Friday, August 31, 2007

That Labour Day Blog

Happy Labour Day weekend, cowboys & Indians!

A little history lesson: Labour Day celebrates the efforts of labour unions all over the world (excluding sweat shops, obviously) in achieving the 8-hour day movement - 8 hours for work, 8 hours for recreation, 8 hours for sleep.

Although widely celebrated by the rest of the world on May 1st (May Day), here in North America it's celebrated the first Monday of September - a traditionally ceremonious 'last hurrah' of summer for many.

In Canada, Labour Day can be tracked back to the printer's revolt of 1872 - back then unionization was illegal... like JAIL-worthy - and 10,000 workers took to the street demanding a scant 54 hour work week, leading then-PM Sir John A. MacDonald to repeal anti-union laws and olde tymey blue-collar Joe's finally caught a break.

I remember as a kid I thought Labour Day celebrated the act of giving birth, and still kinda do. Weird how that works, huh?

So, because it's Friday, and because it's the start of Labour Day weekend, I now present my TOP 10 FAVOURITE BIRTHING METHODS!!!

10.) Water Birth

Ahhhh water birth. It's like being at a water park - using your mother's vag as a veritable slip 'n slide into a giant wave pool... HELLO WORLD!

Okay, this is gross. I'll stop. I can actually remember in my OAC [Grade 13... in Ontario, we used to have 5 grades in high school, for those of you not in the know] Sociology class, the teacher - Ms. Rita Kilpatrick - filled an entire hour-and-a-half lesson by making us watch a tape of birthing methods. T'was not for the faint of heart. I made it through water birth and midwife assistance, but holy mother of fuck, once Cesarean came rollin' round the corner I had my limit! I was like "Mrs. K - I'm going to blow chunks. Can I leave?" I was actully palpitating in horror. To this day, I still have the occasional night terrors about it. *shivers*

Anyway... one thing commonly associated with Labour Day, as much if not moreso than it taking 5 hours to drive from Toronto to Barrie, is the belief that you can't wear white after Labour Day.

But from whence did this belief come from?

After some perfectly exhaustive research, I'm come to these conclusions:

The rule seems to originate in the American South... where most good things do.

Originally, the rule applies to shoes. Specifically, white pumps. Tennis shoes, sneaks, off-white boots and an Autumn or Winter Brides' footwear notwithstanding, it's perceived as very bad manners to wear white pumps outside of the period betwixt Easter Sunday and Labour Day in the south. Which actually makes sense. White pumps are ridiculous. Every time I see a girl wearing them, I'm like, "Oh hi. Are you part of Prince's entourage from 1986?"... Digressing...

How did this become such widespread belief? Blame the advent and subsequent boom of the middle class in the 1950's. All of a sudden, people had money, but absolutely no handle on the standards of bonafide high society, soooo they were given a number of broad, definitive rules to follow in order to fit in. Not wearing white after Labour Day was one of them.

Since then, the argument has been that white is only in fashion in the summer, and the rule is in place to prevent people from wearing winter fashions in summer months and vice versa. I say, "SUCK IT!". I'll wear white if and when I damned well please, and I encourage you to do the same.

Unless they're white jeans. No one is allowed to wear white jeans. Especially if they're made into jort form. Hell to the no.


The more you know,

--- Aj

Thursday, August 30, 2007



I've spent more time than I'd like to admit trying to write a blog of Myths vs. Facts about the Bermuda Triangle.

I'm less-pleased to admit this than the number of Carrie Underwood songs I've got on my iPod at present: "Some Hearts", "Jesus, Take The Wheel", "Wasted", "Before He Cheats" and the Idol Gives Back charity single, "I'll Stand By You". An exponentially higher amount of Underwood than any one human should want or need.

I know, I know - BERMUDA TRIANGLE? "Why Andrew, I had NO idea you had such an agog interest in nautical paranormality!"

Well guess what, motherfucker? I do.

This past Sunday, a day that I play nursemaid to my hangover and watch whatever the fuck is on my television, I found myself settled on the Space Network watching an expose on the Bermuda Triangle. And what an expose!

The Bermuda triangle, of course, is the waterway betwixt Miami, Florida, the mid-Atlantic isle of Bermuda and land o' plenty, San Juan, Peurto Rico, where many a ships 'n planes have gone missing without a trace.

This expose went on to explore countless theories of explanation... ranging from abnormally high methane levels localized within the triangle that cause the weather go haywire to a hypothesis that it's an underwater Area 51 and that the US government is responsible for the paranormalities to the perfectly zany theory that the ocean floor beneath the triangle is the final resting place of the lost city of Atlantis and it's all haunted and shit...

Discussed in this particular expose was a fairly recent study done by some German dude whose name escapes me in which he tracked electro-magnetic anomalies in the triangle and found a ridiculously high amount that shift constantly. Then a barrage of physisists came on saying that the only explanation for them would be cosmic 'wormholes' in the time/space continuum! So mini black holes, basically.

Which means that all the missing barges, yachts, jetskis, planes etc got sucked into a mini, mobile black hole! And into - *GASP* - THE FOURTH DIMENSION!

Anyway. I kinda thought that was interesting. Yet have absolutely no scientific footnotes to reference, so really... this was pointless. Onto more substantial things...


1.) Shia LaBeouf & Rihanna
The Sun is reporting that slightly post-pubescent superstud Shia LaBeouf (of course Shia's last name loosely translated: The Beef) and R&B tart-of-the-moment Rihanna are an item!

I can't tell you how badly the young Hollywood landscape needs an interracial power-couple right now. Very.

Well, it's certainly a niche that could stand to be filled, anyway.

2.) Zac Efron & Nikki Blonsky

I can't tell you how much I wish this was true.

If this delicious item is to be believed, these Hairspray co-stars brought their respective characters' unlikely romance right off the big screen and into reality!

My inner-fat chick is squealing with joy about this.

If true, score for Blonsky. He's the man of the moment. If true, good on Efron - it would really make weigh down the smarminess I find so repulsive about him with some depth. Even if she is just his beard.

3.) Bea Arthur & Peter O'Toole

Shit. Now THIS one is a hot ticket.

Not really.

They're not together.

I can dream, though. Seeing who could outdrink the other would be epic. I'd love to see that.

Although the sex would be disgusting, I think we should all count our lucky stars that these two are still with us.

Someone I think we could all do without, however...

Jordin Sparks.

She sucks.

Need proof?

Her new single, "Tattoo", has been released and oooh howdy it's a stinker.

To say that this song is like a poor man's version of Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" would be the understatement of the year.

I'd describe it as such:

If both songs were made from a pig, "Irreplaceable" would be back bacon from the lucious ass, whereas "Tattoo" would be a hot dog made from the snout and entrails.


Listen/Download it HERE.

Like a tattoo,

--- Aj

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Big Whoop! Who Gives A Bibble? Gabba Gabba Hey.

That title is of course a line spoken by none other than Marge Simpson in an episode whose details escape me at present time... but it was said in the context of something like, "so you didn't make the soccer team... big whoop! Who gives a bibble?! Gabba gabba hey."

I found it rather fetching.

And will now use it as a title whenever I have a blog full of minutia/things that are still blogworthy but not qualifiable as 'Haute Topics'.


