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.
Anyway...
The more you know,
--- Aj
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.
Anyway...
The more you know,
--- Aj
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.
Gah,
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'.
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.
Keep scrolling...
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.
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.
Now watch this:
That's pretty much it.
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 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.
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.
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: 
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: 
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: 
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: 
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: 
With tension running high at the height of the gulf war, Whitney made it perfectly clear what the boys were fightin' for. Sweaty perfection: 
Pretty funny shit: 
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: 
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: 
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: 
Getcha tickets now!!! Call 416-975.8555 - once again, the facebook invite is at 
