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.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
| 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.
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"
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
Thursday, June 11, 2009
| 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.
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.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
| 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
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
Monday, May 25, 2009
| 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:
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:
Talk soon
x's and o's
-Remy
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
Thursday, May 21, 2009
| 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.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
| 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.
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
x's and o's.
-remy
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