the Blue Jays make the play-offs?
A - My sources say no.

Q - That sucks. Do I have a crush on somebody?
A - My reply is no.

Q - See, now I know you are lying. Because I do.
A - Reply Hazy, try again.

Q - Who are these 'sources', anyway?
A - Yes.

Q - That's not even a source.
A - Don't count on it.

Q - Psh. I'm not.
A - Reply hazy, try again.

Q - You already said that?
A - Outlook Good.

Q - Oh, see. Now you are testing my patience?
A - It is certain.

Q - How would you like it if I smashed you on the floor?
A - Most likely.

At this point in the procedings, I raised the 8-ball above my head and threatened it.

Q - I'll do it.
A- Outlook not so good.

Q- It's sure as hell not. For you.
A- Don't count on it.

Q- Oh, a tough guy, eh?
A - As I see it, yes.

Q - Fuck. Fine. I'm keeping you around. Plus, I'm scared of whatever bizarre liquid is inside of you. I'm positive whatever it is did not originate on this planet. Also, I may need you for comedic blog purposes later.
A - My reply is no.

Q - Are you saying I'm not funny?
A - Ask again later.

Q - You're right, I guess this blog is pretty new.
A - Reply hazy, try again.

talk soon

x's and o's.

-remy

| My Heart |

So, what's it been? 5 days. I'm slacking.

So, I shall start by telling you all that I am madly in love with another man's wife.

The man? Cameron Crowe.

The wife? Nancy Wilson.

Sorry there, Cam. I don't care if you directed 'Almost Famous' (Which I love, sir.) But I want your wife somethin' fierce. And if the chance arouse, I would not hesitate to do what Rita Wilson did to Tom Cruise in another of your films, Jerry Maguire. I would feel bad about it, I'm sure. And the result would not be favorable for me, this I also I know. But damned if I wouldn't try.

It was Thursday. A beautiful day. Jason 'Dirty' Howarth and I were on our way to Casino Rama. The reason was the soon to be object of my celebrity lust, and the band she plays with, Heart.

I won't go through the entire show, instead, I'll just say that they were AMAZING. They covered Tom Petty (You Wrong Me), and, much to the delight of Dirty and myself, Zeppelin (Going to California, and The Immigrant Song) as well as their own stuff, natch!

Highlight for me? Well, a couple, since you asked.

First, the fact the when the lights went out, the Old Nick crew, Kris, Marty, Me, Dirty and Mo, stormed the stage which landed us all in the very first row. And by first row, I mean leaning against the stage. I was so close to Nancy that I could have slapped her for being such a kick-ass rock-star. Second, their cover of the Who's Love Reign O'er Me.

Hi. They owned that song.

Anne Wilson, also, is a complete rock star. Her stage presents is incredible. And the strut, oh, the strut. The strut was topped only by Nancy's (*swoon*) high kicks and hops.

I will have pics up shortly. Not many from the show, as we were not suppose to take pics where we were standing. But, I snuck a few in there. Had to.

And if anybody asks, don't mix strawberry Gatorade and Vodka together. It seems like a good plan, but when the ratio of Vodka far exceeds the Gatorade, it tastes like rubbing alcohol.

We'll talk soon.

x's and o's.

| An Apology |

Okay, so this is not an entry.

Just an apology that I have not written in a few.

I assure you that when I get home tonight, and after I take a much needed (even though I just woke up) nap, I'll have some new entries!

x's and o's.

| Oh, and PS |

Go see Star Trek.



It scores +11 points for awesome. Made far superior by the company I enjoyed it with.

There are some important lessons in this movie too, especially if we are going to survive for the next few hundred million years.

- Make sure you always have the most dangerous material in the entire galaxy on hand at all time. And lots of it.

-Genocide is okay, but only if you are you one of the last people alive from your race, and it's for inter-stellar revenge.

-Don't be talking about Spock's Momma. He will choke you, and it will hurt.

-Don't start messing with time-lines. Shit will get fucked up. And you will score no points.

-Iowa, it would seem, is going to become the technological mecca of the universe.

-Little Kirk=win, Little Spock=win. Both get High Fives. Little Kirk for out-driving the police, and Little Spock for beating up Vulcan bullies.

Hrm... I'm sure I could think of more if it was not an hour after I said I was going to bed in the last post.

For real. Good Night.

x's and o's

-Remy

| Single Unit, Part Two: Room for Two |

So, we were going to discuss, a while back the difference between good and bad bed fellows.

Now, let me state that when it comes to the good, I am running entirely on memory. I have not had good company in that department in some time, at least company that meant something to me.