Today is Canadian theatre impresario David Mirvish's birthday. And, seeing as I work in the Mirvish building, it's a big, fat, festive deal around these parts.

Although I don't work directly under him, he still signs m'cheque, and whenever I encounter him I all but avert my gaze. Which is ridiculous, because the man's about the nicest, most passive, genteel dude ever - but I still find myself in greeting him with fear/reverence.

Like every time he comes up to our office and I have slight warning, I'll bust my ass to tidy and y'know, put on my shoes (I'm notoriously sock-footed at work. Notoriously).

Anyway, as almost always happens when you're trying to impress someone, you say monumentally retarded things. He just called up here looking for my boss, and it SOMEHOW took me like 5 minutes to explain to him that he's gone for lunch, at which point he's like "cool. tell him to call me when's he's back" and I'm all "ABSOLUTELY!" and he's all "great" and I'm like "yeah. And HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" and he's like "thank you"...

And then there was a momentary lull in the conversation - which is pretty much my mortal enemies as I always feel the need to fill those with soundbytes that get more bizarre and inappropriate as I go on.

So I say, "OH- it's also Michael Jacksons' birthday!" - WHICH IT TOTALLY IS - and he's like "... oh. Is that so?". And I'm like "Yeah! Crazy, huh? ... anyways, BYE!"


In other news...

Jessica Alba's in town. Shooting a new movie alongside Mike Myers called "Love Guru". She was snapped by photogs outside some unnamed 'chic' eatery looking incontestably marvelous.

Dear Jessica Alba: please leave my city. Thanks.

In other, other news...

Closeted gay Republicans who get busted in seedy sex scandals suck.

Well, actually, they don't. They wish they could. But they always try to in a public place and get busted by the popo-or blowpo.

The latest in a string of 'em (Mark Foley, Ted Haggard, that Republican youth leader who got caught jerking off his unwilling bunkmate at some Republican retreat) is Senator Larry Craig.

This is hardly a first offense, either. He's been alleged of it before - dating back to a congressional page scandal as far back as 1982. This time around, the scene of the crime was in an airport bathroom in the bustling gay epicentre of the world, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

He was making a lot of bizarre foot-tapping signals and inappropriate hand gestures to a sexy undercover blowpo, busted, then plead guilty.

I wouldn't have a problem with all these Republican homos on the DL if they still behaved like they did but were merely passive if-not slightly favorable to the GLBT cause.

It's the fact that these guys act so vehemently anti-gay, voting against hate-crime laws and same-sex marriage, then go out and commit these dirty, backalley indecencies and thereby perpetuate the stereotype/profile of the God-foresaken homosexual that all their fucking constituents think they need to protect the rest of the world from! Grrr!

Anyway... I gotta run... cake is being served downstairs... and I loves me some cake...

Such as,

--- Aj

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

That Fipps Placenta Blog

That title.

Long story.

Long story SHORT: Last night saws me do something all too uncharacteristic for me - I actually attended a comedy show that I wasn't performing at! And to make things all the more far-fetched, it was an alternative comedy show. I don't think I've attended an alternative comedy night that I wasn't a part of since the Joke Club at the Drake a full calendar year ago but I know, I know, "what does this have to do with you?", I'll shut up.

Anyway - last night's excursion was to see an act I'd never seen before: Iron Cobra. Comprised of the most prominent jaw lines in the comedy world, Becky Johnson & Graham Wagner, it's wonderfully intellectual long-form improv at its finest.

Something that I found entirely uproarious was a scene in which two radio DJ's took a station break to broadcast commercials, one of them was for tampons, and it was slightly offbeat or offensive or something that prompted them to discuss it when they were back from break.

A lively back 'n forth ensued and eventually came to a screeching halt when Becky said: "Maybe you didn't know this, but I suffer from a condition called Fipps Placenta!" Magnificent.

Turns out: no such thing as Fipps Placenta... I actually googled it as soon as I got home, as I like to have a healthy arsenal of minutia about medical oddities/ailments on hand at all times... mainly to break out in the middle of dinner parties/muggings.

No dice. None whatsoever. Fuck.

In other news...

So it's official: I'm obsessed with Miss Teen South Carolina, Lauren Caitlin Upton.

For those of you who have been living under a rock/on an isolated mission in outer space/held captive in a serial killer's basement putting lotion on y'skin until today, Miss Upton is the dumb-as-hair Miss Teen USA contestant-turned-newsmaker when, this past weekend, she came down with the worst case of verbal diarreah in the history of time giving her answer at the Q&A.

The clip made its way 'round the world fast and nasty via youtube turning L to the C to the U into the latest internet laughing stock du-jour.

Certainly, one would think that after turning into the female equivalent of the Star Wars Kid, you'd run. As fast as you can. And hide. Forever. But thank the stars, she came out of hiding this morning on the Today show to explain "what she meant to say"...

She claims that she was so dumbfounded by the statistic, that she was in shock and not, as widely presumed, because she's an astoundingly retarded douchebag.

I love how she absolutely has to put that last bit about how her parents raised her with strong values and morals and bullshit at the end. That just drives home why people are so jubilant about her failure, in my opinion. Because she's a veritable clear-cut everywoman for each and every oblivious, transparent, lemming-esque American Southerner who were the popular kids in high school and voted for Bush out there. I hate her because of that, too. And also because she bears a stunning resemblance to Elisabeth Hasselbeck, but that's neither here nor there.

Hate as I might, I'm still obsessed. And as I'm obsessed, I did a little research on Miss Upton... and by that I mean I went to the Miss Teen USA website and read her fucking bio...

Of note:

... She's an avid soccer player - SO avid, in fact, that her varsity soccer team traveled to Germany placing second in a tournament involving several European countries. I assume there was no Q&A period involved.

... She's a talented artist with a focus in graphic design. As a matter of fact, she actually won a "star student" award in - and I shit you not - photoshop.

... She plans on attending college for Grapic Design (read: NOT GEOGRAPHY) and ultimately work in special effects for film & TV. Of course, if this falls through, she plans to take the European modelling world by storm (for real)... afterall, in her modelling life, she has appeared in such luminous publications as Seventeen, Cosmo Girl and American Cheerleader.

And perhaps most provocatively of all...

... She can be booked for live appearances by calling 803.648.6220 or by e-mailing which I plan on doing tomorrow.

Until then,

--- Andrew "Such As" Johnston

Monday, August 27, 2007

Apparently It's Monday...


My weekend was a fucking vortex. A VORTEX I tells ya...

Making it worse is that I had all sorts of plans that I detailed in Friday's blog - ALL OF WHICH FELL THROUGH.

Friday night started off well-intentioned enough. A gaggle of us were set to attend Madonnarama and made sure we got there in decent-enough time (read: before 11). Yeah... that was downright tardy. There was a line up the mothafuckin' block - people had clearly been there since before 9. And who has got that sort of time? WHO?!

It was supposed to be $10 before 11, $15 before 1 and "more" after 1... I'd price an evening dancing to all-Madonna music with 5,000 other homos, all the dry ice you can breathe and zero personal space at 2 bucks. Maybe $2.50. So naturally, the most I was willing to go was 10.