And sure, you'll say, "Remy, you were with Mothra for some time, wasn't she good to sleep next to?" That to me is like asking, "Isn't it nice sleeping next to your laptop power supply?"

To which my answer to both is the same: " Sure it is. It's warm and comforting in some strange way. It makes a relaxing hum, like some wonderful bio-tech lullaby. But if the voltage is a little screwy, or the plug is slightly out of the socket, or you accidentally kick the blanket slightly off it's feet, the whole place can go up in flames. "

So, Mothra=bad.


Laptop Power Supply=Good.


At the very least, the power supply doesn't yell at you for sliding quietly under the sheets at 3am, having stayed up to watch a Mythbusters marathon. No, see, the power supply would just keep humming happily away, luring me into dreams of busting myths while throwing crash test dummies in front of every moving object on the planet.

There will be no concern over the fact that you got up at 8am, about 10 minutes before you have to go to work and didn't make the bed, while the power supply is still in it. Apparently, OCD works during REM too.

The power supply won't jump on you in the morning, after you've worked a twelve hour day, which finished four hours previous to the jumping, demanding you get up to tell her where the thing that you MUST have missplaced is. When you assure Mothra that you have not touched the thing in question, she gets angrier, and asks why nothing is EVER where it was before I MUST have moved it. Mothra even maintains her anger when she finds the thing in her purse, where she left it. This one is not so bad, as I am not even awake enough to understand a)What's missing, b) Why I'm being yelled at, and c) Who's yelling at me. Not the power supply, the power supply will let me sleep, and look for it himself before blaming (note I said blame, not ask) someone else.

Side note: Mothra had always assumed that I had a little cubby stash full of things I hid from her. Examples: Sewing needles (I don't sew), stethoscope (I'm not a doctor, or nurse), Polysporin (I had no open wounds). This list is much longer, but I'm sure we shall delve into that again soon.

Now, there are certain parts of sharing a bed with somebody you're in a relationship with that are a given. Sex, sure, but that's a whole other train tunnel. What I'm talking about here is cuddling.

The power supply will almost always cuddle, not try and get away. Unless it's really hot in the room, then the power supply will try and cool down by blinking his little green light in a non-verbal request that some space remains, less both of you end up with the same fate as the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz.


Cuddling to me is important, there's a sense of security in it that you can't get with sex alone. It's comforting and nice. Especially at bed time, especially when you share that time with somebody. It's a very intimate setting.



See, to me, one of the big tests of a good relationship was if I could not just sleep, but sleep soundly next to somebody. Mind you, this is hard to do when your significant other hangs upside down from the roof in slumber. If I dose off, and wake-up in almost the same position I fell asleep in, the test is passed. If I try and cuddle somebody, and I am greeted like I just tried to kill a baby Koala with a circular saw, the test is failed. Not the power supply, which will always be right next to you. It can't even climb walls, because it's a laptop power supply. It has no legs.

So, in short, you would much rather sleep next to the power supply. Because it's a metaphor for good company. Company that respects your sleep, and enjoys the fact they are sleeping next to you, and you to them. Company that wouldn't mind the occasional snuggle. Company that you just can't resist kissing on the forehead right after they fall asleep, because at that moment they look just the perfect amount of beautiful.

It's not recommended that you kiss the power supply, unless you put some rubber between you and it.


That's it for me, kids. It's late /early.

So, I retire to my bed, with company that will always be perfect: myself. The silence of me sleeping is one of the most relaxing things to me. Um.. yah. Until later, I leave you with this...

| The Lioness and the Mouse |

So, this story is going to be based, obviously, on one of Aesop's fables, called the Lion and the Mouse. It just so turns out the story fits well into a real event that happened last year...

Remy's Fables
presents
The Lioness and The Mouse

There once was a mouse, that lived on the warm plains. The mouse did not venture out much, as he lived very close to a pride of lions.

The lions were proud and fierce creatures, save one, a beautiful lioness. She had fur that gleamed in the sun, and teeth white as ivory.

The Lioness knew of the Mouse, and often would leave treats for him outside his dwelling.

One day, while he was out enjoying a drink, the mouse came upon the Lioness. She was laying on her side, with damp eyes. Her paws were red, and swollen.

"Beautiful Lioness," said the Mouse, "What is the matter?"
"I have stepped on glass shards, left here by hunters. And the glass is in my feet," replied the Lioness.
"You have always been nice to me, please let me help you."

The Lioness looked worried, but soon extended her paws toward the Mouse, and he carefully removed all the glass.

Before long, the Lioness was back with the pride, running, playing and hunting.

Hopefully, she will never forget the Mouse.