Call me a jaded old fuck (well, don't, lest I bitch slap you), but I just have no patience for places that let a line purposely swell so it looks 'happenin'. I just couldn't care less... so in a reaction comprised of 20% "we'ze too hot fo' dat shit"-elitism, 10%"dang! as if that line is that long, y'all!"-despair, and 70% good-old-fashioned "meh"-apathy, we bolted the absolutely preposterous lineup at Madonnarama and found ourselves at Woody's. Yee-Haw.

About two seconds after we got in there, BOOM - torrential downpour. Homos from that Madonnarama line sought shelter in the village like they was gonna melt or some shit... they swarmed like locusts - it was amazing. I imagined "The Ride of the Valkyries" underscoring and let me tell ya, it was all too fitting.

Anyway, joy of joys, what a night to find y'self at Woody's - it was afterall, "Best Ass Night". It is just simply beyond me who enters these things. I think the only people that I respect less than the dudes who enter these things are the dudes who are active spectators at them. It's so seedy. But then again, who am I to judge? Ya gotta have fun, that's what I always say.

It turned out that one of the contestants was a guy that one of my co-fags had some liasons with a while back [I won't mention either of their names as he didn't seem particularly pleased to find himself in this circumstance].

My nameless co-fag said that this dude was "going through a real low-point right now".

I asked "how low?"

"Low enough to enter a best ass contest at Woody's."

Point taken. Anyballs that was that was about that. I also trumpeted that I'd be attending the centennial anniversary of the Royal Alex theatre yesterday, but shoot y'all, it was at noon. This guy does nothing before 7 PM on Sundays. Fuck it, this guy doesn't really do anything after 7 PM on Sundays, either. The point I'm making is that I don't do things on Sundays - did you get that?

It's a pretty definitive 'day of rest' for me. Not for religious reasons, but primarily because I'm so abominably wasted on Saturday nights that it really takes quite a stripe offa/outta me. So I'm just the picture of languid, if you can imagine. And I'll actually watch anything that's on m'TV set. The past three Sundays, CBC's been airing the Harry Potter films... so I thought I'd see what all the fuss is about and check 'em out. But then I'll fall asleep for 20 minute intervals and miss key plot points/character introductions/spells and other conventions of warlockcraft and I'm just fucked right up ass in terms of understanding what's going on.

I have, however, come to three conclusions:

1.) In each and every case, whomever you think is a good guy is actually a bad guy and whomever you think is a bad guy is actually a good guy. I could have just said vice versa. Whatever.

2.) MORE Maggie Smith, LESS fantastical beasts.

3.) Hermoine and Ron both need gender reassignment surgery. He's clearly a chick and she's clearly a dude.


The best thing to happen to me all weekend was joyous indeed... I'm going to assume that you're well-aware of third-place finisher Lauren Caitlin Upton's ass-rockingly brilliant answer at this past Friday's Miss Teen USA pageant... it's one of the best things I've ever seen.

I can't tell you how entertaining I find that. And it just gets better every time you watch it. How many times she incorrectly says "such as". Mario Lopez about to lose it at the end of it. Whether or not that self-satisfied smirk she ends on is genuine or not. All of these things.

I refuse to believe that a percentage of U.S. Americans (is there any other kind?) don't have access to maps. It was my understanding that every citizen of U.S. America - from the hoitiest, toitiest Connetician family of 4 to the lowliest Appalachian family of 17 - had an at-least 2004 edition globe of the world that doubled as a wetbar as the centrepiece of their living room. I'LL BE DAMNED!

Anyway, Miss Upton's Q&A snaffoo easily made a dark day for the Bimbo community. Apparently, the bitch isn't doing any follow-up interviews - as her reps were easily able to foresee the amount of people with basic mathematical and grammatical problems for her to take a stab at.

Already this incident seems poised to result in more response videos than "Dick In A Box"...

Anyway, such as, I've got to get going, such as, so, South America and Iraq, such as, I'll have to talk to you later, U.S. Americans.

Such as,

--- Aj

Friday, August 24, 2007

MORE Haute Topics

T to the G to the I to the F!

What's happenin' cowboys & Indians... any big plans for the weekend? I'm making my lone yearly visit to Fly tonight for "Madonnarama" - a night of non-stop Madonna music. It's poised to be the faggiest thing that has ever happened in the history of time.

Then Sunday, I'm attending the 100th anniversary of the Royal Alex theatre. There's a rumored who's who of Canadian luminairies expected - chiefly among them, Camilla Scott. I'll make a point to bring my camera.

Three things:


Everyone's favourite cracked-out British hair-hopping soulstress hit a glorious new low this week - photos circulated of her and husband/drinking buddy Blake Fielder-Civil after what appears to be after a nasty knife-fight.

Apparently he walked in on her about to do herione with a call girl, told her that she 'wasn't good enough for him', she freaked because of this and started cutting herself, he walked in to intervene, got diced six ways to Sunday and in the process, saved her life.

The couple celebrated this by taking their freshly cut wounds on a delightful nightime promenade in merry Londontowne. To the surprise of no one, the papparazzi were present.

There is something about that picture that I find so hilarious. Something about them walking hand in hand, her with her signature bee-hive (does she ever put that shit down?) and 8-tonne mascara eyes freshly collapsed from a crying fit, him looking like he was on the receiving end of a hickey from a moray eel - as if to say "all in a day's work".

Nuts. Gets me in the mood for some classic Winehouse... this clip, introduced to me by Aaron Kyte sometime last winter, marks my introduction to Mz Winehouse... it's her... drunk out of her skull on the Charlotte Church show... singing Michael Jacksons' "Beat It"... and beat it she does... to an agonizing, unethical death...


Yep. 82 minutes. 'Overcrowding'.

At least her weigh in was made public.

You'll fucking love this: 5 months pregnant and guess what she tipped the scale at?

105 pounds.

Doesn't that barely qualify her as hale enough to menstuate? I'm shocked she was able to produce an ovum in the first place, quite honestly. Wow.


This is magnificent.

One distinguished Jerome Almon of one very distinguished Murdercap Records has summoned an astounding who's who to appear in court over a lawsuit against the Canadian government that alleges that our customs officials racially profile black rappers at the border and put blame on them for increased gang violence in Toronto and Vancouver.

Subpoena'd: Paris Hilton, Mick Jager, Keith Richards, Snoop Dogg, DMX, P. Diddy, Jenna Jameson, Sunny Leone, Olivia, Jay Z, 50 Cent, Eminem, Alain Jolicoeur, Kobe Bryant, Oprah Winfrey, Katelyn Faber, Spike Lee, Abbe Raven, Tom Sizemore, Beverly Posthill, Martha Stewart, Heidi Fleiss, Belinda Stronach, David Miller, Colin Powell, Condoleeza Rice, and many more. View the subpoenas with y'own damn eyes.

So it's just that easy? File a lawsuit and a smorgasbord of your favourite celebs will be forced to come to y'backyard?

Hmmm... well I think it's safe to say that one Miss Shelley Long will be served with some papers any day now... wink wink wink wink wink...


--- Aj

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Haute Topics

D'afternoon to y' and y'rs.

5 thinks to tickle ya noggin.


Can news programs, infotainment programs, infotainment weekly magazines, infotainment monthly magazines, tabloids, bloggerati, water cooler conversationalists and the world in general please stop paying attention to Pete Doherty?

I don't understand why all the above sources feel the need to report when he gets busted on drugs as news when it happens. It's like when you read headlines like "Olsen Twins Shun Papparazzi" or "Carmen Electra Acts Like A Whore" - IT'S NOT NEWS! IT'S A REGULAR, MINUTELY OCCURRANCE!!! Sheesh.

Speaking of things that aren't news, but meh, I'll mention it anyway...


Because bitch would gnarl up and die if she wasn't in a tabloid for more than 3 days, Lindsay teamed with the good folks at OK to stage several 'candid' shots of her fighting the good fight at the Sundance, Utah rehab lodge she's currently staying at.

A while back, her rehab itinerary was "leaked" by some """anonymous source""" - and among its rather mundane details, it disclosed that Lindsay works shifts at a local grocery store [not the one pictured to the right - that's just a random pap shot of Lindsay along with her irrevocably fucked up siblings Alli and Cody] - anyway... THOSE would be the only pics I'd be interested in seeing. Lohan restocking the yams and price checking FudgeO's and shit. That would make my life so much richer than it already is, really.



It's not really my nature to be maliciously cruel to children, particularly newbors.

But this bitch has it comin'...

By looks of it, she inherited daddy's raging gayface and mommy's... uh... how to put this... glandular burdens. I can't tell you how enthralled I am to watch this one grow up.

At least she's gonna be rich. Who wants to place bets right now on how old she'll be before K-Fed starts courting her?


My God, Jason Davis is disgusting.

If you're a reasonable person with ethics, values and a life - you don't know who this glob of evil is.

Allow me to enlighten you: If Paris Hilton and former-fug Nicole Richie had male counterparts, they might be brothers Brandon and Jason Davis. Heirs to a vast oil fortune, Brandon landed in the tabloids after the TMZ cameras famously caught him calling Lindsay Lohan a 'firecrotch' during a night out with close friend Paris. Jason's his demonically unattractive, questionably gay brother and ergo: a gigantic moving target.

Here's him snapped at, of all places, a beachside party at Paris Hilton's Malibu beach house. It's time once again for...

This Is His Signature Look...



I'm sure someone's uncovered this before as it's 2 years old, but holy fuck.

Since 2005, someone has been running a blog as if they are Madonna, posting nearly every day. On it, she posts news about herself (just slightly after the fact that the rest of the world finds out about it), posts fan videos and even runs a book club.

It's pretty effin' psychotic, but I admire their productivity.

Check it out here:

--- Aj

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Celebrity Appentice Wishlist

Cowboys... Indians...

I was never much a fan of 'The Apprentice'. I remember all sorts of buzz around the first season when I was in my last year of University... it was a reality show conceived by former 'Survivor'-mastermind and current 'On The Lot'-lacklustremind Mark Burnett and starred the owner of the fag-swipe to end all fag-swipes, Donald Trump.

Contestants were split into two teams who completed several challenges that were entrepreneurial in nature and to varrying degrees of success/failure. Kindling to this fire: they worked 16-hour days, slept in cots 10 to a room and were provided with an unlimited supply of booze and cigarettes. Fuel to that fire: cameras were on hand to capture all the action 24/7. Gasoline, Vodka and Aerosol spray on that fire: a character by the name of Omarosa.

B'aaanyway, several seasons came and went, Donald got into a very public feud with Rosie O'Donnell that made him look like an absolute assache, people lost interest and the once almighty Donald and his once almighty Apprentice seemed all but locked away in their cabins on a cruise ship into obscurity.

Now comes word that The Apprentice will be back, and this time, in a celebrity edition. The locked-down lineup as of right now reportedly includes funnywoman/cryptkeeper Joan Rivers, pro-boxer/grillmaster George Foreman, financial analista Jim Cramer (boooring), country rose Naomi Judd (I thought bitch had Hep C and that's why she stopped touring?), NASCAR-ites Jeff Gordon and Danica Patrick (read: geniuses) and inexplicably famous callgirl Carmen Electra.

I am so 'for' this that I can't even tell you. Something tells me that this is going to be so much more 'Surreal Life' than it will be 'Dancing With The Stars' and I fucking love it.

And the as-of-now lineup looks good, although I could deal with far fewer sports figures - I can't imagine Jeff Gordon is going to have business strategies beyond "let's put an image of me in a racecar on a bedsheet! Or perhaps, a beach towell!" - Joan Rivers could be brilliant! She's spent her entire life branding herself and creating products.

Her self-titled jewellery line is one of QVC's top sellers - I can remember back when I was in Grade 9 or 10 or some shit a bunch of us would come over to my house, get stoned and watch her on QVC and the sheer pug-fugliness of her jewellery actually blew our minds. I seem to recall this one broach that was 8 inches wide, 5 inches tall, portraying a scene in a bustling village square. It was "gold"-plated, with faux ruby, sapphire and emerald detailing and was just the most fucking heinous thing I've ever seen. I wish I had the presence of mind to buy it. Fuck.

Anyway, ruing trinkets never bought aside, all this got me thinking about my absolute wish list of who I'd like to see on The Celebrity Apprentice and why they'd be good for it. In no particular order:


It's heavily rumored that Trump wants them as is reportedly 'in talks' with them, but it seems doubtful that all three would do it. I'm thinking Paris would be the likliest candidate. Say what you will about her, but Princess P has an innate knack for branding. It might be a little limited past writhing on the hood of a car, 'leaking' sex tapes and patenting catch phrases like "that's hot", I'm fairly certain that she could beat CNBC's Jim Cramer at selling snowcones to pedestrians on Wall Street or some other mundane task that would comprise the first challenge. She's also have a plethora of papparazzi contacts at her disposal at any given second. However, methinks she might hit a bit of a wall if it comes down to project management of a 60-story high-rise, but that's just pure speculation.


His chief export is pain; his two speeds are walk and kill; he doesn't sleep, he waits; when he falls in the water, he doesn't get wet, rather, the water gets Chuck Norris; there's no chin underneath his beard, just another fist: All these things considered PLUS his dynamite spokemanship for Total Gym home fitness would make CN an ideal candidate. It would seem unlikely that he'd do any business with NBC anytime soon what with the nasty lawsuit between the two over "Law & Order" being trademarked nicknames for his right and left legs. But we can dream.


Back in the days of Spice, it was widely reported and admitted by the girls themselves that Geri handled the business. Which is mayhaps accountable for their swift demise after her departure. Nevertheless, I've gotta give someone props for overseeing an operation that pumped out merchandise that even I bought, and shit, I neva don't buy nothin'! I remember back in high school I owned several pieces of Spice Girls periphenalia, most notably, a Spice Girls diary. With a lock. I remember I kept the names of all the girls I knew who had abortions and how many they had. That's all.


That's right, the Pine-Sol spokeswoman. Perhaps more a candidate for Celebrity Fit Club, I can tell you that I'm buying whatever she's sellin'.


Beyond the fact that this is an entirely possible casting choice, I can tell ya hands down this bitch would win it. Mogul of her own product empire first, actress second - everything this bitch touches turns to gold (exception: her Malibu home that was destroyed in a SoCal wildfire earlier this year). Above: the original commercial for the Thigh-Master, a product that she retained a hefty stake in the profits for. Watch it. And try not to buy one. You totally will.

However, the ultimate choice for Celebrity Apprentice?