The Moral: Always heal the Lioness, so she can move on and do amazing things.

| Snob Company Awards: Category Two |

Award: The "I'm Utterly Useless, Like Paris Hilton" Award for Lifetime Acheviement in being useless.

Presented by: The winner of Survivor Eleven

This is, my friends, the most competitive category at the Snobbies. There are so many things to consider. Do you focus on a group, or an individual? What is the definition of useless?

________

use·less (ysls)adj.

1. Being or having no beneficial use; futile or ineffective.

2. Incapable of functioning or assisting; ineffectual: He panics easily and is useless in an emergency

________

Some only fit into one of the two of these meanings. For example:

1. Being or having no beneficial use; futile or ineffective. Examples: Infomercial hosts, Nicole Richie and Gangster Rappers.

2. Incapable of functioning or assisting; ineffectual. Examples: George W. Bush and un-potty trained lap dogs.

In order to receive a nomination in this category, you must be one of the few that fit into BOTH definitions. This truly is a Herculean task. Being both completely dysfunctional, and having no use is indeed a rare quality. Although, I assume, not rare enough.

I know there will be people out there that don't agree with these nominees. Where is Lindsay Lohan? They will say. I'll tell you where. Not here. Why? Because she is entertaining. That's why. Who doesn't want to watch somebody fall apart in front of their eyes? We know she's not a lesbian, but we like watching her pretend. Britney too. We watched her go from sexy pop-star, to a trailer dweller in a year.

With out further a do, the most useless of the useless. Ladies and Gentleman, the nominees for the 'I'm Utterly Useless, Like Paris Hilton' Award for lifetime Achievement in being useless. And it comes down to two amazing finalists...

_________

Nominee
The Cast of 'the Hills'

Potentially the dumbest human beings on the planet, with what I'm sure is the combined I.Q. of a loaf of Wonderbread, only not nearly as usefull. Try making a sandwich out of Brody Jenner.

Let me add this conversation as proof of the riveting intellegence one finds on the show:

Lauren: So, how is work going?

Whitney: Like, hard, but like, I like it.

Lauren: Is it tough?

Whitney: It's like challenging. Like, the other day, I was like, at a runway show and I was like "Go, Go, Go!" to all the models. It was, like, great.

Lauren: Wow! That sounds like your dream job.

Is it really any wonder why people have no hope for the youth today? Remember though, these kids are young, and have plenty of time left to aggrivate us.ne

Nominee
Jesus of Nazereth

Now, I'm not going to get into a big anti-Jesus thing here. I'll save that hole-ripping for another day. And believe me, that day is coming. And the hole I tear into religion will be as wide as the 'Virgin' Mary's ... nevermind.

Needless to say, without the mightiest of all fictional characters, we would have 1 /4th the war, and much less disagreement between people who believe that we are all sinners because two naked people ate a cursed apple off a tree, because a talking snake told them too, and those of us who are not retarded.

The one saving grace this nominee has is being the base for the very funny 'Baby Jesus' prayer in the film 'Talladega Nights'. But, as this is a lifetime acheviement award, who better than a man whos bullshit has been useless for 2000 years?

_______

... and the Snobbie goes too


_______

Paris Hilton

Of course she was going to win this award, folks. It's named after her. Like you didn't see it coming. What better victor than everybody's favorite attention-whore.

Paris personifies useless in every facet. The leader of the 'I'm famous because I'm rich' sect, who apperently spends the majority of her time looking for best friends, on television, and giving below par head in night vision.

Congrats, Paris, you win a dozen elbows to the larrynx.

And them crabs be ichy, aren't they, Paris?

Okay, okay. Here's Lindsay...

| The Hose and the Soda |

Here is a story. It makes no sense at all. It's really dumb. I hate it. But, please keep in mind that I am about 72.4% drunk, and I assure you this blog will return to it's normal witty form tomorrow.

The Horse and the Soda

There was a horse. He was grey-ish. He had a name, but could not remember it. Oh, and his soda pop was warm.

He decided to go looking for some ice.

Up and down the street he walked, all the while people giving him strange looks. Then, he saw a store that sold ice. The horse realized he did not have any money. How does a horse get money?

He spindle kicked an small boy. But the boy had only change. Then he robbed a bank.

He went back to the store, and putting the bag of ice on the counter, he realized something.

"Wayne! My name is Wayne!"

"You can talk?!" exclaimed the shop keep.

"Hey, I guess I can. And why am I drinking soda, anyway? I'm a horse" said Wayne.

"You should write this shit down," said the shop keep.

___________

If that made even one of you smile in the slightest, it was worth it.

x's and o's.

See you in the a.m.