I dare say that the world has never witnessed a marriage of commerce and art more harmonious and ingenious than Madonna. Let me put it this way: whereas 1,000 engineers working at 1,000 labs in for 1,000 years with an unlimited budget could work towards inventing the space car - Madonna, in her infinite wisdom and talent, could scribble down the prototype on a napkin whilst hunched over on the toilet, fund its construction with the profits from her latest remix album, get her kids to build it after school on a Wednesday, then agressively-yet-subversively market it so that in three months, everyone in the known world would trade they Hyundai's in and be driving one. Yeah.

That's all she wrote,

And by she,

I mean me.

Still without a vagina,

--- Aj

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Mopping up the second coming of Bitch Salad

When it comes to metaphors, there are good ones and there are great ones.

That, was a great one.

So if you're a reader of this here blog, remotely connected to me on facebook, or have somehow been monitoring my dreams/nightmares over the past two weeks - you'll know that the second installment of a little show I host and produce called Bitch Salad happened this past Friday.

And what a salad it was. FANTASTIC!!!

Thanks largely in part to the positively epic writeup I got in Now Magazine last week (for real... I'm still in disbelief... I was expecting a sidebar column next to the tanny escort classifieds... whoa), the crowd was happenin' and predominantly homo (with the exception of Jo-Anna Downey's regulars from The Eton House in the front row), which was just amazing.

It was EXACTLY what I had hoped for - gay dudes who never go out to comedy shows in the audience, dirty-talkin' female comics in their element on the stage - and everyone KILLED!

Anyway... starting at the beginning. I can't tell you the sleep I was losing this week over ticket pre-sales - that were going abysmally at best. Now, people almost never buy tickets in advance for comedy shows, so this typically isn't grounds to worry... however last time around nearly half the show had sold in advance, so naturally I was all "WHAT'S DIFFERENT THIS TIME!?!" and was thereby calculating that we'd maybe have a cool 20 people in the audience.

I don't think I've ever been wrong-er. People were lined up like it was a club night or some shit. And do you know what you could have knocked me over with? A feather. Yeah.

Anyway - inside - to give you an idea of how librarian-in-a-nunnery-tight the ship that I run is, doors open at 8-SHARP! and at 8-SHARP! a precisely-timed mix comes on that's exactly half an hour long begins. I know if inside and out and know exactly how we're doing for time and alert everyone shit like "Gym Class Heroes means we're about 15 away..."

The final song of the evening? Timely - a remix of Lindsay Lohan's "Confessions of a Broken Heart (Daughter to Father)". Somewhere, Michael Lohan felt a chill up and down his spine. And somewhere else, Dina Lohan wet herself with pleasure.

Pressing on: hottest shit crowd ever. Just wonderful. Slight snaffoo on my part - I told the bit about my one eye'd ex and said his name - I went a little overboard channelling Maya Rudolph's Whitney doing a "this betta not be you Bobby B!"-esque thing. We'll need to edit that out before the shit hits youtube. Oops.

First up of the night (because she needed to drive to a cottage the same night) was the prodigious Sabrina Jalees (which I pronounced very Oprah-ly, "J'LEES!"). Aside from being absolutely hilarious and disgustingly seasoned as a comic at only 22 years old, has the cutest girlfriend in the known universe. ADORABLE!

She killed it. And for the first time that I've ever seen, did her gay stuff. Which is so important. Gay public figures of middle-eastern descent aren't exactly all over the place, so I think that's yet another reason why it's so fantastic that Sabrina's out there.

Of course outside of the gay thing is the very fact that she's a WOMAN of middle-eastern descent doing COMEDY. She's the only one I can think of... As I said when she came off, "Sabrina Jalees! The funniest middle-eastern woman since... ... ... ... ... Oscar-nominee for 'The House of Sand and Fog" Shoreh Aghdashloo- yeah... I got nothin'..."

Pressing on: two words you probably haven't heard describe someone since Abigail Breslin are "adorable" and "brilliant". Well, they're all-too applicable when it comes to describing Katie Crown. Jesus in heaven. So talented I can't stand it.

You know someone is a comedic genius when you can't describe them to save your life. You can't allocate a point of reference, like "oh, she's like Sarah Silverman-meets..." - No.

I've tried to describe Katie countless times - "she has a studied awkwardness... umm... she's cute and disarming but not feminine... hmmm... she makes a lot of really funny noises... fuck..." - but I just can't.

The closest comparison I can make about Katie is that she's like Canada's Amy Sedaris. I got more "I had no idea that Katie Crown existed! Holy fuck! I love her"'s from people than anyone - not to mention my co-fags and I's newest catchphrase: "come celebrate Meg Ryan's birthday at the Hillside Mall". Don't ask me what the context of that was, but it was brilliant.

Next up was a veritable institution of Canadian comedy, Jo-Anna Downey.

If you don't know Jo-Anna, that's a shame. She's hosted and produced Toronto's longest-running open-mic for the past nigh-on 12 years (I believe the 12th anniversary is right around the corner) and I'll go on record and say she's the greatest EmCee I've ever seen.

It kinda blew my mind to see her doing material and not talking to the audience like she normally does (and to hilarious effect, may I add).

After the show, Jo joined us for some cocktails at what is becoming our ritualistic after-hangout, Zeldas. Jo, who'd already had some cocktails, was hilarious because when a half-in-the-bag and around younger comics she gets like one of those grande chorus girls of yore who's like "listen up toots, I been in this biz for 65 years and it's about tits and ass. Always has been, always will be" and it all feels very show-biz and I love it.

Anyway - next up was my resplendent BFF Nicole Arbour, whose standup I hadn't seen since she went on tour with that Molson concert series, and let me tell you, she has aged years as a comic. But still fresh as a daisy in every other respect and don't you forget it. = )

As I introduced her, apparently I didn't speak about her at all. Apparently I was far too excited about her making her feature-film debut in "The Rocker" alongside Rainn Wilson (from "The Office"), Christina Appelgate (from "Married... With Children") and SNL's Kristen Wiig... of such characters as 'Penelope', 'Aunt Linda' and 'The Taaarrrget Lady' and I got entirely wrapped up with pronouncing Nicole's last name as if Kristen Wiig as 'The Taaarrrget Lady' was pronouncing it... "Aaaarrrrbour"... and I'm sorry about that.

Anyway. CoCo killed it. KILLED it. Bedecked in a hot--pink mini-mini-mini-dress that defied all gravity, reason and logic by keeping her goodies covered, she blew the roof off the place, only to hop on a place 6 hours later and host a big to-do in Calgary. Amazing.

Next up was someone who wasn't in the poster (because we didn't get her photos in time) nor the listings (because they were based on the poster), so as a result, we'll be using her image in the background of the next poster. Jillian Thomas had HANDS DOWN the best intro and outro music of the night: Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart" to enter, Nicki French's "Total Eclipse of the Heart" to exit.

Jillian fucking Thomas is fucking hilarious. I can't even handle it. She's got a bit about how she used to be in a Christian rock-band called Witness and treats us to an excerpt of one of their 'hits' with searing conviction. It's pretty much too hilarious for me to handle.

Last of the night was the powerhouse hilarity of Dana Alexander - one of m'best girlfriends and Canada's most shamefully underrated and underexposed talents. It was like being at a gay def comedy jam - awe-inspiring comes to mind. [*Editor's note: Forgot to get a picture with Dana. So I figured I'd re-use this little jem...]

So all in all, fantastic. And I think it hit me more than ever how necessary it is to have a show like this to showcase these particular comedians for this particular audience.

Jo-Anna said something very interesting afterwards: she said she didn't have a good time because "it was too easy". She didn't have to fight to win them over, no one did. It's at this point that I'd like to reference a documentary on female comedians from 1991 called "Punchlines" (NOT "PunchLINE", that's a movie starring Sally Field and Tom Hanks... common mistake) in which Kim Wayans said something that really stuck out to me: in a typical comedy club, "Women need to work to get the audience. Men need to work to lose the audience". It's still so true. Not every time, but many times, I'll see a male comic get up there and the audience is on their side from the get-go - eager and ready to laugh at whatever they have - and it'll be after the third-or-so bomb that they stop giving him the benefit of the doubt and their interest leaves .

It's so different for women. Again not every time, but many times, I'll see a woman take the stage and automatically arms fold, smiles drop and backs get up and it won't be until after their third-or-so hit that the audience starts giving them the benefit of the doubt.

Not at Bitch Salad. It was downright triumphant to see the audience on all the comedienne's side before they got up there I hope it continues. Of course, I also think the introductory mix from 8 PM till 8:30 has a lot to do with it as well, but there's no real way to know.

Anyway. That's pretty much it. We went out afterwards and got up to all sorts of shinanigoats... then decided to video blog - or vlog - about it Saturday night before going out for yet more shinanigoats... I now excitedly present, my first co-fag vlog!!!

C'est tout,

--- Aj

Friday, August 17, 2007

That "Paparazzi Shots of Naked Celebrities" Blog

Yep, today's blog is all about sexy, sexy celebrities who have been snapped by papparazzo's whilst romping NAKED on the beach... Brad Pitt, Brooke Shields, Rod Stewart... they're all here! First up, Shemar Moore... scroll down to see the uncensored pic...

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Totally made ya look, again.


You're a perve,

--- Aj

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Done any good reading lately?

... because this shit is FIERCE!

Unfortunately, I can't blog proper today as I have a dodecadrillion things to do in the next 24 hours... BUUUT...


Yeah, I did.

Courtesy of the hottest bitch in the known universe, Glenn Sumi, yours truly appears in a gargantuan full page feature regarding tomorrow night's Bitch Salad - GET TICKETS NOW!!!: 416-975-8555 - and it is quite the read.

For real, today I feel like I can call myself a comic. It is such a thrill and honour to have this and I'm beyond elated...

To see me looking like the smuggest bastard in the history of smug bastards, read me talking convolutedly about being a gay comic and hear audio snippets of me lisping out of control, go here:

--- Aj

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

If I Did It...

Top o' the afternoon to y' and y'rs...

... or bottom of it, if that's your preference. Whatever.

A growing literary trend of late? "If I Did It..." hypothetical diatribes - detailing how one could have and would have done various things.

Probably the most highly publicized case of this is the upcoming O.J. Simpson 'docunovel' by the same title of this blog in which he tauntingly goes through, in ornate detail how he would have committed the murders if he did it... which he totally did and basically fesses to. Heads rolled over this. The publisher, Judith Regan, was fired from her publishing house. Sensationalist septugenarian Barbara Walters turned down the possibility of an interview with him. In a move remarkably uncharacteristic for the media, it seemed as if this was going to be handled with good taste and the book would never see the light of day, but now, according to TMZ, the book is going to be published.

The Goldman family, who's son Ron was killed by The Juice, has aquired rights to it and have decided to publish it. Proceeds will go to the Ronald Goldman foundation, whatever that is, and the the Goldman family, who will now include various jots and footnotes from their perspective to it. It's rumored that they'll retitle it, too - to simply, "I Did It". Which is hilarious.

I remember that whole OJ shit. It went down right before summer vacation when I was in Grade 7. As a result, I acquired a new nickname - AJ Simpson, which was all-too fitting considering the double murder I had just pulled off and gotten away with scot free from. An eerie coincidence. No. But they did call me AJ Simpson. The nickname didn't make it past summer vacation, however.

Anyway - I think it's horrific. Horrific. Whoever reads this should have their asshole sewn shut in the village square as punishment, and not, as high-priestess Alexyss K. Tylor suggests as a preventative measure for young black gay hookers in what has got to be the most hilarious clip I've ever seen:

Oooooh shit that's nuts. Wow. 7 minutes of being in complete hysterical laughter/shock, right there. Anyway -

What could possibly top the inappropriateness of publishing OJ Simpsons' pseudo-confession? This article at the new Freakonomics blog from The New York Times entitled "If You Were A Terrorist, How Would You Attack?"

"The basic idea is to arm 20 terrorists with rifles and cars, and arrange to have them begin shooting randomly at pre-set times all across the country. Big cities, little cities, suburbs, etc. Have them move around a lot. No one will know when and where the next attack will be. The chaos would be unbelievable, especially considering how few resources it would require of the terrorists. It would also be extremely hard to catch these guys. The damage wouldn’t be as extreme as detonating a nuclear bomb in New York City, of course; but it sure would be a lot easier to obtain a handful of guns than a nuclear weapon."

Yep. A plan for terrorists with limited resources to create a terrorist act that is low-impact, high-results. Exactly like the Body Fuzion workout, only not for your lats and glutes, but rather for the part of your brain that controls your bowels from going off at any second except when it's terrorized beyond belief.

An interesting read, yes, but why would you even put that out there? If anything remotely similar happens, you're clearly going to Guantanamo Bay. Nuts. But again, interesting. Can you even imagine how catastrophic that would be? Simultaneous shootings in New York City, Chicago, Milkwaukee, Burlington Vermont, Laramie Wyoming etc? It would have people diving for their root cellars n'er to come out. NUTS!

Anyway... something a bit lighter and in the same vein is this article on a book in which ex-cop Barry Cooper rails against the man and spills secrets on how to avoid a drug bust. There's a lot about knowing your rights - pot periphenalia, unless covered in residue, is perfectly legal... cops can't search you without a warrant... it's not illegal to smell like pot, just to handle it... - of interest is that if you need to transport a large barge of drugs, the best time to do it is in the rain or during rush hour as cops hate pulling people out in both scenarios. Also, it's recommended to coat things with deer urine or travel with a cat to set the dogs into hunt & chase mode rather than pot-sniffing mode. The cardinal rule seems to be to never carry more pot than you can swallow at any given moment.

Of course if you're from Canada, none of this really applies to you, but whatever. If you are in Canada, I'll tell you what DOES apply to you, though...

2 MORE SLEEPS!!! AHHHH!!! Once again --- tickets are available by calling 416-975-8555!!! Or at the door!!! Mention this blog and receive a bottle of KY - FREE*!!!

As Alexyss K. Tylor would say,

Takin that dick up til' I hickup,
--- Aj

* Totally won't happen. Buy your own fucking lube, tightey.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

That Signature Look Blog

Hey there cowboys & Indians...

So did everyone have a great weekend celebrating Whitney Houston's birthday? I'll go ahead and trust you did.

It was my own practical Saturnalia this weekend what with the birthdays that I had to celebrate... and an entire 40 courtesy of the Smirnoff family was easily devoured as a result.

Preface: I wanted to spend as little time as possible in and around my home, as I live on the Danforth and it was the perennial Taste of the motherfucking Danforth AKA the absolute bain of my existence. I fucking hate it. It's like Pride for boring fat people who walk at the slowest pace imaginable. Gah.

Firstly, Friday night: the joint birthday party of Canada's Hilton sisters, the original party girls, Mike Yerxa and April Wozny. Little known fact: both of them friends forever, and both of them glamorous for even longer than that, they actually inspired Francine Pascal's hit teen-novela, The Sweet Valley Twins.

The proof is in the pudding. And by pudding, I mean this picture:

Well, time passes, and maybe they no longer have their once deliciously svelte 9-year-old ballerina physiques - they've since traded in their uniforms for hipster garb that isn't at all obnoxious - but they certainly know how to throw one heck of a party. Here are our Sweet Valley Twins in present day:

Since it was a joint-birthday, it proved to be a smorgasbord of both Yerxa and April's friends, many of whom had no idea who the others were. Important to gleam from the turnout: April Wozny knows more gay dudes than Yerxa and I combined times 5. Sheesh.

The theme of their joint birthday bash was "dress like the year in which they celebrated their respective sweet 16's" - convoluted, much? Yes. The years that they were 16 were 1999 (Yerxa) and 2001 (April). So you could have dressed like Jennifer Lopez from the video for "Waiting For Tonight" or Janet Jackson from the video from "All For You" and been in theme. And either way you would have looked like a skank, got slipped a date rape drug and then been told you were asking for it. Whoops.

Anyway - WHO DOESN'T LOVE A GOOD OLD FASHIONED COSTUME BALL?!?! Evidently me, as I didn't dress up. Although I totally would have, had I had access to my vast, vast, VAST collection of Le Crapeau man-blouses that I was famous for sporting in my final year of high school, circa 1999. It truly was a golden age.

Anyway - costume of the night went to the hottest bitch alive, Heidi Brander, who was bedecked as Aaliyah, right before her plane crash...

I'm glad this was brought up for two very distinct reasons: 1.) I was a fan of Aaliyah. I had her first album, "Age Ain't Nuthin' But A Numbah", featuring the title track, ass-rockin' mid-90's hip hop jam "Back & Forth" and the smooth-as-honey-poured-on-silk-poured-on-whale-skin ballad, "At Your Best (You Are Love)". I remember being very upset when, in the summer of 2001, it was announced that she died in a tragic plan crash that was later disclosed to be the result of overly-cumbersome luggage.

Then 9/11 happened - like three fucking weeks later. And they kept on talking about "Allah". And because of this, for maybe a solid week before my politically-aware housemate Meaghan corrected me, I thought that the terrorists had a hand in Aaliyah's death. Yes. Me = Smart cookie.

My second point: Aaliyah was the O.G. reed-thin-voiced queen of hip-hop back in the 90's and invented that brand. Had Aaliyah not died and left that void open, the following people would have never become famous:

- Ashanti
- Tweet
- Christina Milian
- Trina
- Shawnna
- Ciara
- The Pussycat Dollsand

(*I know Trina & Shawnna are rappers, but they were included for the theory that familiar sounds in sequence create comedy, assfuck.)

Okay, back on track...

With the astounding amount of hipsters present, a new game was born. I'm not sure when, I'm not sure how - but it will result in many, many entertaining evenings to come.

For the love of Christ, watch this:

That is one Maya Rudolph (surprise) as "Tuhnay Griggs" on Deep House Dish singing her smash hit "This Is My Signature Look (Wear This Out). In it, Mizz Griggs is bedecked in hipster garb recounting the various items that make her so very hipster. "Clip ons. Granny boots. Gouchos. Pops Watch. Fanny Pack. Painter's cap. Fierce fierce fierce fabulous. Worthwhile". And it's basically amazing.

So this is our new game to play in the company of hipsters. Sing "This is his/her signature look, and he/she's gonna wear this out. [Describe quirky-as-all get-out items on their person]. Fierce fierce fierce fabulous - worthwhiiiile."

Allow me to demonstrate with Yerxa's outfit on his birthday...

Now watch this:

And that's how that's done.

Anyway - Saturday saw the gaggle of us gags ascend on yet another joint-birthday, this time for eTalk goddess Amy Segal and Dan "The Levster" Levy - another joint-birthday, yet another costume-themed party - this time: young Hollywood. Which means the faux cocaine - or fauxcaine - was everywhere. The good folks at Arm & Hammer surely saw a spike in sales this weekend, let me tell ya. Anyway - once again, the belles of the ball were Yerxa and Heidi, as Perez Hilton and Dina Lohan, respectively. Nicest touch: Heidi, as Dina Lohan, carrying around two makeshift scripts: "Just My Luck 2", and "From Justin To Lindsay", trying to pitch them to people. Brander, you're a genius.

Boy were their faces red when their respective namesakes showed up... awkwaaard...

That's pretty much it.

Pretty much.

Except, oh yeah...

That's right - THIS FRIDAY!!!!!!! Get your tickets NOW!!! Call 416.975.8555 or go to the Buddies box office at 12 Alexander St., the corner of Yonge & Alexander between College & Wellesley!!!

It's gonna be awesome. You're not gonna wanna miss it. As a matter of fact, there's going to be a 17-part youtube'd series of reasons detailing exactly WHY you're not gonna wanna miss it posted in this very blog tomorrow. Ooooh.

This is my signature look,

--- Aj

Guess what I won't be seeing...

D'afternoon cowboys & Indians...

Today, I'm adding a new feature - "Guess what I won't be seeing..." in which I preview coming attractions and why they suck, why I won't be seeing them, and, in the process, purposelessly bashing random actresses and developing entirely unnecessary dislike for them.



Plot Synopsis c/o Based on the popular characters, Bratz follows four teenage girls who are from socially and economically diverse backgrounds. What they have in common is their wish to be themselves and realize their dreams and aspirations. They start their journey separated by high school cliques, only to realize that by becoming Bratz, their lives will be more fulfilling. A story of empowerment and wish fulfillment, told through a unique mix of song, dance, and of course, fashion. [* You will note that this is the fourth instance of me photoshopping my head onto that of a teenage girl. It's very telling.]

Why I won't be seeing this: So many reasons. Firstly, let's take a look at the major Hollywood players involved in this... Jon Voight and Lainie Kazan. Yep. Angelina Jolie's father and the mother from "My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding". A four virtually anonymous tweenage hos named shit like 'Logan', 'Chelsea' and 'Skylar' i.e. they were totally born in the 90's. Barf.

Paula Abdul was initially tied to the project as a producer/choreographer/star but was unceremoniously-yet-hilariously dumped from the project in a scene from her reality progr'm, "Hey Paula":

Fantastic. Anyballs - I always thought the Bratz were like the illiterate, pregnant teen, gang-member bitches of the Barbie world who would shank ya if you looked at them cock-eyed. But apparently they're girls from various socio-economic and cultural backgrounds with one common dream: to be Bratz. Who the fuck knew? Mehnyways, I won't be seeing it. There will only be one movie based on dolls that I'll ever see if it ever happens and that's Jem & The Holograms. Suck it, Bratz. Suck it.


Plot Synopsis: Molly Mahoney (Portman) is the awkward and insecure manager of Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, the strangest, most fantastic, most wonderful toy store in the world. But when Mr. Magorium, the 243 year-old eccentric who owns the store (Hoffman), bequeaths the store to her, a dark and ominous change begins to take over the once remarkable Emporium.

Why I won't be seeing it: I liked this better the first time I saw it when it was called "Toys". Actually, that's a lie. I never saw "Toys" and won't for the life of me ever see it. This movie looks so terrible it makes me angry.

And shame shame shame on Natalie Portman for doing such a hack, formulaic family romp. Especially after leading me to believe she was cool with this:

For shame. For shame.

3.) The Geico Caveman Sitcom

According to Variety: "Cavemen" will revolve around three pre-historic men who must battle prejudice as they attempt to live as normal thirtysomethings in modern Atlanta.

Is this really necessary? Like, really? Are people that endeared to the assfucking Geico caveman that he needs his own sitcom? Well, one things fo' sho'. I won't be watching. Suck it, Geico.

Anyballs, I'll tell you what I WILL be watching...


Here it is at long last!!!

Me: Part 1, Part 2
Dini Dimakos: Part 1, Part 2
The Nefarious Black Roses: Part 1, Part 2
Katherine Ryan: Part 1, Part 2
Desiree Lavoy: Part 1, Part 2
Jodie Foster (Kirsten Gallagher): Here
Trevor Boris: Part 1, Part 2

Put that shit in y'back pocket and smoke it. And then come to this!!!:

That's right - it's this motherfucking Friday!!! Doors at 8 PM!!! Show at 8:30!!! Call 416-975-8555 or go to the box office!!!


--- Aj

Monday, August 13, 2007

That Whitney Houston belated B-day Blog

Good morning, Baltimore...

So, riddle me this. Were you or anyone you know born yestermorrow, August 9th? Because if so, you were born on a most heavenly day. For shit serious, it don't get holier than August 9th to be born, y'all. Whhhy?

Because yesterday marked the 44th birthday of one Miss Whitney Elizabeth Houston, is why.

It's perhaps more commen knowledge than 2 x 2 equalling 4 that I am about the biggest Whitney Houston fan in the known multiverse. And, in rousing, appropriate celebration, I now present, in no particular order, my favourite Whitney Houston moments EVEREVER.

Kicking things off with a bang...

10.) The Infamous Diane Sawyer Interview, 2003

What can be said that hasn't already been said about this long-awaited tell-all sitdown with Primetime Live's Diane Sawyer. I'll never forget it. I remember it was December of my third year in University and I had some assfucking essay on feminist theatre or some shit that was SEVERELY overdue and I told myself that I'd only watch the first segment then get to it. Yeah, I watched the whole thing. Then rewound it, watched it again. Then again. Suffice to say, the paper didna get done that night.

Priceless. In this, she fesses up to drug abuse, keeps veering in and out of frame, snapping at the camera randomly, sweats like a demon and gives birth to the now-immortal soundbyte, "crack is whack". I've decided to include all parts... warning... watching 1 will result in watching all...

Part 1:
Part 2:
Part 3:
Part 4:
Part 5:

9.) Whitney's TV Debut on the Merv Griffin Show, 1985

Before the smack, crack and Bobby B - under the tutelage of svengali Clive Davis, Whitney made her debut singing "Home" from The Wiz on the [late] Merv Griffin Show. Look up 'angelic' in the dictionary. You'll find this link:

8.) Whitney does Israel

Cracked out of her everlovin' skull, Whitney and Bobby made a pilgrimage to Israel where they met with black Muslims, a hysterical Whitney was baptized and she gave birth to yet another immortal soundbyte, "My land! MY LAND!". Amazing: watch the video here. (You need RealPlayer).

7.) An emaciated Whitney shocks everyone at a tribute to Michael Jackson.

Whitney proved to be the extra-lite icing on the already freakshow-y cake that was the Michael Jackson tribute of '03. If there was ever an instance that people feared for her life, t'was then. Vogue editrix Anna Wintour had a different take on it, though: "Lookin' good". Shock. Awe. Here:

6.) Whitney in the video for "How Will I Know"

This song bears the distinction of being the song I've listened to the most in my life. I swear. I could sing this song in my sleep and probably have dozens of times. This video, whose theme seems to be gay mimes in a fingerpainted maze, is 80's haute-camp. Inset right is the cover to the single. What's so desperately sad about this is that if Whitney was to wear that ensemble now and go strutting on Queen West, she'd probably make Vice Magazine's "Do's". Am I right? I'm right. Best song ever:

PALETTE CLEANSER: Maya Rudolph as Whitney

Hell-to-the-hell-to-the-HELL-the-YES! Sorry, MAD TV fans. Maya wins the Whitney impression award hands down. This betta not be you Bobby B:

5.) Whitney sings the National Anthem at the Superbowl.

With tension running high at the height of the gulf war, Whitney made it perfectly clear what the boys were fightin' for. Sweaty perfection:

4.) Drunken Frenchman Serge Gainsbourg tells Whitney he 'wants to fuck her' on a French late night talk show.

Pretty funny shit:

3.) Whitney vs. Mariah at the '99 Oscars. Whitney wins.

As you can imagine, when it was announced that Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey were to be joining forces in a power-ballad duet, it was kind of the biggest shit deal EVER for me. The only thing that could have made the spring of '99 more of a huge shit deal would be if Madonna and Janet Jackson staged some sort of telethon dance-off. Irregardless, both divas showed up and showed out at the '99 Oscars singing the ballad, "When You Believe", that easily won the Oscar for best song later that night. In this clip, Whitney shows that you simply don't fuck with her on stage and makes Mariah look like a contest winner who won the opportunity to be on stage with Whitney. Simply put: marvelous: here:

2.) Whitney sings the shit out of "I Will Always Love You", Grammys, 1993

Here's m'story about this: One lazy Saturday afternoon whilst I was back in high school, I was watching the VH1 and they were airing a Grammys greatest moments special. As I'm prone to do whilst horizontal, on a couch, in front of the TV, I dozed off. Only to awaken to the thunderous modulation of Whitney hitting the "AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII" and I've never been the same. Bitch done lays it out:






1.) Whitney rebutting to a political discussion on "Being Bobby Brown".

Lord have mercy. It's a damned, crying shame that we didn't get "Being Bobby Brown" up here in Canada, and all I could do was get various snippits on youtube. Anyway - as with their real lives, Whitney and her unusual antics proved the star of the show. This woman is a soundbyte machine and, with the exception of "Hell To The No" and maybe "dootie bubble", her shining moment came in a rebuttal to Bobby during a heated political discussion. I give you Whitney at her crack-whory best:

And that's that.

One more thing - sort of a world semi-exclusive - I met this smokin' hot dancer by the name of Deonte a few weeks back who hails from HotLanta, Georgia. He's a choreographer who was up here judging a cheerleading competition or something and said that his friend was working on Whitney's COMEBACK TOUR!!!!!! SHE'S TOURING SOON, Y'ALL!!! I always thought the ship had sailed re: seeing Whitney live. So I'm just ecstatic about that.

In other news:


Getcha tickets now!!! Call 416-975.8555 - once again, the facebook invite is at

It's gonna be the hottest shit ever! And you never know who's gonna show up...

That's it.

Saving all my love for you,
--- Aj